Love Game: My Scandalous Boyfriends
Eve · Ongoing · 91.1k Words
Introduction
——
"You switch between men—you're really good at this game."
"If you can't handle it, you can always bow out."
"In your dreams." He leans in, forehead to hers, breath hot at her ear. "I'm not letting go. Not handing you over to anyone."
Chapter 1
Backstage at the Starlight International Supermodel Show.
Camila Wilson, draped in a stunning red gown, had a silk ribbon casually slung over her waist by a man whose broad shoulders carried it effortlessly.
She watched calmly as Clifford Thompson impatiently stripped off her clothes, leaning in closer.
The hand-embroidered ribbon around her waist was carelessly pulled off by Clifford, hanging loosely over his broad shoulder, the fabric brushing against his expensive tailored suit, making a faint rustling sound.
She didn't feel disgusted, but there was no trace of pleasure either.
Her soft voice carried a cool undertone, like a feather gently brushing against the man's ear.
"Aren't you afraid?"
In the banquet hall just a wall away, the room was already packed with major media outlets from around the world, all waiting to capture tonight's eye-catching headlines.
"No one dares to come in." Clifford's thin lips moved against her neck, savoring her intoxicating scent. "Besides..."
His hot kisses climbed up, stopping to nuzzle her earlobe. "I wish the whole world knew who you belong to now."
Camila's long eyelashes fluttered, her delicate fingers gently caressing Clifford's shoulder, her voice ghostly, "He's almost here."
Clifford's movements halted abruptly, lifting his head, his pupils swirling with shock and anger.
"So you're rejecting me?"
She stepped back, tucking her tousled golden hair behind her ear, her expression calm as if the previous intimacy had never existed.
"I'm not in the mood today. You should leave."
"Camila." Clifford's voice was icy, his long legs stepping forward, his tall figure almost completely enveloping her. "Even a hunter should give the prey some room to breathe."
"Really?" Camila turned, her red lips curving into a delicate arc, retorting disdainfully, "No hunter owes the prey an explanation."
There was no time left. Albert Garcia's assistant, Mike Jones, had sent a message saying Albert would arrive backstage half an hour early.
"Four minutes left." She looked up at Clifford, her tone now carrying an undeniable coldness. "Either you leave through that door now, or..."
She didn't finish, but her gaze swept over the narrow storage room door in the corner, and Clifford instantly understood her meaning.
Clifford's clenched fists bulged with veins. He had seen many women, but this one seemed to have cursed him, making him unable to resist, even to the point of madness, willing to share her with another man.
He gritted his teeth, pulling Camila into his arms, leaving a not-too-deep bite mark on her earlobe in frustration. "You'll regret this."
He turned and walked into the storage room, and the smile on Camila's face vanished instantly.
She walked to the mirror, her fingertips brushing over the spot where Clifford had bitten her, now faintly red.
The urgent knocking on the door came just as she finished applying the last bit of powder to her neck.
"Camila?" Albert's voice came through the door, as gentle and refined as always. "Are you ready?"
When Camila opened the door, her face had already been adorned with a gentle smile.
Albert was dressed in a dark gray suit, his tie meticulously knotted, though a fine brown curl clung to the collar of his white shirt, clearly not hers.
"I've been waiting for you." She naturally linked her arm with his, her nose barely brushing his lapel, catching the scent of iris and cedarwood.
It was Emily Allen's favorite fragrance, she had noticed.
"I thought you had fallen asleep since you took so long to open the door."
Camila remained calm, her beautiful eyes filled with endless tenderness, making one feel affectionate.
"No, I've been waiting for you."
His breath indeed faltered, his hand slowly moving up her waistline, his fingers almost slipping into the slit of her gown. "We have twenty-five minutes, enough for us to..."
Camila's peripheral vision caught the tightly closed wardrobe door, the gap between the door and the frame faintly revealing Clifford's suit sleeve.
She smiled, pressing down Albert's restless hand, her nails lightly pinching his thumb. "Don't mess around, the makeup artist just fixed my hair, if it gets messed up, I'll get scolded."
Albert's hand had already undone his suit buttons, his aggressive aura overwhelming. "Just a moment, you know I've been holding back for so long."
Camila was about to find an excuse to push him away when the sound of a vibrating phone suddenly broke the silence.
It wasn't hers.
Albert's movements froze, his fingers trembling as he pulled out his phone from his suit pocket.
The screen displayed an incoming call with no name, but the ringtone, "Moonlight Sonata," was particularly piercing in the quiet room — it was Emily's signature piece during her solo performances at the music academy.
Instinctively, he turned the phone away, his Adam's apple rolling violently, not daring to meet Camila's eyes.
"Aren't you going to answer?" Camila adjusted his crooked tie, her voice as gentle as water. "It might be something urgent."
Albert grabbed the lifeline, standing up straight. "You're right, it must be something urgent, I need to go handle it."
He kept tugging at his tie as he spoke, stopping only when his neck turned red — a habit he never noticed when lying.
The door was hastily opened and then slammed shut.
Camila was about to turn around when she was pulled back into an embrace.
"Flitting between different men, you seem to be especially good at playing this game."
Camila looked at their intertwined reflections in the mirror and suddenly laughed. "So what?"
"If you can't handle it, you can always call it quits."
"After all, Mr. Thompson, you can have any woman you want."
In terms of beauty and figure, Camila was never top-tier.
But to Clifford, she was like a poppy, impossible to let go of no matter how hard he tried.
Sure enough, Clifford's grip tightened, his eyes fixed on her vibrant red lips, his words sounding like a threat but lacking any real menace.
"Dream on, it's too late to stop now."
"I won't let go."
"Even if I die, I won't let anyone else have you."
Camila's gaze shifted past his shoulder to the innermost part of the vanity.
There lay two framed photos, one a faded family portrait with a little girl in a white dress protected by her parents; the other, two ponytailed girls under a cherry blossom tree, one radiant like a rose, the other delicate like a daisy.
She felt a wave of sorrow, her suppressed emotions almost breaking free, tears threatening to fall.
Suddenly, Camila stood on tiptoe, planting a gentle kiss on Clifford's furrowed brow.
"Alright." Her voice was as light as a sigh. "Let's continue."
The dim light in the dressing room cast fragmented shadows on Clifford's trembling eyelashes.
Camila looked at his reddened eyes and suddenly reached out, gently wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Remember, it's all voluntary."
"I've never... forced you."
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