Chapter 1: Game Over, Or Just Beginning?

After awakening my succubus genes, I learned how to milk the bossy CEO for all he was worth. After every steamy night, I’d always give him a brutally honest, three-star Yelp rating—right between the leftover takeout and my half-drunk LaCroix.

In true Gen Z style, I’d shoot him a sarcastic emoji or slap a sticky note on the fridge: “Performance: 3/5, would not recommend (but will probably repeat).” It was our thing—playful, savage, and weirdly affectionate, just the way we both liked it.

He, all swagger and ego, would just scoff and try to top himself the next night.

He’d roll his eyes, mutter about “millennials and their Yelp addiction,” and immediately start plotting some ridiculous date or wild new experiment. I could almost hear him thinking: Challenge accepted, Parker.

I ran this little scam for three years straight.

Every time, he’d take the bait, and I’d cash in on free Amazon Prime deliveries and late-night sushi. Our system was as steady as the Monday morning gridlock on I-405.

Until my family found me the perfect contract partner.

Suddenly, my family’s group chat blew up—Mom spamming GIFs of random guys, legal docs longer than a mortgage app, and so many heart emojis I nearly gagged. My thumb hovered over “mute,” and I wished I could crawl through the phone and unplug the Wi-Fi. Even worse, Mom started sending dancing cat GIFs. My secret game with Derek suddenly had a timer.

Just as I was plotting my getaway, a barrage of imaginary comment bubbles flashed before my eyes, just like reading a messy Twitter thread:

[Girl, you trying to stir up drama? Run now, and you’ll be eating ramen and day-old donuts for the rest of your life.]

[Poor second lead is still lying there butt-naked, happily shopping for all sorts of toys and succubus costumes, clueless that—BAM!—his main girl is about to ghost him~]

[I can’t with these two. Three years together and neither realized the other’s a succubus? Always tiptoeing around, afraid to drop the act. Just imagine the chaos when they both go full demon—begging for a rerun of that famous tail-wrapped-around-the-waist scene~]

[Aaaa, supporting girl, run! I’m dying to see second lead lose his mind when he realizes he’s been played like a fiddle, goes full dark mode, and you end up pulling weeds in Alaska.]

No, no, no… I don’t want this anymore…

I kicked Derek away and dove under the covers, sniffling.

The comforter smelled faintly of lavender dryer sheets and expensive cologne—Derek’s, probably. I burrowed deeper, wishing I could disappear. My toes curled, clutching a childhood plushie, and I cursed the penthouse AC for freezing my soul. Why couldn’t life come with a snooze button?

He just scoffed and pinned me down again, grabbing my ankle, his voice all wicked glee: “What, not scared of my toys anymore? Guess you’re getting brave.”

His grip was teasing, electric. He flashed that infuriating grin—the one that could close a deal or break my last nerve. City lights painted him gold and dangerous, and I hated how it made my heart jump.

Before I could clap back, he pressed me down and kicked off a whole new round of breathless, tearful torment.

His hands were everywhere, my protests dissolving into laughter and the occasional muffled curse. Sometimes I wondered if he heard my heart pounding, or just loved making me squirm.

It lasted until morning.

When sunlight finally sliced through the blinds, we were still tangled together—sheets a mess, my hair wild, Derek already plotting his next move.

He showered, suited up, and went CEO mode in record time.

He breezed through his routine—coffee, tailored suit, phone check—never missing a beat. The city was waking up, but he paused for me.

Before leaving, he hooked a finger around my neck and growled, “Don’t even think about running tonight.”

His words were a low purr in my ear. His thumb brushed my jaw—possessive, almost sweet. It left a fire smoldering under my skin, and I wondered if he felt it too.

As soon as the door shut, I crawled out of bed.

I stretched, every muscle protesting last night’s Olympics. I shuffled to the bathroom, splashed my face, and caught my reflection—rumpled, but grinning. Mischief meter: maxed out.

My legs weren’t jelly anymore, my stomach stopped growling, and my little tail felt fully recharged.

I shimmied in front of the mirror like I’d just won a TikTok challenge, tail flicking with energy. The city outside buzzed—sirens, horns, the hum of real life. Perfect day for trouble.

Satisfied, I licked my lips. My mom, all the way in Switzerland, texted: they’d finally found The One.

The text chimed with a photo: some guy in a designer suit, posing in front of the Matterhorn. Mom was relentless, matchmaking like a Real Housewives producer. I sent back snarky emojis, but my nerves wouldn’t quit.

Ever since succubi started marrying humans, half-bloods were everywhere. My parents still clung to old ways—keep the bloodline pure, find a “proper” contract. Meanwhile, my New Jersey childhood was all bagels, boardwalks, and Jersey Shore reruns—nothing pure about it. Sometimes I wondered if I was trapped in a paranormal season of The Bachelor.

Three years since my awakening, and now the perfect guy was here.

Three years of dodging awkward family Zooms and ghosting would-be suitors. Now it was real. I chewed my lip, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was the biggest mistake of my immortal life.

I packed my bags in a flash and rushed to the airport.

I threw everything in a battered suitcase—lacy things, tail polish, emergency snacks—and called an Uber. The driver had fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror, pine air freshener blasting, and Taylor Swift on repeat. We bantered about the best bagels in Jersey, and my heart pounded in time with every pothole.

Then—bam!—the comments hit again:

[Girl, you trying to stir up drama? Run now, and you’ll be eating ramen and day-old donuts for the rest of your life.]

[Poor second lead is still lying there butt-naked, happily shopping for all sorts of toys and succubus costumes, clueless that—BAM!—his main girl is about to ghost him~]

[I can’t with these two. Three years together and neither realized the other’s a succubus? Always tiptoeing around, afraid to drop the act. Just imagine the chaos when they both go full demon—begging for a rerun of that famous tail-wrapped-around-the-waist scene~]

[Aaaa, supporting girl, run! I’m dying to see second lead lose his mind when he realizes he’s been played like a fiddle, goes full dark mode, and you end up pulling weeds in Alaska.]