My Arrogant Ex Is My Gaming Master

Grace pushed open the door to her off-campus bedroom. Her eyes skipped over the chaotic stacks of pre-law textbooks on her desk and locked onto the glowing screen of her MacBook.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to pull into her lungs.

She pulled out the rolling chair and sat down. Her fingers trembled so violently she had to press her palms against her thighs to steady them. She reached for the trackpad and clicked on the PDF file named Vaughan-Stanley Family Trust.

The cold, white light from the screen washed over her pale face. Her eyes darted straight to page twelve. Section 4.b.

Unilateral Termination.

Grace sucked in a sharp breath. She grabbed her iPhone resting face-down on the desk. The Face ID unlocked instantly, illuminating her tense features.

She opened iMessage. Her thumb hovered over the search bar. She typed the name she had kept on mute for two entire years.

Adelbert.

The chat history was completely empty. Nothing but a gray timestamp from the system. The physical emptiness of the screen sent a sharp ache through her eyes. It was a blank void that perfectly mirrored their relationship.

Her thumb hovered over the digital keyboard. She typed the first sentence.

We need to talk about the trust.

She stared at the words. Her stomach churned. It sounded too desperate. Too pathetic. She hammered the backspace key, watching the cursor eat the letters.

She typed again.

I am invoking Section 4.b. Please contact your lawyers.

She didn't let herself hesitate. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her thumb hard against the blue send button.

The progress bar shot across the top of the screen. A soft swoosh sounded in the quiet room. The text message turned into an invisible radio wave, shooting out of her apartment window.

It crossed three blocks of the freezing Boston night sky, dropping straight into the wireless network of the Delta Kappa penthouse.

Massive subwoofers vibrated the hardwood floors of the frat house. Adelbert lounged deep in the corner of a black leather sofa. He swirled half a glass of bourbon in his hand, the amber liquid catching the strobe lights.

The screen of his iPhone, resting on the glass coffee table, lit up. A blue bubble shattered the darkness of his lock screen.

Adelbert frowned. He set the heavy crystal glass down. His long fingers swiped across the screen. His eyes scanned the cold, clinical words.

His pupils contracted. The relaxed line of his jaw instantly snapped tight. The deafening bass of the party seemed to fade into static.

Jax, sitting on the armrest next to him, leaned over to peek at the screen. Adelbert smoothly flipped his hand over, blocking the text with his knuckles.

A cold laugh scraped the back of Adelbert's throat. The corner of his mouth curled into a sharp, mocking smirk. Playing hard to get. It was just another pathetic trick to get his attention.

He typed with one hand. His thumb struck the glass screen with unnecessary force. Four letters.

Done.

He hit send. He flipped the phone face-down onto the glass table with a sharp clack. He grabbed his bourbon and downed the burning liquid in one swallow, trying to drown out the sudden, irrational spike of irritation flaring in his chest. A bitter, metallic taste instantly coated the back of his throat. The single word he'd just sent felt like a heavy stone dropping into his own gut. He stared at the blank glass of the phone's casing, his jaw locked tight. What the hell had he just done? Why did he let his temper dictate that response?

Grace's phone buzzed violently against her desk.

She snapped her eyes open. She snatched the phone. The single word sat there, isolated in its gray bubble.

Done.

It felt like a physical blade sliding right behind her ribs.

She stared at it for two full seconds. A hollow, self-deprecating smile pulled at her lips. The back of her throat burned. Her eyes stung, but she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep the tears from falling.

A small, foolish part of her had hoped for at least a question. A single word of confusion. Not out of care, but out of basic financial prudence. But he gave her nothing. Not even the cold courtesy of a business transaction.

Grace tossed the phone onto the desk. It hit the wood with a dull thud. She stood up and walked straight into her small bathroom.

She twisted the faucet. Freezing water poured into the sink. She cupped her hands and splashed the ice-cold water onto her face, gasping at the shock.

She gripped the edges of the sink and stared at her reflection. Drops of water slid down her cheeks like fake tears. The vulnerability in her eyes slowly hardened into something cold and solid.

She turned around and walked back to her desk. She grabbed the mouse, clicked on the PDF file, and dragged it straight into the trash bin.

She clicked Empty Trash. She watched the little animation of the paper disappearing. She let out a long, shaky exhale, expelling the last two years of suffocating pressure from her lungs.

She stood up and yanked the curtains shut, blocking out the Boston skyline. She clicked off the desk lamp. The room plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

The relationship was dead.

The darkness of her bedroom eventually gave way to the harsh afternoon sun. Grace pushed through the heavy glass revolving doors of the midtown law firm. The blast of aggressive air conditioning hit her face, stripping away the lingering heat of the Boston autumn.

She wore a faded gray hoodie and washed-out jeans. She stuck out like a sore thumb among the sea of tailored suits and briefcases crossing the marble lobby.

She walked up to the massive reception desk. She gave the receptionist the name of the Vaughan family's private attorney. The woman behind the desk paused, her eyes flickering over Grace's outfit with a thinly veiled layer of judgment.

After securing a temporary visitor badge, Grace turned and walked toward the elevator banks deep in the lobby. The soft squeak of her worn sneakers was swallowed by the sharp clacking of leather oxfords echoing against the high ceilings.

She stood in front of the furthest elevator on the left. She watched the red digital numbers tick down. Her stomach twisted into tight, uncomfortable knots.

Ding.

The silver doors slid open with a smooth, mechanical hiss. The spacious, brightly lit interior of the cab was revealed.

Grace stepped forward with her right foot.

Loud, obnoxious laughter spilled out of the elevator. Grace froze instantly. Her foot hovered over the threshold.

Standing dead center in the cab was Adelbert. He wore a perfectly tailored black trench coat. One hand was shoved casually into his pocket. He was tilting his head, listening to a joke from the blonde guy standing next to him.

His eyes swept lazily toward the open doors. They crashed straight into Grace's.

Grace's heart violently contracted. Her fingers clamped down on the canvas strap of her tote bag. Her knuckles turned bone-white.

For a fraction of a second, a flash of pure shock broke through the ice in Adelbert's eyes. But it was gone before she could even process it, instantly replaced by a wall of absolute, freezing indifference.

Jax followed Adelbert's line of sight. He let out a low, sleazy whistle, his eyes raking up and down Grace's body.

Morgan nudged Adelbert in the chest with his elbow. He lowered his voice, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Is that one of your little freshmen groupies, Del?"

The elevator doors beeped a sharp, aggressive warning, demanding Grace to either step in or step back.

Grace swallowed the lump of glass in her throat. She forced her legs to move. She stepped into the cab and pressed herself into the furthest corner, right next to the button panel.

She reached out with a shaking finger and pressed the button for the 68th floor. The button was already glowing orange. Adelbert was going to the exact same place.

The doors slid shut. The small, enclosed space was instantly suffocated by the sharp, clean scent of Adelbert's cedarwood cologne. It coated her lungs. She couldn't breathe.

Jax took an arrogant step forward. He leaned his forearm against the metal handrail, jutting his chin toward Grace in the corner.

"You go to G University too, sweetheart?"

Grace pressed her lips together so hard they hurt. She kept her eyes glued to the digital numbers ticking upward. She didn't say a word. Her peripheral vision, however, was hopelessly locked onto Adelbert's profile.

She prayed. She prayed to a God she barely believed in that Adelbert would just say they knew each other. Just say they were alumni. Anything.

Adelbert slowly turned his head. He shot Jax a freezing glare. His thin lips parted.

"I don't know her."

His voice was a low, flat rumble. It held zero emotion. He stated it like a geographical fact.

The words hit Grace like a physical backhand across the face. All the blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin ice-cold.

Jax shrugged, losing interest immediately. He stepped back and picked up his conversation with Morgan about the weekend football game.

Grace bit down hard on the soft tissue inside her cheek. She bit until she tasted the sharp tang of copper. The physical pain was the only thing keeping the hot tears from spilling over her lower lashes.

The elevator ride lasted sixty agonizing seconds. Finally, the ding echoed through the cab. The doors slid open to the 68th floor.

Adelbert didn't even glance in her direction. He stepped out with his long strides, his frat brothers trailing behind him like loyal dogs.

A rush of cold air swept into the elevator as they left. Grace leaned her back against the freezing metal wall. Every ounce of energy drained from her muscles.

She watched Adelbert's broad shoulders disappear down the long, carpeted hallway of the law firm.

Now she understood the true weight of that word. Done.

She pushed herself off the wall. She straightened her spine. She walked out of the elevator and turned in the exact opposite direction toward her assigned conference room. Her steps were heavier, but infinitely more certain.

Grace walked out of the dark walnut conference room. Her fingers were clamped around a freshly signed copy of the preliminary termination agreement.

She shoved the crumpled papers into her canvas tote bag. She walked down the hallway as fast as her legs could carry her. She just needed to escape this building. It felt like the walls were coated in Adelbert's scent.

She pushed through the revolving doors on the ground floor. The Boston wind whipped her face, carrying the harsh smell of car exhaust. She yanked the zipper of her hoodie all the way up to her chin.

She joined the chaotic flow of pedestrians heading toward the subway station. She squeezed into a packed train car and wrapped her hand around the freezing metal pole.

The train rattled into the dark tunnel. The deafening screech of metal on metal masked the heavy sigh that slipped past her lips. She rested her forehead against the glass door and closed her eyes.

Forty minutes later, Grace shoved her key into the lock of her off-campus apartment.

She pushed the door open. The overpowering, sugary scent of a Starbucks caramel macchiato hit her instantly. Her roommate, Erika, was curled up on the living room sofa, painting her toenails a bright, obnoxious pink.

Erika looked up. She saw the pale, exhausted look on Grace's face. She immediately capped the polish, slid her feet into fluffy slippers, and trotted over. She held out a warm paper cup.

"Honey, you look absolutely awful," Erika said. Her voice dripped with exaggerated sympathy, but a sharp, probing light flickered in her eyes.

Grace took the cup. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a weak smile.

"I'm fine. Just had to deal with some boring paperwork."

Erika looped her arm through Grace's and pulled her toward the sofa. She leaned in close, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

"Did Adelbert give you that look again? Was he being a jerk?"

At the sound of his name, Grace's fingers violently contracted. The cardboard cup buckled under her grip. Hot coffee splashed over the plastic lid and burned the back of her hand.

Erika gasped and grabbed a napkin, dabbing at Grace's skin. But her mouth didn't stop moving.

"I'm telling you, Grace. A playboy like him doesn't deserve you anyway. You're too good for his drama."

Grace didn't reply. Her bones ached with exhaustion. She didn't have the energy to navigate Erika's toxic probing. She muttered a quick excuse about a headache, stood up, and walked straight to her bedroom.

She shut the door. She dropped her bag onto the rug and let her body collapse onto the soft mattress. She stared blankly at the white ceiling.

The silence in the room was deafening. It was suffocating. She needed noise. She needed something to drown out the memory of Adelbert's voice in that elevator.

She rolled over and grabbed her MacBook from the nightstand. She flipped it open and clicked the purple Twitch icon sitting on her bookmark bar.

The homepage loaded. A massive banner dominated the screen. It was a stream with over a million active viewers. The title read: Legend - PUBG NA Solo Rank Push.

Grace clicked into the stream. There was no face cam. Just a sleek, black mask logo in the corner of the screen. The audio was filled with the chaotic, deafening sounds of digital gunfire.

Then, a voice came through her speakers.

"Two behind the tree on the left. One by the rock on the right. Don't panic."

It was Legend. His voice was incredibly deep, calm, and laced with a magnetic authority.

The sound of his voice acted like a physical balm on Grace's frayed nerves. Her heart rate slowed down. She pulled the laptop closer, her eyes glued to the crosshairs on the screen.

Legend's character moved through the digital crossfire like a ghost. He snapped his Kar98k sniper rifle up. Bang. Headshot. Bang. Headshot. He cleared the entire battlefield with terrifying, fluid precision.

The golden letters flashed across the screen: Winner Winner Chicken Dinner.

The chat box exploded into a blur of text, thousands of people worshipping the god of the server.

Grace stared at those golden words. A sudden, violent urge clawed at her chest. She wanted that. She wanted to be in a world where she had total control. Where she could pull a trigger and make her problems disappear.

She exited full screen. She opened the Steam application. She typed four letters into the search bar: PUBG.

The price tag read $29.99. She didn't even blink. She linked her credit card and clicked purchase.

The blue download bar started to crawl across the screen. Grace stared at it, a dark, stubborn fire igniting in her eyes.

Outside her door, Erika let out a loud, fake laugh while talking on the phone. Grace grabbed her noise-canceling headphones and clamped them over her ears, completely shutting out the hypocrisy of the real world.

She opened the notes app on her phone and started typing: PUBG beginner guide. Her thumbs flew across the glass.

A sharp chime rang through her headphones. The Steam download was complete.

Grace moved her mouse. She hovered over the bright green PLAY button.