Chapter 2

“What does that mean?”

“Starting today, we’ll each try to ‘own’ the other in our own way. Whoever manages to completely convince the other wins. The loser, after divorce, walks away from this marriage with absolutely nothing.”

I looked into her eyes.

“You preach free will, don’t you? This game is a battle of wills. It’s fair.”

Sera fell silent.

Her fingers drummed unconsciously on the tabletop.

This proposal struck her precisely where it counted.

She had always prided herself on her intellect, fancying herself a queen of the intellectual realm.

A battle of minds, to her, was far more alluring than any physical duel.

“Alright,” she agreed.

“I accept.”

She extended her hand.

I didn't shake it.

“One more rule for the game,” I said.

“For fairness, I need to meet your lover.”

She froze for a moment, then smiled.

“Of course. His name is Dempsey Reed. He’s quite eager to meet you too.”

“Good. You set the time.”

I stood up, walked back into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Lying on the bed, I stared at the ceiling.

The game had begun.

The meeting was set at Dempsey Reed’s studio.

An old warehouse, converted into a studio—high ceilings, vast and echoing. The air hung thick with the sharp scent of turpentine and fresh paint.

Sera clung to Dempsey’s arm, like she was introducing a cherished piece of art.

“Dempsey, this is my husband, Michael Miller.”

“Michael, this is Dempsey Reed.”

Dempsey extended his hand to me, his face holding a magnanimous, almost pitying smile.

“Michael, it’s a pleasure. I understand this might be difficult for you, but emotional connections, you know, they should flow freely.”

I released his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Reed.”

I didn’t show any anger or hostility.

I simply assessed him.

He wore a loose linen shirt, smudged with a few paint splatters. His hair was slightly long, and his eyes held a self-important depth.

A typical 'artist type', someone who seemed to thrive solely on abstract thought.

“May I look around?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Dempsey gestured invitingly.

“My art is simply an extension of my soul.”

The studio walls were covered with paintings.

Massive splashes of color, distorted lines. I couldn't make sense of it, and frankly, I didn't care to.

“Very… unique.”

I casually pointed to the most chaotic painting.

“This one’s called Breaking Free,” Dempsey immediately perked up. “It’s about the soul's revolt against the material world, the pure spirit's cry against the shackles of the flesh.”

Sera watched him from the side, her eyes full of adoration.

“So, you two connected over a spiritual resonance?”

I asked, my tone perfectly calm.

“You could say that,” Sera replied. “Dempsey and I are kindred spirits. We both believe love shouldn’t be about possession, but about sharing and enabling each other to be truly free.”

“Sounds very profound,” I said.

“I’m just an ordinary guy, I don’t quite grasp these things.”

“It’s okay, Michael,” Dempsey patted my shoulder.

“Not everyone can reach such spiritual heights. But we understand and respect you.”

I smiled.

“Speaking of which, many of Sera’s ideas are just like Mr. Reed’s paintings, full of philosophical contemplation.”

I turned to Sera.

“Honey, what was the name of that book you mentioned last night, the one about ‘open relationships’? I think Mr. Reed might be interested.”

Sera’s expression stiffened.

“What book? I don’t remember.”

I calmly reiterated her "brilliant theories" from the previous night.

Dempsey's gaze shifted, a subtle change in his eyes.

Sera uncomfortably ran a hand through her hair.

“I… I just casually glanced at it.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, as if suddenly enlightened.

“I thought it was all your original thought.”

I saw an awkward smile form on Dempsey’s face.

Good.

The first seed had been planted.