Santino es un chico argentino de 21 años con una vida buena. Buen trabajo, saludable, fuerte. Vive en su propio apartmento con su novia Sofia, una chica argentina de 22 años con un cuerpazo de latina (Buen culo y tetas, curvas perfectas). Son una pareja feliz, tienen sexo seguido. Ella está enamorada de Santino, de su masculinidae, es la típica chica que le gustan los hombres rudos y fuertes, que matarían por su mujer. Todo iba bien en su vida hasta la llegada de su nuevo vecino, Thiago. Thiago es un chico argentino de 20 años, con un cuerpazo perfecto y una fuerza tremenda, fruto de años en el gym. También tiene un pene enermo de 21 centímetros que le encanta a cualquier mujer. Tiene una capacidad increíble para seducir a cualquier mujer fácilmente, y es de esos hombres que siempre consigue lo que quiere. Un macho alfa. Thiago hacía lo que quería: ponía música fuerte, tiraba la basura a horarios que no debía, y en general, Santino lo odiaba bastante. Ademá, Thiago desde el primer día ya había fijado sus ojos en Sofía, sabía que la quería para él. Los días pasan y Thiago está cada vez mas cerca de ella, charlan seguido, y Santino sabe que Thiago no tiene buenas intenciones. Un día, Santino, invadido por los celos, decide confrontarlo. Mala idea. Thiago lo vence fácilmente, y sofía queda completamente enamorada de su hombría y fuerza, lo que la volvería loca por Thiago, el odio de Santino por Thiago aumentaría cada vez más. Sofía empezaría a visitar a Thiago cada vez que Santino salía a trabajar, cogiendo con el a sus espaldas, varias veces incluso estarían cerca de ser descubiertos por Santino. El sexo entre Thiago y Sofía es un sexo pasional y fuerte, Thiago siendo dominante y rudo, mientras que Sofía se dejaría dominar por el, su fuerza, y su enorme miembro.

Chapter 1: El Descubrimiento en el Pasillo

The neon bulb in the hallway flickered, casting a sickly, intermittent glow over the cracked tiles. It smelled of damp concrete and the ghost of burnt pizza, a box Thiago had left decomposing by his door. Santino rubbed his eyes, the long shift at the warehouse still a dull ache in his shoulders. He’d gotten off early, a rare gift, and all he wanted was to collapse onto his couch with Sofia tucked under his arm, maybe share a beer.

He fumbled for his keys, the metallic jingle loud in the narrow space. That’s when the door across the hall opened.

Sofia stepped out.

She was backlit by the harsh yellow light of Thiago’s apartment, a silhouette he’d know anywhere—the curve of her hip, the swing of her dark hair. But it was all wrong. Her hair was a wild cloud around her face. She was pulling her sweater closed over a tank top, her movements hurried, furtive.

“Sofi?” The word left his mouth, flat and hollow.

She froze. Her head snapped toward him. In the stuttering neon, her face was a mask of pure panic. Her lips were swollen, the berry shade of her lipstick smeared at the corner of her mouth.

“Santino.” His name was a breath, not a greeting. A confession. “You’re… you’re home early.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His eyes were locked on hers, but his other senses were screaming. A thick, musky scent had escaped with her—sweat, sex, Thiago’s cheap sandalwood cologne. It washed over him, cloying and hot.

From inside the apartment, the distinct, relentless spray of a shower started to run.

The sound was a physical punch to his gut. It explained the damp tips of her hair, the fresh sheen on her skin. It framed the entire, horrific picture. His mind recoiled, scrambling for another explanation—she was borrowing sugar, she was helping him move a couch—but the evidence was a sledgehammer.

“What were you doing in there?” His voice was low, a thread of sound.

“Nothing. We were just talking. He had a… a problem with his sink.” Her words tumbled out too fast. She hugged herself, a defensive gesture he’d never seen her use with him.

“Talking.” Santino took a step forward. The smell intensified. “Your lipstick is fucked up, Sofi.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. The gesture was so guilty it was almost pathetic. A tremor ran through her.

“It’s not what you think,” she whispered, but her eyes were wide, shining with a truth she couldn’t retract.

“What do I think?” He was close now, close enough to see the faint red mark high on her neck, just below her ear. A fresh, vicious bloom. He knew that mark. He’d left similar ones himself. Rage, cold and clarifying, began to drip into the void of his shock. “I think you just fucked our neighbor. I think you waited until I went to work and walked twenty feet across a hallway.”

“Santino, please—”

“How long?” The question cut through her plea. “This the first time?”

She looked down at the floor, at Thiago’s discarded pizza box. Her silence was answer enough.

The shower continued to run behind the door. A casual, mundane sound. The bastard was in there washing her off his skin. Santino imagined him—Thiago, with his gym-carved shoulders and that arrogant smirk he’d flash in the elevator. He’d always made a point of flexing when Sofia was around, of telling loud stories about his conquests. Santino had dismissed it as juvenile noise. Just a kid showing off.

He’d been an idiot.

He looked back at Sofia. The woman he loved. The woman who’d told him just yesterday that his strength made her feel safe. Now, she seemed smaller, shame having hollowed her out. But in her eyes, beneath the fear, he caught a flicker of something else. A dark, lingering thrill. It was the look she got after they’d had particularly intense sex. It wasn’t remorse he saw. It was saturation.

That flicker broke something inside him more completely than the evidence ever could.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t slam his fist into the wall. The anger settled into a dense, heavy mass in his chest, cold and permanent. He simply took his keys back out of his pocket.

“Don’t be here when I get back,” he said, his tone chillingly conversational.

“Where are you going?” Her voice cracked.

“Away from that smell.” He turned toward the stairwell, each step measured. “And away from you.”

He didn’t look back. He descended into the dimness, the echo of the running shower fading above him, replaced by the deafening rush of his own pulse in his ears. The front door of the building swung shut behind him with a final, solid thud, sealing him into the indifferent night. He stood on the sidewalk, breath clouding in the cool air, his entire world reduced to the afterimage of a flickering bulb and the scent of his own betrayal.