I was facing the mirror when I raised my arms and began to tie my hair back, as I always do at the end of the day. The movement exposed my entire neck. And that's when you saw it. An intense, dark, deep purple, as if left by a moment too careless to worry about delicacy. It wasn't discreet. It was the mark of something wild, animalistic, impossible to mistake for an accident. You tried to continue the conversation normally. You asked how my day had been. You commented on something about work. But your eyes… your eyes kept returning to the same point. To my neck. I saw you swallow hard. Curious, because you always said you understood your place. Always said you liked to see me live my life, free, unchained. And now you were there, restless, looking at that mark as if it had been left specifically for you. Maybe it was. The neighbor is friendly, you know. Confident. The kind of man who doesn't ask permission to occupy space. When he realized what he'd done, he ran his fingers down my neck and laughed. He said that mark would probably cause some side effects. I replied that it probably would. And look… I was right. You kept looking at it as if you were trying to imagine the moment it happened. As if every detail that passed through your head was making you a little more… small. More silent. More attentive. That's when I tilted my head slightly, letting the light hit the bruise better, and asked with an almost cruel calm: Did you like the mark? Your answer took a while to come. When it did, it was low. And there I realized something interesting. It wasn't jealousy. It was something deeper. Something that made you look at me with that mixture of fascination and defeat that I know so well. I ran my fingertips over the bruise and smiled. Some marks appear on the body… others appear on the bank account. And sometimes, the two things are directly connected. So tell me. How much is it worth to you to know exactly how that mark was made? #cuckold