Chapter 1- Bite of Betrayal

POV-Olivia

The morning sun peeked through Olivia’s half-drawn curtains, casting warm, golden light across the rumpled sheets of her bed. The air was thick with the lingering scent of perfume, sweat, and something far more illicit. A tousled mess of limbs and tangled hair, Olivia slowly stirred, arching her back with a satisfied sigh.

She was half naked, her toned body on full display save for a pair of silky lavender panties that clung to the curve of her hips. The covers had fallen to her waist, exposing her smooth, tanned skin and bare breasts, rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Next to her, Tyler sat bolt upright, already reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyes wide as he checked the time. “It’s almost eight.”

Olivia smirked without opening her eyes. “Relax,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep and smugness. “Georgia’s always in her room journaling or meditating or… spiraling in silence. You’ve got time.”

Tyler stood and fumbled for his jeans. Olivia sat up slowly, allowing the sheet to fall completely off her chest. She stretched her arms overhead, deliberately arching her back, catching his attention like bait on a hook.

“You keep looking at me like that,” she teased, “you’re gonna be late and distracted.”

Tyler swallowed, caught somewhere between guilt and desire. “This—this was a mistake,” he said, even as his eyes traced the soft curve of her waist and the smirk on her lips.

“Oh, don’t be boring,” Olivia said, rolling off the bed with feline grace. Her bare feet touched the hardwood floor, and she padded over to her dresser. “You think too much.”

She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a matching set: a faux teddy bear-fur bra in soft beige, cozy and plush, with little satin bows on the straps. She clasped it behind her back and turned, giving Tyler a view of her full figure—her flat stomach, her toned thighs, the subtle jiggle in her hips as she moved. She stepped into a pair of booty shorts, soft ribbed cotton with a faded cartoon peach stitched on the rear. They hugged her like a second skin.

Tyler watched her, lips parted. Olivia walked over and looped her arms around his neck.

“Relax,” she whispered against his mouth. “We’re just having fun. She’ll never know.”

Tyler didn’t kiss her back this time. He just stared at her like she was a beautiful wreck he couldn’t look away from.

“Out the side door,” she reminded, brushing imaginary lint from his shoulder. “Same as before.”

He left a moment later, hoodie in hand, avoiding eye contact.

Olivia closed the door behind him, locking it with a soft click. Then she turned toward her mirror, admiring the way the plush bra cupped her chest, the way her shorts hugged her hips and made her already round backside pop just a little more.

She ran her hands down her sides and smiled.

“Still got it.”

She tousled her already wild golden hair and smoothed a bit of gloss over her lips. Then, satisfied, she strolled into the kitchen—braless under her cozy teddy fur top, her shorts creeping up with every step, like she was still on display even if Tyler wasn’t there to see it anymore.

Time for coffee. And maybe a little show for Georgia.

—

POV: Georgia

Georgia groaned as the vibrating alarm rattled her nightstand for the third time. Her arm flopped out from beneath the covers, fumbling for the snooze button. She didn’t want to get up—not yet. Not with how sore her body felt from another long dinner shift the night before. Her feet still throbbed from hustling plates across slick tile. Her hips ached from too many side bends dodging trays.

She finally sat up, sluggish and stiff, her oversized T-shirt clinging to her skin from the heat that gathered overnight. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror beside the closet. Her eyes immediately dropped to the softness of her stomach where her shirt had ridden up. A year ago, it had been flat. Now it bulged, round and obvious, a stubborn reminder of eight months of comfort eating, skipped workouts, and stress.

“Ugh…” she muttered, palming the plush weight of her belly. “Thirty pounds. Maybe more.”

She hadn’t stepped on a scale in weeks—intentionally.

It didn’t help that the uniforms at the restaurant were cheap, stiff, and tight in all the wrong places. She’d already requested to size up… twice. The manager, some smug ex-frat guy, had smirked the last time she asked. "You need a medium now? Sure, Georgia. Happens to the best of us."

She tugged her sleep shirt back down over her thighs and slowly made her way to the bathroom. Her bare feet thudded against the floor. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and forced her fingers through her frizzy brown curls until they half-behaved.

It was almost nine. She could already hear Olivia moving around in the kitchen—banging cabinets, humming some pop song off-key.

Georgia sighed. Of course she’s up already. Probably made herself a TikTok smoothie while half-naked again.

She threw on a loose hoodie—one of Tyler’s, actually—and a pair of black cotton shorts. They were snug, annoyingly so. Everything had gotten a little snug lately. Her thighs rubbed more. She could feel the shift in her walk, the extra jiggle in her hips. She couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Tyler hadn’t touched her in weeks.

She padded into the kitchen, crossing her arms against her stomach for comfort. Olivia was standing at the counter, wearing one of her ridiculous outfits—a fuzzy, braless teddy bear bra top and a pair of practically painted-on booty shorts. Her hair was perfectly messy, her makeup somehow already flawless.

Georgia blinked. She could still smell his cologne faintly in the air.

“Morning,” Olivia chirped, biting into a toasted muffin dripping with butter and jam.

Georgia forced a smile. “Morning. You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Olivia said with a shrug. “Felt like treating myself.”

Georgia opened the fridge and grabbed a plain Greek yogurt. She wasn’t really hungry, but she needed something light—anything to feel better after last night’s shift and this morning’s reflection.

Olivia flounced over to the couch, flopping down with exaggerated ease, her legs kicked up, belly flat and golden under soft fabric.

Georgia sat across from her with her yogurt, watching silently as Olivia scrolled through her phone.

“You’re not working today?” Olivia asked without looking up.

“Dinner shift again.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Olivia licked jam off her thumb. “Bet that’s hard on your feet.”

“It is,” Georgia muttered, feeling suddenly heavy in more ways than one. “Lot of walking.”

Olivia tossed her hair and grinned. “Maybe it’s like built-in cardio.”

Georgia bit her spoon.

She couldn’t shake the feeling. The looks. The scent. The way Tyler had been pulling away. Olivia, lately, had been... too confident. Too flirty. Too smug.

And now, this morning?

Something had changed.

Something was off.

Georgia finished her yogurt in silence, eyes narrowing.

—

POV: Olivia

The gym smelled like eucalyptus spray and ambition.

Olivia strutted through the sliding glass doors, her black leggings hugging every curve and her neon pink sports bra cropped just enough to show off her taut stomach and a teasing sliver of underboob. Her ponytail bounced behind her as she made her way to the mirror-lined cardio section, drawing a few side glances along the way.

She loved this part—walking in like she owned the place.

Hopping onto the elliptical, she synced her playlist and started to warm up. The screen glowed as she tapped in a thirty-minute workout. Within moments, her hips were swaying to the beat, her figure rocking rhythmically in her reflection.

That’s when she saw him.

Two rows over on the treadmill: tall, broad shoulders, clean jawline, messy brown hair, and a sleeveless hoodie that clung to his biceps in all the right ways. He looked up from his own workout, caught her eyes in the mirror, and smirked.

Game on.

Olivia adjusted her stance, lifted her chin, and kept going, her hips rolling more with each stride. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip as sweat shimmered on her collarbones. She didn’t break eye contact with the mirror.

Ten minutes later, she stepped off the machine, pretending to check her phone as she wandered toward the water fountain. She grabbed a paper towel and dabbed her forehead—deliberately slow, deliberately sexy.

He appeared beside her like clockwork.

“Need this?” he asked, holding out a clean white towel from the front desk.

She took it, brushing his fingers. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

“Not when someone’s working that hard to make cardio look that good.”

She laughed, leaning against the wall, still glistening and flushed from her workout. “I’m Olivia.”

“Nick.”

They exchanged a few lines of small talk—where she worked, what music she ran to, how boring his IT job was. The usual. But the chemistry sizzled between them like a coiled wire. They both knew this wouldn’t end with numbers exchanged and polite goodbyes.

As they walked out into the sunlit parking lot together, Olivia paused beside her car and gave him a long, lingering look. She could see him hesitate—testing the moment. She leaned in first.
Their lips met like sparks on dry leaves. Soft at first, then greedy. His hands slid down to her hips. Hers tangled in his hoodie strings. It was messy, impulsive, reckless.

Just the way she liked it.

Minutes later, her hair was a tousled mess again, and her bra strap was halfway off her shoulder. She giggled, fixing herself in the driver’s mirror.

“I should go,” Nick said, grinning. “Before we take it too far.”

She pulled the strap back up and winked. “You’ll live.”

Back behind the wheel, she checked her phone. Two unread messages. One from her favorite café across the street offering a two-for-one muffin deal. The other from Tyler.
Tyler: Can’t make it tonight. Swamped with stuff.

She rolled her eyes and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
Olivia: Might be busy later 😉

She hit send, started the engine, and drove toward the café with a wicked grin.

—

POV: Georgia

The apartment was quiet again. Olivia had gone to the gym—Georgia knew because she always announced it loudly, like it was a medal-worthy accomplishment. Something about “keeping the peach tight,” she’d joked once while tugging her booty shorts higher than necessary.

Georgia stood in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the hem of her hoodie. She caught her reflection—soft, rounded stomach pushing faintly against the inside of the fabric. Her thighs looked fuller too. She turned sideways, eyes narrowing. She looked heavier. She was heavier. Thirty pounds heavier, according to the last time she'd dared to weigh herself.

She sucked in her stomach. It made no difference.

“Gross,” she muttered and looked away.

She plopped onto the edge of her bed, her weight sinking deep into the mattress. Her knees ached a little more these days when she stood too long, and her work shoes were stretched near their limit. Working dinner shifts at Rockford's Grill & Tap wasn't exactly cardio—but it kept her on her feet five nights a week.

Still, the pounds crept on.

And Tyler noticed.

At first, it was subtle. Less physical affection. Fewer compliments. Then, the kisses stopped altogether. He made excuses not to come over. When he did, he barely looked up from his phone.

And Olivia? She was everywhere lately. Flitting in and out of rooms, leaning a little too close to him at game night, laughing a little too hard at his terrible puns. She always seemed to walk by in something that showed off her toned arms, or her perfect little waist. A sports bra here. A towel around her hips there.

Georgia had chalked it up to jealousy.

But now... now, the pieces didn’t feel so scattered.

The way Tyler avoided Georgia’s bedroom. The silence in the mornings. Olivia’s smug little smiles. Her newfound confidence that practically oozed through the walls.

And this morning? The way Olivia casually swanned into the kitchen in that fuzzy excuse for a top, her chest bouncing, her shorts stretched around her perfect ass like gift wrap?

It had pushed something inside Georgia past the tipping point.

Her chest tightened. Her stomach soured. Her heart pounded with equal parts rage and heartbreak.

She grabbed her phone and opened Tyler’s messages.
Georgia: Are we still on for tonight? Thought we could cook together like we used to?

Three dots appeared.

Then it disappeared.

Nothing.

She stared at the screen for ten minutes. Still no response.

She threw her phone on the bed and walked out of the room, heart pounding. She couldn’t stand the idea of being gaslit any longer.

Something was definitely going on.

And if she was right—if Olivia really was sleeping with Tyler—then Georgia wasn’t going to cry.

She was going to burn the whole thing down.

—

POV: Georgia

The apartment was empty again. Olivia had left maybe twenty minutes ago, gym bag slung over her shoulder, her perfume lingering in the hallway like smoke after a fire. Georgia stood in her room, arms crossed, staring at the closed door across from hers.

She shouldn't go in there.

She knew she shouldn't.

But that twisting feeling in her gut wouldn’t stop. That low, churning heat just under the surface—anger, maybe. Or heartbreak. Maybe both. Either way, it pushed her forward.

She stepped into the hall.

Olivia’s door creaked open with a gentle nudge. The room was warm, the blinds drawn, golden sunlight filtering in through a gap in the curtains. Georgia hesitated in the doorway, half-expecting some kind of alarm to go off. But all she heard was the hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the faint buzz of a fly against the window.

She stepped inside.

The room was annoyingly tidy, of course. Olivia’s pink faux-fur throw blanket lay folded at the foot of the bed. Her skincare bottles lined up like soldiers on the vanity. Her laundry basket—half full of silky sports bras and pastel crop tops—was tucked neatly in the corner.

And then Georgia saw it.

On the desk chair.

Casually draped, like it had just been shrugged off after a late-night visit.

Tyler’s hoodie.

Grey. Worn. With the faded “Seattle Skyhawks” logo on the front—the one Georgia had bought for him at a street fair last fall. He’d worn it everywhere for a month. She’d borrowed it so often, it practically smelled like her.

Now it smelled like Olivia.

Her throat went dry. She picked it up with trembling hands, as if it might disintegrate on contact.

There, on the inside of the collar, was the faint dark makeup smudge near the seam. Olivia’s brand. Her shade. Georgia recognized it from the lipstick tube on the bathroom counter.
She stood there for a long time, holding the hoodie like a piece of evidence. A trigger. A weapon.

It wasn’t a suspicion anymore.

It was truth.

She dropped the hoodie like it had burned her and backed out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Her hands clenched into fists.

Her breath slowed.

No screaming. No crying. Not yet.

There were better ways to handle this. Smarter ways.

She returned to her bedroom, sat at her desk, and opened her laptop.

If Olivia wanted to ruin Georgia’s body, her peace, and her relationship—

Then Georgia would ruin everything Olivia held sacred.

—

POV: Georgia

Georgia stared blankly at her laptop screen, her hands hovering over the keyboard, shaking slightly.

She felt hollow. Cold.

The hoodie had been enough to gut her—but what twisted the knife was how Olivia had enjoyed it. The smug looks. The outfits that barely qualified as clothes. The way she strutted through their shared space like she owned everything—even Tyler.

Georgia swallowed the lump in her throat and cracked her knuckles.

She opened a search tab and typed:
"How to get revenge on a cheating roommate."

Dozens of results flooded the screen. Blog posts, Reddit threads, YouTube prank compilations. Glitter bombs. Fake dating apps. Public shaming.

None of it felt… satisfying.

She kept scrolling.

Somewhere on page five, deep in a forgotten corner of the internet, a link stood out—its title oddly specific.
"Sweet revenge? Try this."

She clicked.

A barebones website loaded, dark background with cream-colored text. In the center, a stylized image of a dessert box tied with a black ribbon.
Pound Cake Revenge™
Sweet Retribution. Baked Fresh. Cursed Thoroughly.
Product: 12 Mini Cursed Pound Cakes
Effect: One mini cake = 15 pounds of permanent gain. Effects begin within hours.
Bonus Effect: Additional food consumed compounds the gain and weakens willpower.

A small note at the bottom blinked softly in red:
“Effects cannot be reversed once begun. Choose sweet vengeance wisely.”

Georgia blinked.

It had to be fake. A gag site.

She refreshed the page. It didn’t change.

She hovered over the order button. Her mouse trembled.

But then she pictured Olivia in that fuzzy bralette this morning—smiling, satisfied, smug—as if Georgia were the fool for not noticing.

Then she imagined her again. Heavier. Slower. Doughy. Still reaching for her vanity, but unable to recognize the girl in the mirror.

Georgia clicked Order Now.

A pop-up prompted for a name and address. She entered hers, along with the apartment’s delivery instructions:
Leave in the fridge. Olivia always helps herself to anything labeled “free.”
No payment screen. Just a confirmation:
✅ Your order has been received. Sweet justice will arrive within 24 hours.
We hope your betrayal was worth it.

Georgia closed the laptop.

She sat in the dark, lit only by the flicker of the screen, her reflection ghostly in the black. Her lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile.

Tomorrow, Olivia's sweet tooth would become her downfall.

And Georgia would finally get to watch her roommate eat her own consequences.