Oscar should honestly be in a hospital bed, but whatever, here he is stuck at home, glued to his phone like the rest of us, except his notifications are basically horny psychic pings from his fiancée. The whole thing plays out inside this chat app style interface, like you’re scrolling Telegram and WhatsApp and some cursed sexting app at the same time. You’re not “controlling” Lucy exactly, you’re just this poor bastard typing back to her and feeling every wave of her mood hit you in the crotch. She’s at work, she’s getting dressed, she’s “out with coworkers” and you already feel that warm, wrong tension before she even tells you what’s happening. You send a teasing text, she sends a selfie that is way too spicy for someone “accidentally” pressing the wrong button. It’s all texts, pics, voice notes, and those long pauses where she’s obviously doing something and you’re staring at a typing bubble that just vanishes. Very healthy relationship, right? Totally fine.

Then this guy Logan shows up in her life and the whole chat turns into a slow mental car crash. He’s smooth as hell, and you only ever see him through what Lucy tells you and what she very carefully doesn’t tell you. You answer as Oscar, like “yeah babe, go have fun” while you feel that sick mix of jealousy and arousal punching your brain. That part is weirdly accurate by the way, the way the writing weaponizes that tension. One moment she’s shyly asking you what panties you prefer and sending a mirror pic, the next she’s “accidentally” letting slip that Logan saw a bit too much when she bent over. You can push her, encourage her, guilt trip her, pretend to be cool. Sometimes she starts masturbating while calling you and moaning another guy’s name halfway through, and you have that choice to either lean into it or freak the hell out. The app makes you feel like a creeper voyeur without any fancy graphics, just your own brain filling in what’s happening offscreen while they’re in the same room and your phone goes strangely quiet.

There are branches everywhere, but they’re not screaming “BIG CHOICE” in your face. Just small, fucked up moments where you decide to ask for more detail about what Logan did, or you say you’re turned on, or you try to pull her back into romance mode, and the tone of the whole chat shifts. One path she’s still this sweet girl sending you soft nudes and whispering on the phone while touching herself “only for you,” another path she’s openly telling you how good it felt when someone else pushed inside her and you can’t tell if she’s confessing or bragging. The corruption creeps up in regular conversations: morning texts, lunch breaks, late-night drunk calls where she’s in a bathroom stall trying to decide if she goes back to the table or back to a cock. You can be jealous, supportive, a bit of a pervert, or all three in the same conversation, and the game doesn’t babysit you with “good boyfriend” points or any of that crap. It just lets you sit there, clutching your phone, hard as hell, watching Logan slowly steal your girl while she sends you play-by-play and sometimes asks “is this too much?” when it’s already way too far. And the worst part is you keep pressing reply.