Ethan had been restless all week. Ever since that unnerving encounter with Adrian, every word he wrote felt heavier, like it carried the weight of an invisible audience. His manuscript — his most intimate work yet — was the only place where he felt any semblance of control. In those pages, he could escape the chaos of his entanglement with Isabella and the looming presence of Adrian Gray.
But even as he wrote, he noticed something off with Isabella.
She would linger too long on his desk, her eyes drifting over his scattered drafts as though memorizing them. She'd laugh it off when he asked what she was looking at — "Just admiring your genius, Ethan." He wanted to believe it. He needed to believe it.
One evening, after she left his apartment earlier than usual, Ethan walked into his study and noticed the drawer where he kept his finished chapters was slightly ajar. His chest tightened. He always locked it. Always.
"Maya must've… no," he muttered to himself, though Maya hadn't been by in weeks. His hands shook as he checked through the folder. The pages were still there. Nothing missing. At least, not yet.
---
Two days later, Ethan's editor called him with surprising news.
"Ethan, I've just received word that Adrian Gray is working on something… new. Radical, they say. Dark, intimate, unlike anything he's written before. They're already whispering it might be the frontrunner for the prize."
Ethan froze. "That's impossible. He's been circling the same recycled ideas for years."
"Well, whatever it is, people are calling it a masterpiece in the making. Rumor has it, he's submitted excerpts already."
Ethan's pulse raced. A cold sweat ran down his back.
That night, unable to stop himself, he attended a small literary gathering Adrian was known to haunt. Adrian was there, standing smugly at the center of a circle of admirers. His voice carried easily — smooth, deliberate.
"…and it's a story of dual lives," Adrian was saying, "about a man torn between desire and ruin, love and betrayal. A false fairytale."
Ethan's breath caught in his throat. Those were his words. Not just the theme. The phrase itself. His phrase.
He staggered back, his world spinning. It wasn't possible. Unless…
He thought of Isabella. Her late-night phone calls. Her distracted answers. The way she'd touched the edges of his manuscript like it was hers to claim.
When Adrian's eyes found his across the room, there was no mistaking it — the slow, knowing smile that curved on his lips. A smile that said: I own you now.
Ethan felt his chest cave in with betrayal. It wasn't just his story Adrian had stolen. It was Isabella who had placed it in his hands. The woman he loved — the woman who swore she loved him — had become the weapon used to destroy him.
And in that moment, surrounded by laughter and chatter, Ethan knew the fairytale was crumbling faster than he could hold it together.