"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, my voice low but razor-sharp, slicing through the heavy air. "And what the hell gives you the audacity—no, the guts—to waltz into my home like you own it?"
My eyes locked on her, burning, daring her to flinch. "Do you have a house? Do you have a life of your own? Or are you some scumbag who creeps into other people's happiness and thinks it's yours for the taking?"
Every word dripped with venom, each syllable a hammer pounding at her composure. I straightened, shoulders squared, my hands clenched at my sides. I wasn't screaming. I was declaring. I was the woman of this house—and yet, somehow, she dared to sit there, like she belonged.
"Let me make this crystal clear," I said, stepping closer, my gaze unwavering. "This is my home, my life, and my man. And you? You're nothing but a trespasser. Who raised you to have so little shame?"
The audacity of her stillness, the way she didn't even blink, didn't flinch, almost made my head spin. My lungs burned with rage, my chest pounding. I could feel the weight of every insult. I wanted to hit her in the face, but I knew Marcus would stop me. Today, I wouldn't let him.
"So, I'll ask one more time," I spat, voice tight with venom. "Who the hell are you—and why the hell are you still here, in my house, on my bed, taking what doesn't belong to you?"
And then—finally—she broke the silence, calm, cold, and dripping with condescension:
"Oh girl, cut the act," she snapped. "Stop yelling. Stop ranting. It's embarrassing." And I froze.
"Instead of standing here making noise, shouldn't you be on your way to that interview?" she continued, her voice dripping with mock concern. "Last time I checked, you need that presentation." She pointed towards my work files on the floor. "You need it to save whatever is left of that struggling career you call yours." Every word landed like a slap.
"Why are you still here, fighting for something you've already lost?" she said coldly. "Marcus isn't your man anymore. He's mine. So stop trying to draw attention to yourself." I couldn't believe the audacity. The confidence. The way she spoke like she belonged—like I was the outsider.
"You have no right to raise your voice at my man like that," she finished.
My breath caught. I suddenly could no longer breathe. And then I saw her face. Really saw her. In that moment, everything inside me collapsed.
I thought I had seen it all. I thought I understood betrayal. I thought I knew the limits of pain. I was wrong. Because this wasn't an outsider. This wasn't a stranger. This was someone from my own world. And that was when it finally hit me—the truth I had been blind to all along.
The battle hadn't entered my home that day. It had been living there the whole time.
"Wait—wait—hold on." I couldn't stop myself. The word kept spilling out of my mouth as realization crashed into me all at once. The room tilted. My body felt weightless, like I was floating without anything to hold me steady.
"Hold on—wait—no," the words spilled out of me, broken and frantic, as if saying them out loud could rewind time. My head spun, the room tilting, stretching, and warping around me. I felt untethered, like I was slipping out of my own body.
"Hold on…" I whispered again, weaker this time, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
Then my eyes focused.
And everything inside me shattered.
"Selene?"
The name tore out of my throat like it didn't want to exist. My voice cracked, splintering under its weight. Saying it felt wrong—foreign—like my mouth was betraying me too.
My vision blurred, and tears ran down my cheeks. My heartbeat slammed so loud against my chest. I could hear it—feel it—pounding in my ears.
My knees buckled, and I grabbed onto the edge of the dresser just to stay upright. This couldn't be real. My mind rejected it completely. It began scrambling for sense, for logic, for anything that could make this make sense.
"What… what are you doing here?" I asked, a hollow, broken laugh slipping out of me. It was sharp and ugly, filled with disbelief, rage, and a pain so deep it made my chest burn. "Why are you here?"
You're probably wondering who Selene is.
She is—was—my best friend. The person who knew my secrets. My fears. The woman who stood beside me laughed with me and planned with me. The one I trusted without question.
And in that moment, staring at her from my bed, beside my fiancé, I realized something terrifying.
I had never known her at all.
My body moved before my mind could catch up. I stepped towards her. Driven by pure, uncontrollable instinct—grief, rage, and disbelief colliding all at once. I needed answers. I needed to feel something.
Before I could say another word, or even breathe, Marcus stepped in front of me—blocking her with his body.
And that…
That was when I knew I was alone.
"Stop this," he snapped. "Stop embarrassing yourself." The words sliced through me. "Get out of here," he continued. "What are you still doing here, Mira?" I stared at him, unable to breathe. "You've seen everything," he said flatly. "Yes, I've been with Selene. So what? What are you going to do about it?" My ears rang.
"You didn't know?" He went on, sounding so calm. "You didn't suspect anything? Don't act surprised. She's better suited for me. She has things you don't. Things you never will."
Each sentence crushed whatever dignity I had left. I couldn't stop myself from shaking. The room felt too small. The air felt heavy.
"Did you just call my fiancé your man?" I whispered, my eyes locked on Selene. "How did this happen? When did it start?"
The confidence in her silence answered me more loudly than words ever could. And that was when it hit me. This wasn't recent. This wasn't accidental. This had been happening right under my nose for a very long time. I let out a low, broken laugh—not because anything was funny, but because my body needed a release. I was overwhelmed, furious, and humiliated.
I pressed my hands together, forcing myself to breathe, to stay standing, to stay in control. Because in that moment, I knew one thing clearly—
If I didn't hold myself together, I would lose more than just the man and the friendship I had already lost.
"Mira, stop," Selene said in a calm tone. "Cut the act." Her voice was steady—too steady. "You know you never deserved Marcus," she continued. "You've always known that. So why are you acting shocked now?"
I couldn't move.
"Look at him," she said, gesturing casually. "Look at what he's built. Look at who he's become. His achievements. His status. And then look at yourself." Each word was deliberate. "What exactly were you doing with a man like that?" she asked. "He was never going to choose you. Deep down, you knew that."
I felt something crack inside my chest.
"I tried to help you," she went on, almost convincingly. "I told you to level up. I told you to carry yourself differently. To present yourself better. To stop relying on loyalty and honesty as if they were enough."
She smiled then—not kindly. Not apologetically.
"You were so determined to stay 'authentic,'" she said, mocking the word. "So proud of being loyal. But the world doesn't reward that, Mira. It rewards people who know how to take what they want."
My hands trembled.
"I saw something valuable," she finished. "And I claimed it. Because it was clear the person holding it didn't know its worth." She smiled wider—as if she had won something. As if she belonged exactly where she stood. And all I could feel was pain. Raw. Unfiltered. Crushing.
I wanted to respond. I wanted to defend myself. I wanted to scream. But I couldn't. My throat closed. My lungs refused to cooperate. The betrayal sat too deep, too heavy. I could barely stand beneath it.
This wasn't only heartbreak. This was the kind of wound that reached into the core of who I thought I was—and shattered it.
I don't even know how the words came out of my mouth.
My eyes were soaked with tears, my vision blurred so badly that I couldn't see their faces. Everything felt distant, unreal. And yet, the question forced itself out anyway—weak, broken, unavoidable.
"How long?" I swallowed hard. "How long, Marcus?" My voice shook. "How long has this been going on?"
For a second, there was silence. Then Selene spoke. And just like that, the Selene I thought I knew surfaced—the one who never knew when to stop talking.
"Five years," she said casually. "Five whole years."
The room spun. Five years?
Something inside me snapped—not loudly, not dramatically—but completely. I felt my strength leave me all at once, and my legs gave in. I sank onto the couch, my body heavy, unmoving. I didn't scream. I didn't argue. I didn't even cry out. I just sat there.
Tears slid down my face. It was hot and relentless. I stared at them—at my fiancé, at my so‑called best friend—like I was a ghost watching someone else's life unravel. Every laugh, every whispered word between them, and every subtle touch. I felt it like knives slicing into me.
I wanted to scream, to run, to throw something, to make the world stop—but my body wouldn't obey. My chest heaved violently, and my hands shook uncontrollably. My mind spun faster than my thoughts could catch up.
This wasn't only about betrayal or heartbreak. This was war—and I had been blindsided.
The room felt too small, the air too thick, and my vision too blurry. I could feel the weight of what was about to come pressing down on me, and it terrified me.
Because deep down, I knew one thing: this wasn't going to stay contained within these four walls. The lives we had built, the trust I had given, and the plans I had made were all about to explode. And I wasn't ready.
But one thought cut through the haze, sharp and insistent: I'm not going down quietly.
And just like that, a cold, furious clarity settled over me. Whatever this mess was… Selene had just made the worst mistake of her life.