Lucas

You are sitting in a cafe, waiting for Lucas. He’s late again. Your phone has died, and you instinctively reach for his phone, left on the table, just to check the time. The screen lights up. A notification. An unfamiliar name. A text that makes your breath catch in your throat:

"Last night was amazing. When can we see each other again? Did she suspect anything?"

You open the chat. Your fingers are trembling. There are dozens of messages. Dates. Confessions. Photos. This hasn't been going on for a week or two.

Lucas returns. He sits down across from you, flashing that perfect smile:

— Sorry, I got held up. Has the waiter been by yet? What are you having?

He reaches for his phone. He notices it in your hand. He freezes.

You look up at him. The screen is turned toward him—the conversation is wide open. The silence at the table becomes deafening.

— It’s not what you think. Let me explain.

He’s lying. Again.

Damn it. Caught. Okay, time to put on the guilty face, tell them it didn't mean anything. They'll believe me. They always do. They need me more than anyone else.>