My breath caught in my throat, cold and sharp like a blade pressed against my neck. A sense of unreality washed over me as my eyes stayed locked on the screen. At that moment, someone in the group chat mentioned Clark directly:

[You're amazing, bro.]

[When are you going to post a tutorial on this?]

A chill crept down my spine as I clicked on the referenced message. It was Clark's reply to a question from another group member: [Bro, what to do if you feel uninterested in your girlfriend but can't break up with her?]

Clark's answer was casual, almost flippant: [Fake it. I usually keep up the act until after she pops out a kid.]

I scrolled further, my breath hitching as I read another of his replies: [And what to do if you're about to get caught cheating?]

His response was maddeningly indifferent, as if relationships meant nothing to him: [That really depends on how good you are at lying. I'll post a tutorial when I have time.]

His words cut deeper than any knife. They weren't just detached—they were callous, cold and devoid of any genuine feeling. Rage built up inside me, tightening my chest until it hurt to breathe. My fingers trembled as they slid across the phone screen, the motion mechanical and distant, as if they belonged to someone else. Every new message I read added fuel to the fire burning within me.

For a moment, I felt paralyzed. The man I had trusted, the man who had promised me forever, was speaking about our relationship as though it were some elaborate game. Was everything a lie?

I inhaled deeply, forcing down the wave of emotions threatening to consume me. My hands felt numb as I reached for my own phone and began taking pictures of the messages—one by one, carefully capturing every damning word. My heart pounded loudly in my ears, each beat echoing like a warning drum. I was so focused that I barely noticed the distant hum of the elevator.

Ding.

The sound pulled me out of my trance and my head snapped up. My pulse quickened. In this apartment building, each floor had only one unit, meaning the elevator could only be stopping for one person: Clark.

Panic surged through me. I quickly turned off the phone screen and placed it back on the entryway cabinet exactly as I had found it. Forcing my legs to move, I walked calmly back to the sofa and sat down, my mind racing. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat more frantic than the last.

The electronic lock chimed softly, followed by the familiar mechanical voice, "Welcome home, Mr. Hill."

The door swung open and Clark stepped inside. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his breath coming slightly fast as though he had rushed back. His eyes immediately searched the room until they landed on me. There was something almost nervous in his gaze.

I forced a look of mild surprise onto my face and asked, "Why are you back?" My voice sounded calm, but inside, I was anything but.

Clark swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Forgot my phone," he said, his tone casual, though I didn't miss the way his eyes flicked toward the entryway cabinet.

I watched him closely, every detail of his body language burned into my mind. As he saw his phone still sitting there, untouched, his shoulders visibly relaxed and he offered me a sheepish smile. Waving the phone lightly, he said, "What a scatterbrain, huh?"

He turned to leave, already slipping his shoes back on. "I'm heading out again, baby."

"Wait."

I got up and walked over to him, raising an eyebrow as I pointed at the phone in his hand. "This isn't the first time you've forgotten your phone. Why'd you rush back? Is there some secret on it?"

Clark chuckled softly, pinching my cheek in that familiar, affectionate way of his. His tone was playful, laced with indulgence and a hint of exasperation. "Here, take it. Check it all you want. You know I have nothing to hide."

I slowly reached out and took the phone from him, hesitating just long enough for him to notice. His smile remained, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.

With deliberate slowness, I entered the unlock password. The screen lit up, but this time, displaying the familiar wallpaper of us—smiling, happy, a picture-perfect couple.

Swiping up, I opened WhatsApp. There it was: his usual account, complete with our picture as his profile photo and our chat pinned at the top. I scrolled through his messages, but everything seemed normal. The group chat I had seen earlier was gone.

My heart sank as confusion clouded my mind. Was I imagining things? No. I had seen it. I had proof—the pictures on my phone. But how was it gone now? Did he have two phones?

I wanted to confront him, to demand answers, but the words caught in my throat, tangled with the rising tide of emotion I could barely contain. Instead, I forced a weak smile and handed the phone back to him. My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Drive safe."

Clark frowned slightly, concern flickering across his features. He reached out, cupping my face in both hands, his thumbs gently brushing my cheeks. "What's wrong, baby? Are you not feeling well?"

I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from spilling over. I didn't trust myself to speak. One word and I feared everything would unravel.

Clark sighed, then pulled me into a warm embrace. "Forget it. I'll just stay home and keep you company."

His words, once so comforting, now felt suffocating. I couldn't bear the thought of him staying. Gently, I pushed him back. "Didn't you say there's something urgent at the office? You should go."

He hesitated, his brow furrowing in concern. For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, but then he relented, nodding reluctantly. "Alright. I'll be back as soon as I can."

I watched as he turned and left, his figure lingering in the doorway for a moment before the door closed behind him.

The instant the door clicked shut, my legs gave out and I collapsed onto the floor. A sob tore from my throat, muffled by the sleeve of my robe as I pressed it against my mouth. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

Beyond sadness and pain, what consumed me more was fear—cold, gnawing fear that gripped my heart in an iron vice. The realization that Clark had saved a partially written "tutorial" in his notes app, titled [How to Not Get Caught Cheating and Make Your Girlfriend Love You], made my stomach churn. If the version of Clark I saw in that secret WhatsApp account was his true self, then every tender touch, every affectionate smile and every loving gesture over the years had been nothing more than a meticulously crafted lie.

The thought alone made my body tremble. A wave of cold dread surged through me, leaving me momentarily paralyzed on the floor. It felt as though the very foundation of my life had cracked and I was standing on the edge of a bottomless abyss.

I didn't know how long I sat there, frozen in place. The ticking of the wall clock sounded distant, almost like a cruel reminder of time moving forward while I remained trapped in this moment of horror. Finally, when I felt a sliver of strength returning to my limbs, I braced myself against the floor and shakily stood up. My legs felt weak, as if they might give out again at any moment, but I forced myself to stay upright.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to clear my mind. One step at a time, Maya. I put on my coat, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. My fingers gripped the door handle tightly before I pulled it shut behind me, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty hallway.

***

The night outside was cold, the wind biting against my skin as I stepped out of the apartment building. The city lights blurred past the car window in a kaleidoscope of colors as I rode toward Clark's company. Memories of our time together replayed in my mind like an endless montage, each moment now tainted by doubt. Every smile he'd given me, every whispered promise of forever, seemed to twist into something sinister. Was anything real?

I clenched my hands tightly in my lap, nails digging into my palms. I needed answers. I wouldn't let this fear fester in silence. Pain was inevitable, but dragging it out would only make it worse. Better to face the truth head-on, no matter how much it hurts.

As the car neared the company, I searched online for information about dual-interface features on Android phones. That was when I learned the disturbing truth—dual interfaces could be accessed with different passwords, unlocking entirely separate home screens. So that was how he did it. My chest tightened further. It was all calculated, every last detail.

***

By the time I stepped out of the car, I had steeled myself. The company building loomed above me, cold and imposing in the dim light of the streetlamps. I wrapped my coat tighter around me and walked through the revolving doors, my heels clicking loudly against the marble floor of the lobby.

I didn't visit the company often, so only a few employees recognized me. Those who did greeted me politely, their voices echoing in the vast, empty space. I nodded absently in response, my mind too preoccupied to focus on anything else. I took the elevator to Clark's floor, each ding of the passing levels heightening my tension.

The floor was mostly deserted at this hour, with only a few dim lights still on. Clark's office door stood slightly ajar, a thin line of warm yellow light spilling into the hallway. I stopped just short of the door, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that it drowned out all other sounds.

Through the crack, I caught sight of a girl sprawled lazily on the sofa, her long legs bare and crossed casually. She looked relaxed, too relaxed, as if she belonged there. Clark stood in front of her, holding a wine glass, his eyes fixed on her intently. The sight made my breath hitch, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest.

So, this was "something urgent" he mentioned earlier?

For a moment, I couldn't move. The image before me felt surreal, like something out of a nightmare. My legs felt rooted to the ground, but I forced myself to take deep, steadying breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, the crushing weight in my chest eased just enough for me to regain control.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my voice echoing in the silence. "Clark!"

Clark's head snapped up and for a brief moment, panic flickered in his eyes. The wine glass in his hand trembled slightly, spilling a few drops of pale pink liquid onto the floor.

"Maya, what are you doing here?" he asked, his expression quickly shifting from surprise to forced joy. He placed the glass on a nearby table and walked toward me, his steps brisk but hesitant, as if unsure how I would react.

I didn't answer. Instead, I stood still, my eyes fixed on the girl lounging on the sofa. She shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, pulling down the hem of her dress slightly as if to appear more modest.

Clark noticed my gaze and quickly added, "She's Jimmy's girlfriend. He went to the restroom."

I turned to him, my expression cold. "You said you had something urgent at the office."

Clark wrapped his arm around my shoulders, his voice soft and reassuring. "I did and I just finished. I was planning to head home as soon as Jimmy got back."

Before I could respond, a burst of laughter echoed from outside. Moments later, a group of men and women entered the office, their voices loud and cheerful. They froze when they saw me standing there, the tension in the room palpable.

Clark quickly took charge of the situation, his tone light and easy as he introduced me. "This is Maya, my wife and also the chairwoman of this company."

He then gestured toward the bald man leading the group. "And this is Jimmy."

Jimmy grinned, clearly unfazed by the tension. "How sweet. Your wife came to check on you?"

Clark smiled, ignoring the subtle jab. Taking my hand, he began leading me toward the door. "Alright, guys. My work's done. Remember to turn off the lights when you're finished."

***

The car ride home was silent. Clark occasionally glanced at me, his eyes filled with what appeared to be tenderness. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and silver.

Finally, Clark reached over and took my hand, his grip warm and gentle. "Baby, seeing you today made all my fatigue disappear. I..."

"The company's dress code is quite... unique." I interrupted Clark's words with a smile, my tone light and casual, though my heart still thudded uncomfortably in my chest. I tilted my head slightly, keeping my expression neutral, masking the unease gnawing at me.

Clark hesitated for a split second, the briefest flicker of tension crossing his features before he recovered with his usual gentle smile. His voice was calm, almost too calm. "It's after work, so how the employees dress is their own choice."

I nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, as the earlier scene replayed in my mind like a loop I couldn't shut off. The women's outfits weren't just casual; they were practically designed to showcase every possible curve. Tight dresses, plunging necklines, high heels clicking loudly on the polished floor—everything about the atmosphere reeked of something more than mere professionalism.

I stole a glance at Clark as he drove, his profile illuminated by the dim glow of passing streetlights. He seemed relaxed, his expression calm and composed, as if nothing unusual had happened. What an incredible act. How could he appear so nonchalant after what I had just witnessed?

Clark noticed my silence and smacked his lips, breaking the tension. "Baby," he began, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, "let me tell you a secret."

I arched an eyebrow but didn't respond, waiting for him to continue. He gave a faint, melancholic sigh, his eyes briefly flicking toward me before focusing back on the road. "The reason I was watching that girl earlier in the office wasn't what you're thinking. It's because I felt sorry for her."

I kept my expression unreadable, though inwardly, my mind whirled. Sorry for her? That's a new one.

"Jimmy is a scumbag," Clark continued with a shake of his head, his voice carrying just the right amount of disdain. "He's got both a girlfriend and a boyfriend."

The corners of my mouth twitched, but I remained silent. Clark glanced at me again, as if gauging my reaction. When I didn't speak, he pressed on, his tone earnest now. "I know it's not really my business, but I couldn't help feeling bad for her. If I don't help her, isn't that a little... wrong?"

As he spoke, his expression softened and he gave me a look I had seen countless times before—a mixture of innocence and concern, as if he were the selfless hero caught in a moral dilemma. For a moment, I couldn't see through him. Was this genuine, or just another well-rehearsed line?

I turned to look out the window, hiding the conflicting emotions that churned within me. The passing city lights blurred into a shimmering haze, casting fleeting reflections on the glass.

***

Clark hadn't always been like this—or maybe he had and I simply failed to see it. We had met during a mixer in our junior year of college. At the time, Clark had a reputation—well-known as a playboy, charming and effortlessly charismatic, with girls constantly hovering around him.

His motto had been clear: "No strings attached, no unnecessary headache." In his own words, "I'm openly a scumbag, so everyone knows what they're getting into." He was unapologetically bold about who he was, which somehow only made him more attractive to those around him.

Back then, someone like him shouldn't have even crossed paths with someone like me. I was introverted, preferring quiet solitude over noisy gatherings. But fate—or perhaps coincidence—had other plans. That day, at the mixer, I had accidentally bumped into someone, spilling my drink all over myself. Embarrassed and flustered, I retreated to a corner, trying in vain to clean the mess.

When it was time to leave, I couldn't even hail a cab. The streets were crowded and every passing taxi was occupied. That was when Clark appeared, as if out of nowhere, hands shoved into his pockets, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Hi," he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Need some help?"

I had hesitated, unsure whether to accept his offer. He wasn't exactly the kind of guy I usually associated with. But that night, drenched and stranded, I had little choice. And so, that's how it began.

According to his friends, after meeting me, Clark had cut ties with all the girls around him. He started attending classes with me, bringing me lunch, walking me home—doing everything in his power to prove he was serious. He was gentle and surprisingly polite, a stark contrast to the carefree playboy I had heard about. Under his relentless pursuit, I slowly let my guard down.

When we finally got together, I could still remember the way his eyes sparkled with promise. "Maya, I'll definitely treat you well," he had said, his voice filled with conviction. And for a long time, he did.

***

I grew up in a single-parent household, raised solely by my mother. She had worked tirelessly to provide for me and when she passed away, I found myself alone in the world. I had learned to rely on no one but myself—until Clark came into my life.

He was like warm sunlight piercing through the cold, solitary existence I had grown accustomed to. He made me feel seen, cared for and cherished in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Slowly, my world began to revolve around him.

In our senior year, Clark told me he didn't want to settle for a regular job. "I have bigger dreams," he had said, eyes alight with ambition. He shared his vision of starting a business, detailing his plans with an infectious enthusiasm. By the time he finished, he looked at me with a hopeful, almost pleading expression.

Despite my initial hesitation, I agreed. I believed in him. I believed in us. I gave him the saving my mother had left me, trusting that we could build something great together.

At first, things didn't go as planned. We lost everything—not just the money, but we also ended up in debt, tens of thousands of dollars weighing on our shoulders. Those were hard times. We endured sleepless nights, endless worry and the constant pressure of failure looming over us. But we didn't give up. We gritted our teeth and pushed forward, determined to make it through.

By the third year, things finally turned around. The business began to turn a profit and we slowly paid off our debts. Clark worked tirelessly, pouring his heart and soul into the company, enduring setbacks and pressure without complaint. I saw every ounce of effort he put in, every sacrifice he made to get us where we were today.