After I Found Out He Slept with His Best Friend’s Girl

It was my twenty-seventh birthday. Spencer went out to pick up my favorite cake from a bakery in SoHo. I stayed in our apartment, curled up on the sofa. I reached for his laptop to queue up a movie. We shared passwords. We shared everything. There were no secrets between us. Or so I thought.

I moved the mouse. The screen woke up instantly. An iMessage window was open, front and center. The name at the top was Valery. Valery Ross. She was the girlfriend of his best friend, Jett Hicks.

My stomach dropped. I read the messages. *Can't stop thinking about the hotel.* *Jett's out of town this weekend. Come over.* They were explicit. Timestamped. Going back months. There were photos of her. There was a digital receipt for a boutique hotel downtown.

My chest tightened. The air left my lungs. Five years. I gave him five years of loyalty. I cooked his dinners. I played the perfect girlfriend for his mother. I put my own ambitions on hold to make him comfortable. And he was sleeping with his best friend's girl.

I read every single line. I didn't move a muscle. My hands felt like ice. I closed the laptop carefully. I pushed it back to the exact spot on the coffee table. It had to be perfect. I didn't cry. I just sat in the dark and let the cold wash over me.

Twenty minutes later, the lock clicked. Spencer walked in. He held a pink bakery box. He smiled his easy, charming smile. He leaned down and kissed my cheek.

"Happy birthday, babe," he said.

He smelled like winter air and lies.

I smiled back. "Thank you."

Two hours later, Spencer was fast asleep in our bed. His breathing was heavy and even. I stood in the dark kitchen. The apartment was perfectly quiet. I stared at a mug of cold chamomile tea on the counter. I hadn't taken a single sip. My mind was racing.

Then, a sharp knock at the door.

I froze. I looked at the microwave clock. It was almost two in the morning. I walked to the door and looked through the peephole. I blinked, confused.

I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Jett Hicks stood in the hallway. He wore a black leather jacket. His dark hair was messy. His jaw was tight. He didn't say happy birthday. He didn’t say hello. He just held up his phone.

The screen was lit up. It showed the exact same screenshots I had just read on the laptop.

"I have a proposition," Jett said. His voice was low, rough, and completely empty of warmth. "You want to hear it or not?"

I stepped aside. I let him in.

We didn't wake Spencer. We walked into the kitchen. I grabbed the bottle of birthday tequila from the counter. I poured two heavy glasses. I slid one across the granite island to Jett.

He didn't touch it right away. He just looked