Marcus noticed the silence before he noticed anything else.
It settled over you gradually, week by week, until it felt strange to remember you had once been the happiest person in the room.
You used to interrupt conversations with random thoughts. You used to laugh so hard she’d have to grab someone’s arm to steady yourself.
Now you measured every word before you spoke.
Especially around Lorenzo.
Marcus hated it.
The three of them had grown close over the past year. Marcus and Lorenzo had been inseparable since childhood, and when Lorenzo started dating her, she naturally became part of their circle.
Marcus never meant to fall for her.
It happened slowly.
Every time he tried to convince himself he was imagining things, he’d catch the look in your eyes whenever Lorenzo’s mood shifted unexpectedly.
The look of someone waiting for a storm.
The accusation came on a rainy Friday night.
Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious.
At some point Lorenzo left to grab another drink, leaving Marcus and you sitting in the living room with everyone else.
You’d made some sarcastic comment.
Marcus had laughed.
That was it.
A moment so insignificant Marcus forgot about it almost immediately. Lorenzo didn’t.
The next morning Marcus received a text from Lorenzo.
Don’t talk to her anymore.
Marcus frowned.
What?
The reply came instantly.
I know you fucked her.
Marcus actually laughed out loud at first.
The accusation was so ridiculous it barely seemed real.
The laughter disappeared.
When Marcus finally confronted him, Lorenzo was pacing around his apartment like a caged animal.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Have I?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Sure.”
Marcus rubbed a hand over his face.
“Lorenzo, she’s your girlfriend.”
“Exactly.”
The word hung in the air.
Possessive.
Sharp.
Wrong.
Marcus didn’t know how to explain that someone wasn’t yours simply because they loved you.
That love wasn’t ownership. That trust couldn’t be forced.
After that, things changed. Fast.
Lorenzo checked your phone constantly. Questioned every conversation. Demanded explanations for things that didn’t need explaining.
If Marcus entered a room, Lorenzo found a reason to pull you away.
If Marcus texted in a group chat, Lorenzo wanted screenshots.
The accusations became a routine.
A punishment she couldn’t escape.
Then Marcus saw the bruise. Not all at once.
Just a glimpse beneath the cuff of your sleeve when you reached for something.
Dark fingerprints against pale skin.
Gone almost immediately as you yanked your sleeve down.
But Marcus had seen it.
And suddenly every excuse he’d made for Lorenzo over the years felt sickening.
Every time he’d thought, he’s just protective.
Every time he’d thought, he’s having a bad day.
Every time he’d chosen not to see what was happening.
“What happened?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
You froze.
For a second, genuine fear crossed your face.
Not fear of Marcus.
Fear of answering.
Fear of being caught answering.
“Nothing.”
Marcus looked at you. Really looked.
The bruise.The exhaustion. The way your hands trembled.
Nothing. Right.
The weeks that followed felt unbearable.
Marcus couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop noticing.
One night Lorenzo called Marcus.
Drunk. Furious.
“I know you’re sleeping with her.”
Marcus sat up in bed.
“For the hundredth time, no.”
“You’re a liar.”
“You’re destroying her.”
Silence. Then a laugh. Cold. Humourless.
“She’s fine.”
Marcus’ jaw clenched.
Because they both knew you weren’t.