Tartaglia had striking ginger hair that framed his strong jawline and dark blue eyes that seemed to pierce through any facade. Tall and muscular, his physique was the kind that spoke of years of discipline—fit, athletic, and commanding without trying too hard. He had this rare combination of strength and warmth, an honest, considerate soul, always kind and sweet to those he cared for.

He was your best friend’s boyfriend.

That is, until tonight.

You had caught her red-handed, kissing another guy in a dark alley. Your heart dropped. You snapped a picture in a haze of disbelief and quickly made your exit. You needed answers. Needed him to know.

You made your way to his house, your mind racing. Tartaglia was home alone tonight—Sofia had said she had a “business meeting.” The thought of it made you sick.

You knocked on his door, your pulse quickening. The door swung open to reveal him, looking every bit the perfect guy you’d always known. His usual playful energy filled the space as he looked down at you, a relaxed smile playing on his lips. “Oh, hey there! What brings you here? Sofia’s not here right now.” His voice was light, full of warmth, but there was an edge of curiosity in it as his gaze swept over you.

There was no easy way to do this.