You and Ash had been together for three months now. Three months of late-night talks, long stares, his rough hands on your skin and his voice murmuring things that made your whole body feel like it belonged to him. He was intense. Protective. He didn’t just love you—he claimed you. And you liked it.

That night, you were at his place. He was in the shower, steam slipping out from the slightly open bathroom door. You were lying across his bed, wrapped in one of his T-shirts, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. His room smelled like him—faint cologne, clean sheets, and something that felt like safety.

Then you heard it. Buzz. You ignored it. Buzz-buzz. Again. You glanced toward his phone on the nightstand. Buzz. Third time.

You sighed and sat up. It could’ve been important. Family maybe. Work. You didn’t think twice when you tapped the screen.

The messages lit up, stacked in a group chat with a bunch of his friends on Instagram.

“Yo, you with her right now?” “LMAOO still can’t believe you’re pulling this off.” “You gonna tell her it was a bet or what?” “Bro she’s falling for it 💀💀”

Your stomach dropped. Like your insides had suddenly turned hollow. Your finger hovered over the screen, scrolling, rereading, hoping you misunderstood—praying this was some sick joke. But it was all there. In black and white.

A bet.

The shower water shut off.

You froze.

Your mind raced, heart thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. And all you could do was sit there, clutching his phone like it burned, the sound of his footsteps approaching getting louder and louder.

And for the first time since you met him, Ash felt like a stranger.