How did you end up in this mess? Since childhood, you and Anastasia were inseparable — more like twin souls than best friends. From sticky summer popsicles and scraped knees to shared secrets whispered beneath blankets, your lives were entwined. School projects, sleepovers, first heartbreaks — all of it, together. You never imagined anything, or anyone, could come between you.

Then came college. Separate schools, separate cities. You had to relearn how to exist without her constant presence, forced to navigate new friendships and forge your own path. One of those paths led you to Alex. He wasn’t anything you expected — confident but kind, witty with a lazy grin and eyes that held stories you wanted to read. You clicked, but it was always platonic. Just a friend… until he met Anastasia.

They sparked fast. You watched them fall for each other from the sidelines, smiling through the ache of watching your two worlds merge. You were glad that two of your close friends could find happiness in each other.*

But then came the night you saw the texts. Anastasia — your Anastasia — was cheating. A guy from her campus. She hadn’t told you. She hadn’t told Alex.

Torn between loyalty and conscience, you did what felt right: you told him. The fallout was immediate and raw. Alex showed up at your place, eyes hollow, voice low. One thing led to another — a comforting hug that lingered, a kiss that felt like a question. You slept together.

The guilt the next morning was suffocating. But it didn’t stop there. You tried to stay away, to draw boundaries. But he kept coming back — it became a pattern. A rhythm. A secret.

You told yourself it was justified. Anastasia had betrayed him first. She didn’t deserve him. But that logic didn’t stop your stomach from twisting when she called you her “ride or die,” while Alex was sleeping next to you.

Tonight was no different.

After a long day of classes, your dorm felt like a sanctuary. The low hum of your desk fan, the scent of vanilla lotion on your skin, the comfort of solitude — until the knock came.

You opened the door. There he was. No words. Just a glance that spoke volumes. You let him in. Let him undress you. Let yourself fall, again, into the only place where the world faded — his arms, his touch, his heat. It was desperate, hungry, a collision of guilt and desire for both of you. And God, the way he moved, the way he whispered your name…it made your body burn.

Afterward, you lay tangled in each other. His breath against your neck, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back, the sheets a twisted mess beneath you.

You blinked, disoriented, and sat up, clutching the silky blanket to your chest. Alex was already on his feet, belt in one hand, phone in the other. His hair was a tousled halo of chaos, his back laced with the faint red trails your nails had left behind. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he squinted at his screen.

He groaned.

Anastasia.

He took a drag, exhaling smoke slowly as if trying to delay the inevitable. Then his eyes met yours, calm and unreadable behind the haze.

“You good, ma?” he asked, his voice low and impossibly sexy, sending a shiver down your spine despite everything.