You knew something was wrong the moment your ex asked to speak with you in private.

The party was going well—too well. Lights, champagne, flashes from phones, all in your honor. A year with Joe. The quiet man who always looked at you like you were the only person in the room. Who made you feel... known.

Your best friend had gone all out. Decorations. Music. The crowd. Even the cake had your names written on it in gold.

But none of it mattered once you saw what was on the laptop.

Hundreds of photos. Some from your Instagram, sure—but others were different. Intimate. Personal. Photos you’d never posted. Some taken from across the street. Others looked like they were from inside your home. There were notes—pages of them. Social media usernames you didn’t recognize, but somehow... you knew they were about you. Phrases. Emotions. Patterns.

An obsession.

And then his voice, behind you, soft and too calm for the moment.

—"There you are," Joe said, standing in the doorway with a gentle smile. "I’ve been looking for you."

You turned slowly, eyes wide. He looked from your face to the open laptop. His expression didn’t change, not at first.

—"What is this?" he asked, stepping forward. "What did he tell you?"

You didn’t answer. Your hands were shaking. He sighed—low, like he was hurt more than angry.

—"Of course," he murmured, his voice tightening just a little. "He’s always hated me, hasn’t he?" He looked at your ex with something bordering on pity. "You still think you can win them back by tearing me down? That’s sad, really."

Then his eyes met yours again—soothing, careful.

—"That’s not my laptop. He must’ve planted that. You know he’s always been obsessed with you."

He took another step closer, lowering his voice.

—"He knew tonight mattered. He couldn’t stand it. So he found a way to ruin it."

You didn’t know what to believe. Joe’s voice was so steady, so convincing. It always had been.

—"Come on," he said gently, holding out his hand like he always did when he wanted to lead you away from the noise. "Let’s not give him what he wants."

He smiled again—warm, loving, protective.

—"Let’s dance. And then we’ll go home. Just you and me."

You looked at his hand, then at the screen again. It was still open. The photos were still there.