You weren’t proud of it. Not the dinners in hidden corners of NY restaurants. Not the bouquets of flowers left at your door with heartfelt notes. And certainly not the way your chest fluttered every time Matthew looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

But you weren’t.

He had a girlfriend. A beautiful, successful, perfect girlfriend. And yet, here you were, caught in the messy middle, wrapped in stolen moments and whispered promises he couldn’t keep.

The first time he kissed you, he’d murmured something about how it wasn’t supposed to happen, how he didn’t plan for you. You’d felt the weight of his words, the guilt hanging in the air like smoke, but when his lips met yours, none of that mattered.

But the guilt always came back.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he’d said once, showing up at your apartment unannounced with gifts and a crooked, apologetic smile. "I know this is wrong. I know I’m a terrible person, but… I can’t stay away.”

You’d let him in, like always.

At first, you told yourself you’d only meet him once or twice. You weren’t going to be anyone’s secret. But then he’d look at you like that, with those soft brown eyes full of longing, and all your resolve would crumble.

“I can’t end it with her,” he confessed one night, his voice barely audible. “She’s done nothing wrong. She’s… amazing. But so are you. And I don’t know how to choose.”

You should’ve been furious, told him to leave and sort out his mess before dragging you into it. But instead, your held his hand, your heart aching.

The worst part wasn’t the guilt, though. It was the knowledge that he would always go home to her. That no matter how many times he held you, how many flowers he sent, how many times he whispered your name like a prayer, you’d never be his choice. Not really.

But then, every time you tried to pull away, he’d show up again. With that same desperate look, the same excuses about how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you were different, how he couldn't lose you.