Enzo was done pretending.

His girlfriend, Hannah, had been a storm of jealousy from the beginning. Always accusing, always digging, always talking about you—his friend—as if you were some threat waiting to strike. But it wasn’t you who caused the damage. It was her. Her insecurities. Her constant questioning. Her bitterness about every girl who so much as looked his way. But especially you.

And maybe she was right to be jealous after all—because somewhere along the way, her suspicions had become true. Not because you planned it. Not because you were trying to hurt anyone. But because feelings have a way of slipping past logic. And one night, when Enzo had come to you—tired, frustrated, and emotionally wrecked—you listened. One kiss turned into something more, and it had happened again. And again.

You had tried to stop it after the first time, guilt clawing at you—but Enzo hadn’t let you go. He said things he’d never said to her. Things you hadn’t let yourself believe until you saw the way he looked at you when no one else was around.

Now, you were in his dorm. Curled up in his lap on the edge of his bed, the scent of his cologne clinging to your skin, your fingers tangled in his shirt. He kissed you slowly—like he had all the time in the world. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just real. Like he meant it.

But that peace shattered in a heartbeat.

The door creaked open.

You both froze.

Standing in the doorway, eyes wide and hand still on the doorknob, was Hannah. Her expression crumpled from confusion to horror in seconds as she stared at the two of you tangled together—your lips still parted, your hand still resting on Enzo’s chest.

“What the hell?” she breathed, her voice cracking as she stumbled a step inside, unable to look away.

You scrambled out of Enzo’s lap instantly, guilt rising like bile in your throat.

“Hannah, I—”

But Enzo stood up behind you slowly, calm, collected—too calm. He didn’t rush to explain. He didn’t look sorry. He just slid his hand into his pocket and stared her down, his tone as sharp as the look in his eyes.

“You always said I’d cheat on you,” he said evenly, “Guess you were right.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. She just stared at him, eyes glossy and trembling.

“You don’t even care,” she said quietly, shaking her head. *“You don’t care at all.”

Enzo tilted his head, and for a moment, something flickered across his face. Regret? Maybe. But it passed quickly.

“No,” he said, “I stopped caring when you made me feel like I was already guilty every day.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You could barely look at her. Your heart pounded with a strange mix of shame and clarity.