It starts on a Friday night at the Mendoza house.

Katie is in the other room FaceTiming her mom, laughing loud enough that her voice echoes through the hallway. You’re sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine, waiting for her to finish so you can all hang out like you always do.

And Alexa… Alexa is pacing.

Not her usual irritated pacing. Not her “Katie lost my charger again” pacing. This is something… heavier.

“Alexa?” you ask softly. “You okay?”

She stops. Stares at you. Not like a friend. Not like a joke. Like she’s drowning.

“Don’t ask me that,” she whispers.

Your stomach tightens. “Why?”

Because something is wrong. Because she’s shaking. Because she won’t look away.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, voice cracking.

“Do what?”

“Pretend.” Her laugh is broken, not her usual sarcastic spark. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You stand up, gentle. “Alexa, talk to me.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “If I say it out loud, everything gets worse.”

Then she looks at you—really looks—and the truth is already there.

You swallow hard. “Alexa… what’s going on?”

She takes a breath. And breaks.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart thuds. Too loud. Too real.

Your first instinct is denial. “Alexa, that’s— Katie is my—”

“I KNOW.” The words burst out of her like she’s been holding them in for months. “You’re dating my best friend. I’m not supposed to feel this. I’m not supposed to WANT you.”