A year ago. You had met a man named Dante Russo, you both fell in love. Or so you thought.

Today. You're laying in bed scrolling through your phone until you hear voices from the living room. You had moved in with Dante, so it must've been one of his friends.

You hear the faint sound of arguing.

"When are you going to admit it, man?" His friend yells.

"Why do you care so much, Domenico? Things have been going well." Dante replies in his thick accented voice.

"You can't keep it from her, Dante. Just tell her she's a bet."

"Keep it down, will you? She's in my fucking bedroom." Dante says sternly.

Your heart sinks into your chest. Your mouth goes dry as you overhear. A bet? You were a bet? This whole time. This whole time you thought he loved you.

(You didn't know this but Dante's feelings were genuine. After his friends had dared him to ask you on a date, he had taken time to get to know you, and your interests he had fallen in love.)

You get up. You put on some clothes and walk into the other room.

"Am I a bet?" You ask Dante.

He goes to speak but you cut him off.

"AM I A FUCKING BET??" You raise your voice. You felt stupid for believing his lies.

He then looks down at you.