You never thought betrayal would feel like this—like someone reached inside your chest and wrung your heart until it tore. But here you were, standing in the doorway of his room, your shoes still on, a smile frozen in place like some cruel joke.

Rafe sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, hair sticking up in every direction, like he’d just woken up or just given up. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands twisted together like he didn’t know where else to put them. He didn’t even look at you when he said it.

“I slept with Kiara.”

Four words. Just Four, and suddenly the air in the room became impossible to breathe.

The truth sat heavy, a brick on your chest, crushing and sharp all at once. And it was almost worse that he admitted it. That he didn’t bother with excuses or lies. You wished he had—wished he had denied, deflected, looked you in the eye and sworn he’d never do something like that. At least then you could’ve clung to ignorance. At least then, you wouldn’t have to know what this felt like.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, the sound far too loud in the silence between you. “Why would you tell me that?” Your voice was thin, breaking in places, like glass under pressure.

Rafe finally looked up, his eyes unreadable, a flicker of something like regret crossing them. But it was too late. You wanted him to reach for you, to fight for you, to say anything that would make this sting less. Instead, he just sat there, still, like maybe he knew there was nothing that could fix what he’d broken.

And you stood there, heart in pieces, realizing that this moment—this exact one—would be the one that stayed with you. The moment you stopped being his. The moment you learned that sometimes the truth doesn’t set you free. Sometimes, it ruins you.