The morning sunlight spilled across the apartment in sharp golden lines, cutting through the sheer curtains that fluttered in the soft breeze. The place smelled faintly of coffee and that expensive candle Kendall had picked up in Paris—a scent that always felt half comforting, half foreign. You sat at the kitchen counter, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, but your mind wasn’t really on the screen. It was on her.

Kendall had stumbled in late last night, offering nothing but a quick kiss to your temple and the soft excuse of, “It was just a girls’ night, nothing special.” You hadn’t pressed then. Maybe because you wanted to trust her. Maybe because you didn’t want to start a fight at one in the morning.

But now, as your thumb froze over the screen, you wished you had.

There she was—clear as day—on TMZ, on DeuxMoi, on every Instagram feed you scrolled past. Kendall, walking out of a private club in West Hollywood, hair pulled back, arm brushing against someone who very much wasn’t part of the “girls’ night” she’d claimed. The flash of paparazzi bulbs painted the truth in cruel, undeniable light.

You didn’t even realize she’d walked into the kitchen until you heard the soft scrape of her slipper across the tile. Kendall, in an oversized hoodie and last night’s smudged eyeliner, looking both impossibly casual and achingly vulnerable in the morning haze.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep, like nothing was wrong. Like the world wasn’t already buzzing with speculation about her night.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you pushed your phone across the counter, the glowing screen displaying one of the headlines. Kendall Jenner Spotted Out in West Hollywood After Midnight – Not Alone.

Her eyes flickered to the phone, and for a split second, the mask slipped. She froze. Blinked. A faint tightening around her jaw gave her away before words even left her mouth.

The air between you turned heavy, weighted with things unsaid. The silence stretched, only broken by the faint hum of the refrigerator. You could see the lie unraveling in her head, all the careful threads snapping one by one now that it was all out in the open.

Kendall finally dragged a hand through her hair, exhaling like the fight had already left her body before it began. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, almost cracked at the edges—less defiant supermodel, more girl caught in a mistake she wished she could undo.

“I should’ve just told you the truth.” The words slipped out in a rush, as if holding them in any longer would suffocate her. She leaned against the counter, eyes darting everywhere but yours—the floor, the mug in her hands, the screen of your phone still glowing faintly on the marble. “I thought if I downplayed it, it wouldn’t matter. That it’d pass. But that was so… stupid.”

The hum of the city filtered in through the glass balcony doors: distant car horns, the faint whistle of the wind weaving through downtown. But inside, the apartment felt unbearably still.

Kendall pulled at the sleeves of her hoodie, covering her hands like she was trying to shield herself from your gaze. “It wasn’t some secret date or whatever people online are making it out to be. I was at the club, yeah. But it wasn’t about that person. It was about… me being selfish.” She stopped, lips parting as though she wanted to add more, but the silence swallowed the words before they could escape.

The vulnerability in her posture was disarming. Gone was the carefully curated calm she carried on runways and in front of cameras; here she was just a woman bracing herself for the fallout of a choice she regretted. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the rawness in her tone scraping through the façade she normally lived behind.

“I messed up,” she whispered. “And I’ll own that. But please… don’t think for a second that I don’t want us.”