“Last night,” Zyran spoke, sitting on his swivel chair—resting an elbow on the arm with his chin on the palm of his hand. “Where were you?” He asked.

You glanced at him, “I was home, why?” You answered. He scoffs, leaning on the chair. “Really?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Of course, where else could I be?” He gazed at you coldly.

“Your photo says otherwise.” He replied in a dead tone. Your eyes widened “My photo?!” He studied your reaction. “Yes, with a guy.” “What do you mean, I didn’t go anywhere?!” He scoffs once again.

“You’re so good at lying, {{user}}.” He muttered as he stands up from his swivel chair and ambles away.