1 Derek and I both worked downtown, but for the past six months, we’d been locked in a cold war over where to buy our first home.

He was deadset on the north side—an hour and a half commute for both of us—insisting the property value there was poised to skyrocket.

Every time I brought up the soulcrushing traffic, he’d sigh, his tone thick with patronizing patience, accusing me of being "shortsighted" and "only caring about convenience" while he was "building our future." Then came Valentine’s Day.

Out of the blue, Derek called. His voice was uncharacteristically bright, almost giddy.

He told me he’d found a place—a preowned brownstone right in the heart of the city, just ten minutes from my office. I was floored.

I thought he’d finally listened, that he was choosing us over a profit margin. Without a second thought, I agreed to meet him after work to sign the papers.

I stood on the corner of 5th and Madison for an hour in a torrential downpour. The freezing rain soaked through my trench coat, chilling me to the bone.

My phone calls went straight to voicemail. Just as the first hot tear of frustration escaped my eye, my phone buzzed.

It wasn't a call; it was a location pin for a luxury condo complex two blocks away. “Rain’s too heavy. Serena and I are at the new place.

See you here.” My heart did a strange, painful somersault. Serena was my best friend. Why was she there? The sidewalks were slick with oil and rain.

I tripped three times in my haste, skinning my palms and knees, my dignity dissolving with every puddle I splashed through.

By the time I reached the unit, I was a shivering, bedraggled mess. Inside, the atmosphere was a sharp contrast to the storm outside.

The air smelled of expensive candles and success.

Derek and Serena were huddled over a kitchen island, animatedly discussing floor plans. "This is perfect," Serena chirped, her eyes sparkling as she pointed at the balcony. "It’s so close to my new office.

I could literally walk here.

Maybe I’ll just rent a place in this building so I can crash at your place every night for dinner." "Why rent?" Derek laughed, a sound so warm it felt like a slap to my face. "I’ve already picked out your room.

The guest suite is yours, Serena. Always." They moved on to discussing velvet sofas and linen curtains, their voices weaving together in a symphony of shared domesticity.

I stood in the foyer, water dripping from my hair onto the hardwood floor, realized the truth. Derek’s "investment strategy" wasn't based on market trends or neighborhood growth.

It was based on Serena’s zip code. My feelings weren't the priority. I was just the silent partner expected to foot the bill and provide the applause.

I stood there for a long time, watching them debate the color of the master bedroom's accent wall. Neither of them looked up. Neither of them asked what I thought.

I quietly turned around, gripped my bag, and walked out. As the elevator doors were closing, an older woman stepped in.

Seeing my soaked clothes and the hollow look in my eyes, she reached into her purse and handed me a pack of tissues. "Dry off, honey.

You’ll catch your death," she said gently. "It’s nasty out there. You should call your family to come pick you up.

It’s not safe for a girl alone in this weather." I took the tissues, my voice barely a whisper. "Thank you. But they’re… they’re busy." Busy playing house without me.

The woman’s eyes softened with a flash of pity, but she was kind enough not to pry. Outside, the storm had turned into a deluge.

My rideshare app showed "No Drivers Available" nine times in a row. Just as I was about to give up, Derek’s Tesla pulled up to the curb.

The passenger window slid down, and Serena’s face appeared, wearing a bright, pitying smile. "Cassidy, get in!

Derek said you were too stubborn to call and would probably be standing here like a drowned rat. I didn't believe him, but look at you!

You're so silly—why didn't you just call us?" He knew I was stubborn. He knew I was out here. And he’d stayed inside, amusing Serena, while I froze. Normally, I would have exploded.

I would have screamed about the betrayal and the hour in the rain. But this time, I felt a strange, cold clarity. I opened the back door and climbed in without a word.

Derek glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. "I guess a little rain is good for something.

You’ve finally learned some manners." The car moved a few blocks before pulling over at a 7Eleven.

Five minutes later, Derek hopped back in, handing a steaming cup of gourmet coffee and a warm pastry to Serena. "You said your stomach was acting up.

Eat something warm," he murmured. Then, he tossed a plasticwrapped, squashed gas station muffin into my lap. "This has been in the glove box for a while.

Eat it before it goes bad." He shifted the car into gear, his eyes flickering to the damp upholstery where I sat. "Cassidy, can you try to be a bit more mature?

I didn't pick you up for one hour, and you throw a tantrum by standing in the rain? Do you think worrying me and Serena is funny?" So, he hadn't missed the state I was in.

He just thought it was an act. I gripped the stale muffin, my knuckles white.

I wanted to scream, to defend my dignity, but a sudden gust of wind from the vents hit me, and I sneezed violently.

Serena playfully punched Derek’s shoulder. "Don't be such a jerk, Derek. Turn the heat up!

If Cass gets sick, I'm going to kick your butt." Derek reached over and brushed a stray hair from Serena’s forehead. "You’re already sweating, Serena. Don't worry about her.

There’s a blanket in the back if she’s that cold." Three years ago, I had turned down a stable, highpaying corporate track in my hometown to follow Derek to this city.

He had cried when I struggled with the commute, promising me that one day, he’d be my "forever chauffeur." He’d worked overtime, and I had worked double shifts to save for this car.

Then Serena’s mother passed away. She was devastated, and I, being the "good friend," suggested she move here for a fresh start.

I helped her find an apartment, introduced her to my network, and asked Derek to help her with her career transitions.

I never expected that in helping her find her footing, I’d be pushed out of my own life.

It started with her taking the passenger seat because she "got car sick." Then the car’s temperature was lowered from a comfortable 75 to a freezing 68 because she "ran hot." When I complained, Derek told me to "just wear a sweater and stop being a highmaintenance brat." I took a deep breath and opened my banking app.

I hit 'Transfer.' My father had sent me $50,000 that morning for the "renovation fund." I sent every penny back to his account. "Cass, what do you want for dinner?" Serena asked, feeding Derek a piece of her pastry. "There’s that new Szechuan place everyone’s talking about.

Oh, wait—you can’t handle spice, can you? That’s such a bummer.

I’ve been dying to try it." Derek, a man who used to insist on serving spoons and sanitized surfaces, naturally took the bite from her hand. "If you want to go, we’re going," Derek said. "Don't bother asking her.

She’s too picky and too cheap to enjoy a good meal anyway." I clutched my phone, saying nothing.

All those years of clipping coupons and skipping vacations so we could afford a home… and in his eyes, I was just "cheap." The restaurant was packed.

Derek naturally pushed me to the back of the line. "You wait here for the table. Serena and I are going to check out that boutique next door." For the first time, I didn't argue.

I stood in the queue and opened our shared Amazon account. I began deleting every item in the cart—the designer lamps, the rug I’d saved for months to buy, the smart fridge.

We were through. As I scrolled, I realized something that made my blood run cold. Over the past year, Derek had used our joint account to buy hundreds of items for Serena.

A Dyson vacuum. A freaking refrigerator for her apartment. A silk bathrobe. Every dollar I had squeezed out of our budget had been spent on her. Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder.

I turned, and Derek popped a dark chocolate truffle into my mouth. The familiar taste of sea salt and cocoa melted on my tongue.

I remembered five years ago, how he’d traveled twelve hours on a bus just to bring me these same chocolates for Valentine’s Day. For a second, my heart wavered.

Then, he pulled me into a hard, performative hug. "Happy Valentine’s Day, Cass." I looked over his shoulder and caught Serena’s gaze. For a split second, the mask slipped.

Her eyes weren't sweet; they were filled with a cold, poisonous venom. "Table for three?" the hostess called.

I pushed Derek away. "Let's just eat." At the table, Derek didn't even look at me. "We'll have the signature spicy fish, the cumin lamb, and the Mapo tofu.

Serena, anything else?" Serena beamed. "You remembered all my favorites." Then, she looked at me with mock concern. "Oh, Cass, I forgot. You really can’t eat any of this.

Maybe we should swap the lamb for some plain greens?" Derek hesitated for a second. "Nah, we'll just get her a mango smoothie to cool her mouth down.

If it's too much, she can just rinse the fish in water." I didn't say a word. I poured myself a cup of plain tea.

When the fish arrived, Derek spent the next ten minutes meticulously picking out every bone and placing the tenderest pieces in Serena’s bowl. "Eat up, kitten." I stared at the Mapo tofu—red with chili oil.

I took a large spoonful. The spice hit my throat like a hot iron, but it was the betrayal that made my eyes water.

Derek panicked, pouring a glass of mango juice and pushing it toward me. "Drink this, you’re making a scene." I didn't take it. I downed the rest of my tea.

He groaned. "What is the attitude for now?" He went back to deboning fish for Serena.

I wasn't having an "attitude." He had simply forgotten, after five years, that I am deathly allergic to mangoes.

After dinner, Serena pointed at a neonlit bar across the street. "Going home is so boring. Let’s go get a drink!

It’s a holiday!" I felt a fever starting to burn under my skin—the spice, the stress, the exhaustion. "You guys go.

I’m tired..." "Don't be a buzzkill, Cassidy," Derek snapped. "We're already here." That had become his catchphrase since Serena arrived. Don't be a buzzkill.

And to keep the peace, I had shriveled myself into nothing. Not tonight. "I'm serious.

I’m calling an Uber—" Derek reached out, snatched my phone from the table, and shoved it into his pocket. "I said, stop it." He grabbed Serena’s hand and led the way inside.

The bar was deafening. Serena immediately dragged Derek to the dance floor. I sat in a dark corner, my head throbbing, trying to find the strength to stand.

I decided to head to the restroom to splash some water on my face. I hadn’t walked ten feet when a drunk man grabbed my wrist. "Hey, beautiful.

You're too pretty to be sitting alone. Have a drink with me." "Let go," I hissed. I looked toward the dance floor. "Derek!" The music was loud, but he heard me. He turned.

He saw the man clutching my arm. But at that exact moment, Serena "accidentally" bumped into someone, and Derek immediately turned his back on me to check on her.

The drunk man saw he was ignored and got bolder, dragging me toward a booth. I fought with everything I had left. "Derek! Help me!" He didn't even look back.

As the man leaned in, I swung my hand and slapped him across the face. The man’s eyes turned murderous.

He lunged, his fist connecting with my jaw, sending me crashing into a table of glasses. Shards of glass sliced into my arms and back. Screams erupted around us.

Through the haze of pain, I saw Derek finally sprinting over. He tackled the guy, screaming.

He reached down to pick me up, but I flinched away from him, my body screaming in protest. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was in a bed.

My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, but my arms were bandaged. Derek appeared, handing me a glass of honey water. "Drink this. It'll help the headache.

By the way, your dad called. He’s confused about why you returned the renovation money." I took a sip, my voice raspy but flat. "I don't need it anymore.

So I sent it back." Derek froze. Then he laughed, that condescending sound again. "Still dramatic? Look, Serena accidentally tripped someone, and the guy was getting aggressive.

I had to handle that first. But I got the guy who hit you. He won't be getting out of bed for a week." He said it like he was a hero.

Like my blood on the floor was just a minor inconvenience he’d settled.

I looked at him, my heart feeling like lead. "If someone dies, does it matter how loud you cry at their funeral?" Derek’s face darkened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?

It was an emergency. I had to choose—" Serena walked in then, her face a mask of guilt. "Derek, don't fight with her. Cass, I’m so sorry.

If we hadn't gone to that bar..." Derek rubbed her shoulder. "It’s not your fault, Serena. Honestly, Cassidy, there were a hundred people in that bar. Why did he pick you to harass?

You must have been giving off some kind of vibe." I stared at him, my vision blurring with rage. Serena tugged at his sleeve. "Derek, stop." Derek sighed. "Fine. I’m sorry, okay?

Look, Serena and I have a meeting with the contractors today. I already called your office and told them you’re taking a sick day.

Get cleaned up." I bolted upright, ignoring the searing pain in my side. "Derek, my project launches today.

I told you specifically—no distractions this week." He shrugged. "They have a whole team. They don't need you for one day. Besides, if they fire you, I'll just take care of you.

You’ve been wanting to be a housewife anyway, right?" He had just erased years of my hard work with one sentence. "We’re over," I said. My voice didn't shake. "Move into that house.

Decorate it however you want. I’m done." Serena gasped. "Cass, no! I’ll call the contractors and cancel right now—" Derek’s jaw set. He saw my words as a bluff, a tactic.

His guilt turned into cold fury. "Fine. If you want to play this game, play it alone. Serena, let's go." After they left, my phone rang.

It was my dad. "Sweetie, don't be silly about the money. Renovations are expensive. I just wired the $50,000 to Derek’s account so you wouldn't have to worry about the logistics.

You kids enjoy that new home." My stomach dropped. "Dad... you sent it to Derek?" "Yeah, he said you were having trouble with your app.

Everything okay?" I bit my lip until I tasted blood. "Yeah, Dad. Everything’s fine. I’ll call you in a couple of days." I had to get that money back.

But then my work phone exploded. The project was crashing. If I didn't get there, I’d be liable for thousands in damages. I had to choose: my money or my career. I chose my career.

For the next fortyeight hours, Derek was a ghost. Serena, however, was hyperactive in our group chat.

She sent photos of backsplash tiles, velvet armchairs, and "his and hers" closet organizers. I muted the notifications. The project launched. It was a success, but barely.

I walked into my boss’s office and handed in my resignation. Rachel, my mentor, looked at me with deep sadness. She didn't try to stop me. She knew I was broken.

I walked out of the building and called Derek. No answer. I opened Instagram. Serena had posted a photo thirty minutes ago.

It was a picture of a legal document—a "Lifetime Right of Residency" agreement, signed with a red thumbprint. “Official resident of the Grant Manor!

Thank you, D!” I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my throat. I liked the post and commented: “Congrats. The house is all yours.

Just tell your 'D' to give me my dad’s $50,000 back.” Ten minutes later, Serena called me. But it wasn't her. It was a man’s voice. "Is this Cassidy?

Your friend Serena has been in a serious car accident. You need to get to St. Jude’s Hospital immediately." My world tilted.

No matter how much I hated her in that moment, she was the girl I’d shared a decade of secrets with. She had no family left.

I ran through that hospital like a madwoman, heart hammering against my ribs, tears streaming down my face. I searched every floor. Nothing.

I collapsed in a hallway, sobbing, the weight of everything finally crushing me. Then, two shadows fell over me. "Cass! Surprise!" I looked up.

Serena was standing there, tucked under Derek’s arm, radiant and perfectly fine.

No blood, no bruises. "You were ignoring us," she giggled, holding up her phone to my face to record my reaction. "I had to trick you to get you to show up. Aww, look at you!

You really do love me. I have to post this." Her eyes were dancing with malice. She wanted to see me broken. She wanted to prove she could pull my strings whenever she wanted.

And my boyfriend—the man I’d loved for five years—just stood there. He didn't help me up. He just said, "Okay, one photo is enough, Serena.

Cass is sensitive." Something inside me finally snapped. I reached up, snatched her phone, and hurled it against the linoleum floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces. "Get.

Out." Serena fakestumbled back, clutching her chest. Derek’s face transformed. He shoved me back, hard. I hit the wall, my arm scraping against a sharp decorative stone.

Blood began to seep through my sleeve. "Are you insane?" Derek yelled, scooping Serena up. "She was trying to fix us!

She was being a good friend, and you act like a psycho?" He looked at my bleeding arm. For a second, his eyes softened, but then he hardened them. "You want everyone to get out?

Fine. Get out of my house. Today." "Give me my father’s $50,000," I said, my voice like ice. "And I’ll go." Derek paused.

Serena started "crying," pulling the residency agreement out of her bag and tearing it up. "I’ll go! I won't stay where I'm not wanted!" Derek lost it. "Cassidy!

She’s your best friend! How can you be so greedy? You want the money? Fine. I’ll give it back to you. Just pack your shit and vanish." He chased after her.

I wiped my face, walked out, and caught a cab to the apartment we had shared. I packed my life into three suitcases. As I was leaving, the door opened. Serena was there.

She "accidentally" dropped a folder. I saw the document inside. Real Estate Purchase Agreement. Buyer: Serena Brooks. Down Payment: $50,000. My heart stopped.

I picked it up. "Derek," I said as he walked in behind her. "Where did she get fifty grand for a down payment?" Derek wouldn't look at me. "You wouldn't let her live with us.

She needed a home, Cassidy. There was a promotion on this unit... it was a steal. I lent her the money. We'll save up again.

We can do the renovations next year." "You used my father’s money—money meant for my future—to buy her a condo?" "We're all friends," he muttered. "It's just a loan." I didn't cry.

I didn't scream. I just picked up my bags. Derek watched me walk to the elevator. He started to reach out, then stopped. I didn't go to a hotel.

I went straight to the police station. "I'd like to report a grand larceny and financial fraud," I told the officer.