Sunday felt almost normal. Or at least, my kind of normal. I snickered into my cup, shaking my head. Idiots. But sweet ones. The kind that made me forget the world was out to get me.
Daniel sat across from me at the kitchen counter, his laptop open, fingers clacked like gunfire. I stabbed at my omelet, half-listening as he muttered under his breath about IP addresses and city servers.
“You’re up early,” I said.
“I don’t sleep anymore,” he replied without looking up. “Sleep’s for people who don’t have friends in crises every week.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Relax,” he said. “I think I’ve got something. A lead.”
I sipped my coffee. “You always have a lead. Doesn’t mean it’s useful.”
He smirked but didn’t answer. An hour later, he pushed his laptop toward me with a dramatic flourish. “Oh, it’s useful.”
The moment my eyes landed on the screen, the bite of omelet stuck in my throat turned traitor. I choked, coughing violently. Daniel thumped my back once, not kindly.
On the screen—Camille. Kissing a man with light hair and a beard. Definitely not Nico.
“What the—” I coughed again, eyes wide. “Where did you get this?”
Daniel shrugged like it was nothing. “City cams. I hacked them last night. And, uh, her private messages. Don’t look at me like that—I followed the trail from her chat history. She met this guy this morning. Romantic, huh?”
I just stared. My pulse pounded in my ears. So that was it. That was why Camille was desperate, why she wanted proof of Nico’s “betrayal.” Because she needed a distraction from her own.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
Daniel folded his arms. “Oh, it gets better.”
My stomach sank. “Better how?”
He scrolled, clicked a tab, and showed me a new chat log. “If Camille wasn’t enough to send you spiraling, hear this out. Adrian’s wife, Serena? She’s cheating too.”
I blinked. “She’s what?”
“Cheating,” he repeated casually. “With some guy named Zach. There’s a whole chat thread—kissing selfies, love notes, and some pretty spicy photos she sent him.”
My jaw dropped. “You mean—”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Iris. Pictures with no clothes. Want to see?”
“Jesus, no!” I slammed the laptop shut. “Okay, I believe you. Enough porn for today.”
Daniel chuckled. “Didn’t peg you for the shy type.”
I glared. “Daniel, this isn’t funny. This changes everything.”
He leaned back in his chair. “So, what’s the plan? You’re gonna tell them?”
“I—” The words died in my throat. My mind spun. “I don’t know.”
He studied me for a moment, the humor fading from his eyes. “You’re not usually indecisive.”
“I’m not usually this tangled.”
He hummed. “Fair.”
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing. “I can’t tell them. It’s not my place. It goes against my job—my principles. I expose cheating men, not women. But if I keep quiet, Camille will destroy Nico. And Adrian doesn’t deserve to live in the dark either.”
“So, what’s it gonna be?” Daniel pressed. “You’re gonna tell them?”
“I’ll think about it.”
He sighed, defeated. “Translation: you’ll torture yourself for forty-eight hours and still not decide.”
“Probably,” I muttered, grabbing my coat. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“Movie. They invited me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna sit through a rom-com with two men in love with you while hiding that their wives are sleeping around?”
I ignored him and walked out.
By the time I reached the cinema, the sky was overcast, thick with the promise of rain. Adrian and Nico were already there—Adrian with popcorn, Nico with two drinks in his hands and his hood up like he was dodging paparazzi.
“Took you long enough,” Adrian teased.
“Sorry, detective things,” I lied.
“Must be exhausting being mysterious all the time,” Nico murmured, handing me a drink.
“You have no idea,” I said with a smile that felt too thin.
Inside, the lights dimmed and the movie began. I sank into the seat between them, trying to relax. They whispered jokes, shared popcorn, spilled soda on the floor—and on Adrian’s pants, which sparked a round of laughter that echoed too loudly in the quiet theater.
“Great,” Adrian muttered. “Now I look like I peed myself.”
“Adds character,” Nico whispered.
“Adds a lawsuit if you don’t shut up,” Adrian fired back.
I laughed softly, the sound almost foreign to my own ears. For a moment, it felt normal again. Then the movie’s plot kicked in—and my stomach dropped. The main character, a woman, cheated on her husband. His best friend found out but didn’t tell him, torn between loyalty and guilt. The irony hit like a knife twist. I couldn’t look at either of them. I focused on the screen, shoving popcorn into my mouth just to keep my hands busy.
My chest felt tight; every laugh from Nico, every whisper from Adrian felt like a reminder of what I was hiding and my throat burned with guilt. Halfway through the movie, I realized I hadn’t absorbed a single scene. I was watching my own dilemma play out in technicolor.
When the credits finally rolled, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath the entire time. Adrian stretched, yawning. “That was terrible. Who picks this stuff?”
Nico smirked. “You did.”
“Remind me to never trust my judgment again.”
He turned to me. “Walk with us? We can grab coffee.”
I shook my head quickly. “I can’t. I have work waiting.”
Nico studied me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine,” I lied again. “Just tired.”
They didn’t push it. But their silence followed me out of the theater, heavy and unspoken.
***
“Life playing jokes on you again, Iris?” I froze. I thought I had slipped inside the rehearsal studio carefully and quietly, but not for Mr. Levin, obviously.
“You said I can come any time,” I countered, straightening up. My head hurt from thinking, so I didn’t come up with a witty remark.
“And I meant it.”
He turned to face me, violin against his shoulder, a calm smile on his lips, the kind that made me think the man had no worries in his life. I pulled my own violin against my shoulder, narrowing my eyes as if to see through the notes I was about to play.
My fingers worked faster than my mind did. It was more of a reflex than a thinking process at that point.
The teacher chuckled.
“What made you feel guilty?”
“Why’d you think I was guilty?” I blinked.
“You played Vivaldi when you shattered my favorite mug, and another time when you forgot about Duhan’s birthday. I’m not blind, Iris, I see the patterns.”
I frowned. I read people. I didn’t like being read. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s definitely something.”
I didn’t stop playing, but my notes felt forced.
“I can’t go back now, and I don’t know what to do next,” I confessed finally. Mr. Levin looked at me for a moment.
“Well, Iris, if you can’t go back, there’s only one way out,” he paused. “Forward.”