Elena was there because her boyfriend, Mark, was late. Again. Mark was a good man—reliable, kind, and whose idea of a wild night was extra cinnamon in his oatmeal. She loved him. She did. But sometimes, “reliable” felt like a synonym for “predictable.” And predictable, she was discovering, had a half-life.

That’s when she saw him. Theo.

Afterward, as Theo slept, Elena watched the rain streak the window. She realized something: she didn’t want the secret anymore. She didn’t want the thrill. She wanted the truth.

She took a step forward. Then another.

“Then we end it,” Elena said, her voice steady even as her heart cracked.