Betrayed by Love.

Maya Bennett had always believed that love should be honest, fierce, yes, but honest. It was one of the few beliefs she'd held onto even after life tried, time and time again, to strip her of certainty. But here she was, thirty floors above the city lights, curled up on a leather couch with her heart beating too fast for comfort, staring at a phone she knew she shouldn't touch.

She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him.

Maya had told herself that countless times, repeating it like a mantra, hoping that the truth might somehow change just because she wanted it to. But it hadn't. It never did. The man she loved was never hers to begin with and yet, she had allowed herself to need him.

It started with his voice. Calm. Assured. Worn down at the edges only when he spoke to her. Alexander Carrington wasn't the type of man to unravel. He was married. Powerful. Meticulously guarded. But with her, he softened. And that softness had become her undoing.

She never asked for this.

Never wanted to be the other woman.

But emotions didn't come with warning labels, and love didn't ask for permission. It arrived quietly, then spread like wildfire. And before she realized how deeply she'd sunk, it was too late.

Each stolen night felt like a lie wrapped in silk. He'd show up at her door looking exhausted, his façade already beginning to crack. She'd let him in without asking where he'd been. They didn't talk much, not anymore. Talking made it harder. They had said everything in the beginning how wrong it was, how temporary, how they'd stop before someone got hurt. And yet, here she was, tracing the same tired cycle with the same tired ache in her chest.

He never promised her forever.

But he gave her pieces of himself, whispers between breaths, glances that lingered too long, hands that held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Maya clung to those pieces because they were all she had. That, and the truth she tried so hard to ignore.

She wasn't the wife waiting at home in a mansion. She was the woman tucked away on a quiet street, the secret he returned to when the mask grew too heavy.

She should have ended it months ago.

But endings were never that clean when hearts were involved. She had tried. Once. Told him she couldn't live in the shadows anymore. That her feelings were becoming too much. That loving him while knowing he could never truly be hers was killing her. He didn't argue. He just pulled her close, his silence louder than any plea. And like a fool, she stayed.

Now, the silence was beginning to feel different. heavier. She could feel it in the way he hesitated before answering her calls. In the lingering guilt clouding his eyes. Something was shifting.

She traced the letters on the screen with her thumb, a half-formed smile touching her lips before disappearing as quickly as it came. Before she could talk herself out of it for the third time that evening, she pressed the call button.

The line rang once.

Then twice.

She nearly hung up-then his voice filled her ear.

"Maya."

He always said her name like it was a secret. Like he wasn't allowed to speak it out loud but couldn't help himself.

"Hi," she breathed, trying to keep her voice steady. "I know it's late."

"I was hoping you'd call," he said softly. "I needed to hear you."

That one line undid her.

Her throat tightened, and she leaned her head back against the couch. "Today was hard."

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, voice husky with exhaustion.

"No," she said. "Not really. I just... I just wanted to know if you're okay."

"I'm not," he confessed.

She closed her eyes. "Me neither."

Silence stretched between them-but it wasn't empty. It pulsed with emotion, heavy and sweet, like the pause before a storm breaks.

"I hate that we're doing this," she whispered.

"I know."

"I hate that I want you here."

"I know that too."

Her eyes burned. She bit her lip to keep from crying.

"Then why haven't you left her?"

There it was. The question she never stopped asking. The question he never truly answered.

He exhaled slowly. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not," she snapped, then sighed, voice softening. "It's a choice. Everything is."

Another beat of silence. Then his voice, barely audible: "I'm scared."

That surprised her.

She opened her mouth to ask more, to dig into the cracks of his vulnerability, but a knock came from his end of the line.

His tone shifted instantly. "I have to go."

"Of course you do," she said quietly.

"Maya..."

"Goodnight, Alex."

She ended the call before he could say another word.

That night, when he showed up at her door unannounced, she already knew.

She opened the door and he stepped inside like he always did. But this time, he didn't say much. He didn't kiss her. He just stood there, like he didn't know what to do next. Maya watched him, waiting for the part where he told her something was wrong. He didn't.

He simply sat down, head in his hands.

She didn't ask what was wrong. She just sat beside him, her presence quiet, unwavering. After a while, he reached for her hand. His grip was tight, tighter than usual.

That night, he held her like he was preparing to let go.

And when it was over, when his breathing slowed beside her and the silence returned, she didn't ask him to stay. She couldn't.

Because she already knew he wouldn't.

He left before sunrise.

She stared at the empty space beside her, sheets still warm where his body had been. It used to hurt when he left. Now it just felt like routine. Familiar. Pathetic.

But that morning, something else lingered. A sick feeling in her gut, like a warning she didn't want to hear.

By noon, she got the message.

Anonymous: "She knows. And so do I."

She read it three times before her hands started shaking. It wasn't the message that broke her, it was the implication. Someone knew. Someone had seen them. And it wasn't just her shame on the line anymore.

It was his, his family and everything he had built to look untouchable.

Her phone buzzed again. A second message.

"This ends, or everything burns."