Chapter 3

Four years.

Four years I had loved Ethan Hayes.

He was the golden boy, the charming athlete, the one everyone said was the perfect boyfriend.

He' d always been so attentive, so caring. Or so I thought.

Now, his words echoed in my mind, twisting every memory.

His specific preferences in bed, the role-play scenarios he' d always initiated.

I' d thought it was just him, his way of being intimate.

Now, a horrifying realization dawned. He was filming. He was always filming.

A comment from a friend, years ago, surfaced. "Ethan and Chloe are so close, it's almost... weird, you know?"

I' d dismissed it then. Now, it felt like a neon sign.

His loyalty wasn't to me. It was to her. A twisted, possessive loyalty that made him capable of this.

I stumbled back to my dorm, my body numb, my mind a chaotic storm.

The photos, the videos, his cruel words, Chloe's smirk. It all swirled together.

I collapsed onto my bed, sobbing, the humiliation and betrayal washing over me in waves.

I had to get out. I couldn' t stay here.

My parents. They were diplomats, stationed overseas on a highly sensitive mission. Usually unreachable.

But I had to try.

I dialed their secure line, my fingers fumbling.

It rang. Once. Twice.

"Sarah? Honey, is everything alright?" My mom' s voice, a lifeline.

It was a miracle. A brief communication window had just opened for them.

The words tumbled out, a torrent of tears and pain. The photos, Ethan, Chloe, the frat house.

"I want to come home," I choked out. "I can't stay here."

They had always encouraged me to apply for a prestigious international policy fellowship near their current posting. I' d been hesitant before, tied to my life here, to Ethan.

"The fellowship, Mom, Dad, I want to do it. Please."

"Of course, sweetheart," my dad' s voice, firm and reassuring. "We' ll arrange everything. Just focus on getting here."

Relief, so potent it almost buckled my knees, flooded through me.

We talked logistics, quickly, efficiently. They would fast-track everything.

Just as I hung up, my phone buzzed again.

Ethan.

My heart leaped into my throat.

I almost didn't answer, but some morbid curiosity, some desperate need to hear what lie he' d spin, made me pick up.

"Sarah? Oh my god, I just heard about those photos. Are you okay? I can't believe someone would do that to you."

His voice was laced with fake concern, feigned shock.

"I believe you, Sarah," he continued, his tone earnest. "I know you wouldn't want those out there."

Bile rose in my throat. He believed me? He was the one who did it.

"Listen," he said, "Chloe feels terrible about yesterday too. She' s throwing a small get-together tonight at the frat house. She wants to apologize properly, and we all want to cheer you up. You should come."

A party? To apologize? After what I' d overheard?

It was a trap. I knew it.

But a tiny, foolish part of me, the part that still couldn't believe the Ethan I loved was gone, whispered, what if?

"I... I don't know, Ethan," I stammered.

"Please, Sarah. For me? For Chloe? It' ll make things right."

Make things right. The words mocked me.