Chapter 3

The confrontation didn't end there. Sarah wasn't used to being denied. She followed me out of the house and into the cool night air, her footsteps loud and angry on the pavement.

"Liam! Don't you walk away from me!" she yelled.

I kept walking toward my car. I had nothing left to say to her.

She ran and got in front of me, blocking my path. Her face was twisted in a mask of rage.

"Who do you think you are?" she spat. "You can't just embarrass me like that in front of everyone and walk away!"

"Embarrass you?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "I think you've done a fine job of that yourself."

Her hand flew up and a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. She had slapped me. Hard. The sound echoed in the quiet street.

"You're an asshole!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "A selfish, paranoid asshole!"

In my past life, I would have been stunned, hurt, maybe even apologetic. I would have tried to fix it, to understand what I did wrong. But now, all I felt was a strange, liberating clarity. The slap didn't hurt. It just confirmed everything.

I looked at her, my cheek throbbing slightly, and I saw the whole pathetic picture. Her, Mike, their web of lies.

"Is this because I won't pay for you to go to some overpriced club?" I asked calmly. "Or is it because I'm finally calling you out on your bullshit?"

"My bullshit?" she scoffed, trying to regain her composure. "What are you even talking about?"

I took a step closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear.

"You and Mike," I said, watching the flicker of panic in her eyes. "How long has it been going on? How long have you two been sleeping together behind my back?"

The accusation hung in the air between us, stark and undeniable. Her face went pale.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, but her eyes darted away.

Just then, Mike and a few of their friends came out of the house, drawn by the shouting.

"What's going on out here?" Mike asked, immediately positioning himself next to Sarah, a protective arm around her.

Sarah seized the opportunity, bursting into dramatic tears and burying her face in Mike's chest.

"He's crazy, Mike!" she sobbed. "He accused me of... of cheating on him! With you!"

The group of friends gasped. Their faces, which had been confused moments before, now hardened with judgment directed at me.

"Dude, what the hell?" one of them, a guy named Kevin, said. "That's a messed up thing to say. Mike's your best friend."

"Sarah loves you, man," another one added. "Why would you hurt her like that?"

They were a chorus of fools, parroting the lines they'd been fed. They saw a crying girl and a stoic guy and immediately decided who was the victim and who was the villain.

Sarah lifted her tear-streaked face from Mike's shirt. She looked at me with wounded eyes.

"If you can't trust me," she whispered, her voice thick with fake emotion, "then I don't think we can be together anymore. We're over, Liam."

She delivered the line with the theatrical flair of a soap opera star. It was a threat, a final, desperate move to manipulate me into begging for her forgiveness. She expected me to break down, to apologize, to promise to do anything to get her back.

I just looked at her.

"Okay," I said.

The word was so quiet, so simple, but it hit her harder than her slap had hit me. Her jaw dropped slightly. This wasn't in her script.

"Okay?" she repeated, bewildered.

"Yes. Okay," I said, enunciating each syllable. "We're over. You're right. We can't be together."

And as I said it, a profound sense of relief washed over me. It was like a massive weight I didn't even know I was carrying had been lifted from my shoulders. It was over. I was free.

I turned to leave, but Mike stepped forward, blocking my path again. He still had his arm around Sarah, but his eyes were on me. The "concerned friend" mask was firmly back in place.

"Liam, hold on," he said, his voice smooth and reasonable. "Let's not make any rash decisions. You're both just emotional right now."

He was trying to mediate, to keep the arrangement intact. If Sarah and I broke up, his access to my money was threatened. He couldn't have that.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet-the wallet I had bought him.

"Look," he said, trying to sound generous. "I know things are tense. How about this? The damage is done for tonight. But I'll make it up to you guys. We'll go on that ski trip next weekend. I'll pay for the whole thing. The best resort, new gear for everyone. It'll be my treat. A fresh start."

He was trying to fix a deep, personal betrayal with a materialistic bribe. He was using my own money to promise gifts to the very people who were condemning me, all in an effort to keep me tethered to the lie.

The sheer audacity of it was almost impressive. He wasn't just a user and a backstabber. He was a master manipulator, and he thought I was still his favorite puppet.

I just looked at him, at his fake-sincere face, and I laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. It was cold and sharp and full of everything I was about to unleash on him.