Chapter 1 One

Selene POV

The elevator in Dario's building always smelled like expensive cologne and marble cleaner, a scent that used to make my heart race with anticipation. Tonight, it made my stomach churn.

I clutched the takeout bag tighter, the grease already seeping through the paper. Thai food from our usual place on 42nd Street. Pad thai, extra spicy, just how he liked it. A peace offering for missing dinner again because of my marketing internship that barely paid enough to cover subway rides.

The brass numbers above the elevator doors ticked by slowly. Fifteenth floor. Sixteenth. My reflection stared back at me from the polished metal l dark hair escaping its messy bun, mascara slightly smudged from the October rain, cheap blazer wrinkled from a twelve-hour day. I looked exactly like what I was: a girl from Queens trying to keep up in Manhattan.

Twenty-second floor.

The hallway stretched before me, all gleaming hardwood and modern art that probably cost more than my mom's monthly medical bills. My sneakers squeak against the floor, another reminder that I didn't belong in Dario's world of silk ties and trust funds.

I fumbled for my key, the one he'd given me three months ago with a kiss and a promise that felt real at the time. The metal was warm from my palm, slick with nervous sweat.

"Dario?" I called out as I pushed open the door. "I brought dinner. I know I'm late, but"

The words died in my throat.

Dario was pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park, his perfectly styled hair mussed, his shirt unbuttoned. But the hands tangled in his dark locks weren't mine. Neither were the lips moving desperately against his neck.

The man kissing my boyfriend was tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair that caught the city lights streaming through the window. He wore a suit that probably cost more than my entire semester's tuition, and his hands moved across Dario's body with the confidence of someone who'd done this before. Many times before.

The takeout bag slipped from my fingers. The sound of containers hitting marble echoed through the apartment like gunshots.

Both men froze.

Dario's dark eyes met mine across the room, wide with panic and something else relieved? His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed. The stranger turned slowly, and I caught a glimpse of ice-blue eyes and a face that belonged on magazine covers before Dario was pushing him away, scrambling to button his shirt.

"Selene fuck this isn't"

"What does it look like?" The words scraped out of my throat like broken glass. "Because it looks like you're screwing someone who definitely isn't me."

My hands were shaking. Everything was shaking. The ground felt unsteady beneath my feet, like the whole world had tilted sideways and forgotten to warn me.

"I can explain"

"Explain what?" I laughed, but it came out sharp and bitter. "That you're gay? That our entire relationship has been a lie? That while I've been working double shifts to afford dinner dates, you've been"

I couldn't finish. Couldn't breathe. The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating.

The stranger cleared his throat with a sound that somehow managed to be both apologetic and dismissive. "I should go."

His voice was cultured, with just a hint of an accent I couldn't place. European, maybe. He moved toward the door with fluid grace, not hurried or ashamed, just... done. Like this was Tuesday night entertainment that had run its course.

"Alex, wait" Dario reached for him, but the man Alex was already straightening his tie and heading for the exit.

He paused next to me, close enough that I could smell his cologne something dark and expensive that made my head spin. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said quietly, and for a moment, his ice-blue eyes seemed almost kind. Then he was gone, leaving behind only the soft click of the door and the lingering scent of his presence.

Dario and I stared at each other across the ruined evening. The pad thai was spreading across his pristine floor, orange sauce seeping into the spaces between marble tiles. It looked like blood.

"How long?" My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. Small. Broken.

He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. Without the perfect styling, he looked younger. Vulnerable. "Selene"

"How. Long."

"Six months." The confession fell between us like a stone. "Maybe longer. I don't know. It's complicated"

"Complicated." I tested the word, rolling it around my tongue like poison. "Right. Because lying to your girlfriend for half a year is just *complicated*."

"You don't understand"

"Then make me understand!" The words exploded out of me, bouncing off the walls of his perfect apartment. "Make me understand why you let me believe we had a future. Why did you let me fall in love with you when you were thinking about him the entire time."

Tears were burning behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

Dario's shoulders sagged. For the first time since I'd known him, his polished facade cracked completely. "Because it was easier," he whispered. "Because dating you meant I didn't have to answer questions about why I wasn't bringing girls home. Because you made everything... simpler."

Simpler.

It was convenient. A cover story. A way for him to hide who he really was while I fell deeper into a fantasy that had never been real.

The apartment felt too small suddenly, like the walls were closing in. I needed air. I needed space. I needed to be anywhere but here, looking at the ruins of everything I'd thought I wanted.

"We're done," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't even look at me if you see me on campus."

I turned toward the door, stepping over the mess of our dinner, our relationship, our lies.

"Selene, please"

But I was already gone, leaving him alone with his secrets and his perfect, empty apartment.

The elevator ride down felt endless. Twenty-two floors of falling, and I wasn't sure I'd ever stop.