One Night, Wrong Man

*POV Derby*

I kicked off my heels the second I stepped inside my apartment, letting the door click shut behind me like it was finally giving me permission to breathe. Another late night buried in reports at the office, but whatever. Tomorrow was Friday. I had plans—dinner with Rian at that cozy Italian spot he loved, the one with the dim lights and overpriced pasta that always made us laugh.

I smiled just thinking about it. Tomorrow suddenly didn't feel so far away anymore. I tossed my bag onto the couch, missed the cushion by an inch, and let it slide to the floor before dropping beside it with a tired sigh.

My phone buzzed against the coffee table, pulling me out of my thoughts. I reached for it automatically. Rian. He'd texted twenty minutes ago while I was still buried under spreadsheets.

**Can’t wait for tomorrow, babe. You looked beautiful in that photo. Miss you already.**

I smiled without realizing it and typed back, my thumbs moving almost on autopilot.. **Miss you more. Can’t wait to finally relax. Love you.**

The little heart popped up almost instantly. I couldn't help smiling. Five years together, and somehow we still answered each other that fast, safe.. Yeah, we both worked insane hours, but we made it work. I leaned back against the couch, letting the day's weight slowly melt away as I scrolled through our old chats. Dumb memes. Random selfies. Voice notes that started with "Are you awake?" and somehow turned into hour-long conversations. I caught myself smiling again.

Another notification slid across the screen before I could open another chat. Unknown number. My smile faded a little.

I almost dismissed it without looking. Probably another scam message. Then my eyes caught the preview, and my thumb froze above the screen.

**You deserve the truth.**

A small crease formed between my brows as I opened it anyway. No message, just a photo. For one stupid second, I considered closing it. Then curiosity won. I pinched the screen and zoomed in.

The moment the image sharpened, my stomach dropped. Rian.. Hotel curtains. White sheets. A room I'd never seen before. His shirt hung half-open, and the watch I'd saved three months to buy him glinted under the bedside lamp. I recognized it instantly.. A woman's hand rested against his chest. Long red nails, not mine. My fingers tightened around the phone before I even realized it. His head was lowered, lips slightly parted. I'd seen that expression a hundred times before. Just never with someone else.

My stomach lurched. A cold wave crashed through my chest, leaving everything else numb.

*No. No way. This has to be fake. Someone's screwing with me... they have to be.*

My thumb moved before my brain could stop it. I swiped to the next photo.. Different angle. Same hotel room. Her legs locked around his waist while his hand rested high on her thigh. I wished I hadn't looked.

My fingers were already shaking by the time I hit his contact. The call didn't even ring. Voicemail. I hung up immediately and called again, my heartbeat climbing into my throat. Nothing.

Before I could try a third time, another notification flashed across the screen. A video.

The sounds hit first—low moans, heavy breathing. Rian’s voice, the one that used to whisper my name like it mattered, now groaning for someone else. “Fuck, yeah… just like that.”

I stared at the screen until it ended. The phone suddenly felt too heavy. No tears came. Not because I wasn't hurt. Because my body hadn't figured out how to react yet. Everything inside me went eerily still. No screaming, or sobbing, is silence so heavy it hurt. The only thing betraying me was the faint tremor running through my fingers.

I pushed myself off the couch on unsteady legs and drifted toward the kitchen without really thinking. I filled a glass with water and emptied it in one long swallow. It did nothing to wash away the taste gathering in my throat..

The details kept flashing back—the watch, the shoes by the bed, the exact way he tilted his head. Five years together, and suddenly every late night at the office came back wearing a different face.. All those nights he said he was working late. I'd never asked for proof. I'd trusted him because loving him had always felt easier than doubting him.

Something hot curled deep in my stomach, pushing through the shock one slow breath at a time. It wasn't just heartbreak anymore. Anger quietly took its place, spreading through me until there wasn't much room left for anything else.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I snatched my keys off the counter.. The mirror in the hallway caught me on the way out. Pale. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes that looked harder than they had an hour ago. I looked straight at my reflection, searching for the woman who'd trusted him so completely. "If that's how it is," I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice, "then tonight, I stop being the good girl."

I couldn't remember half the traffic lights I passed. Somehow, I still ended up downtown.. I wasn't chasing a destination. I just needed to be anywhere that didn't remind me of him. The glowing neon signs pulled me in one block at a time until I found a bar loud enough that maybe, just maybe, my own thoughts wouldn't be the loudest thing in the room.

Inside, the place was overflowing with people. Music pounded through the floor, conversations blurred together, and the air carried a mix of perfume, spilled liquor, and cigarette smoke that clung to everything. For the first time that night, the noise felt easier to handle than the silence in my head.

I pushed through the door, and the heat hit me first, followed by the music and the roar of strangers talking over each other. Good. If the place was loud enough, maybe my own thoughts would finally shut up.

I slid onto an empty barstool and nodded at the bartender. "Whiskey. Neat." The first glass disappeared faster than I expected. Before I could think twice, I lifted two fingers. "Another." The whiskey burned all the way down, leaving a trail of heat that barely touched the hollow ache sitting in my chest. I rolled the glass between my fingers, watching the amber liquid catch the light. Ridiculous. As if answers were hiding at the bottom of a whiskey glass..

That’s when I felt it—eyes on me. Heavy. Unshakable.

I tried not to make it obvious as I glanced around the room, letting my eyes drift from one table to the next. Near the back of the room, tucked into a shadowed booth, sat a man who hadn't looked away once.

The strange part wasn't that he was looking. It was that he'd apparently been looking ever since I'd walked through the door. Tall, broad shoulders under a dark shirt, the kind of quiet presence that made the space around him feel different. His gaze never wavered. I felt it every time I reached for my glass, every time I shifted in my seat, every time I tried pretending I hadn't noticed him.

He watched me finish my second drink, watched my hand tremble when I set the glass down, watched me bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself together.

Our eyes locked across the dim room.

The music was still pounding. People were still laughing somewhere behind me. But for one strange second, all of it blurred into the background. There was nothing hurried about him. Just a steady look that felt impossible to shake.. For one irrational second, I wondered if heartbreak really was that obvious on my face.

My heartbeat stumbled before slamming hard against my ribs.. I broke eye contact first, lifting my glass just to give myself something else to focus on. The whiskey tasted sharper this time.. The whiskey burned hotter now.

I told myself not to look again. My eyes ignored me anyway..

**To be continued...**