I push the door open.
And everything stops.
The heat hits me first, stale air, sweat, the scent of sex thick in the room. Sheets half-pulled from the bed. Clothes scattered on the floor. Jinn is on top of her, his back slick with sweat, muscles flexing as he moves. Her nails dig into his shoulders, her mouth open in a silent gasp of pleasure.
Marcy.
My sister.
Naked beneath my boyfriend.
I freeze in the doorway. My hand is still resting on the edge of the doorframe. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. The scene in front of me feels unreal, like I’ve slipped into someone else’s nightmare. But I don’t wake up.
It takes a second for them to notice me. Jinn is too far gone, his rhythm unbothered, his face buried in her neck. It’s Marcy who sees me first.
Her eyes widen—but only for a moment. Then she smirks. The kind of smirk that says she meant for this to happen. That shewantedme to see.
“Oops,” she says breathlessly.
Jinn twists around, startled. He sees me, still panting, still inside her.
“Carrie,” he says, like he forgot my name until just now.
I step back, out of the doorway, my hands shaking. My ears ring, my throat is dry, and for a second I think I might throw up.
He was supposed to be mine. He chose me.
We’d been together almost a year—long enough for me to mistake control for care.
That’s what I thought.
But I was wrong.
I barely make it halfway down the stairs before my vision blurs. The world feels tilted, the music from the party now a distant, mocking thump. I grip the railing, trying to hold myself together, but my hands won’t stop shaking. I hear footsteps behind me, fast and heavy, and then Jinn’s voice, low and impatient.
“Carrie. Stop.”
He grabs my arm before I can bolt. His fingers are hot against my skin, and even as I try to yank away, he only tightens his grip. I can smell her on him—Marcy’s cheap vanilla perfume, sweat, something floral and sticky that makes my stomach twist.
I turn, not trusting myself to speak. My cheeks are wet. I’m crying in front of him and everyone who might see, and it’s humiliating. I try to pull free but he pulls me closer, almost hissing in my ear.
“Stop crying,” he says, sharp, clipped, his eyes darting to the shadows at the end of the hall. “Don’t make a scene.”
That’s what matters to him. Not the betrayal. Not the fact that he just destroyed me, not that he did it with my sister. No—he’s worried about someone seeing.
I suck in a ragged breath, wiping at my cheeks. “Is that what you’re worried about?” My voice comes out raw and unsteady. “That someone might notice?”
He sighs, rolling his eyes. His face is flushed, but not from shame. There’s only a flicker of annoyance, like I’m the problem here. Like I’m being dramatic for reacting at all. “This isn’t the time or place, Carrie.”
I laugh, a hollow, broken sound. “Really? When is the right time to find my boyfriend fucking my sister?”
He looks away, jaw clenching. “Don’t act like this is all my fault. Things have been weird between us for a while.”
A sob catches in my throat. I bite my lip, tasting blood. “So that’s it? You move on to the next girl in my family? Is that how it works?”
He lets out a sigh, as if I’m being unreasonable. “Look, you knew what this was.”
“I thought you loved me,” I whisper. The words scrape my throat on the way out. “I thought I mattered.”
