I exhale a ragged breath and glance at the clock. Half past noon. Deciding that he’s not returning for his phone, I figure Lucas won’t be back from his hike for at least another hour. My legs feel weak as I stumble to the sofa, pulling a thick, fluffy blanket over my lap as I try to steady my trembling hands.
I take my time as I continue to scroll through every post, every caption, and every comment. The way he writes his captions and the occasional post about desire, beauty, and lust—it feels as though he’s whispering these thoughts to someone else.Thinkingof someone else. And I can’t shake the gnawing feeling that these words aren’t just harmless musings—they seem too real,toopersonal.
I tap on hisfollowinglist, and it becomes painfully clear. Every account he follows belongs to a woman—random women, models, and bloggers. Not a man among them.
The truth sears my skin.
This isn’t just some harmless Instagram page.
These are thirst traps.
He’s using this account to lure women in.
Chapter 7
April
Heat surges through my body in a crushing wave of panic as a new notification pings at the top of the screen.
“Hey, baby. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you …”
“What the fuck?” I whisper. My fingers grip the blanket as I adjust it over my lap, seeking comfort as my heart races. I swipe back to his main feed and tap on theMessagesicon. The air leaves my lungs when conversations with dozens of women flood the screen, each more intimate than the last. I open the top message, a thread with a woman named Katelyn.
“Hey, baby. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you. Work has been so busy this morning, but I’ve managed to sneak a break and thought I’d check in. How’s your day going? Did you manage to get out for a hike this morning? Love you xxx.”
Love?
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep the sob from spilling out. Every word feels like a dagger to the heart, the ache seizing my throat. I push past the pain, desperate to find out when this all started. The date on the messages stops me cold: six months ago. Scrolling through their conversation, I find images of her.She’s beautiful, with soft freckles, fiery red waves, and feminine curves. The further I look, the photos she’s exchanged become more explicit, along with videos and voice notes.
And then I find them.
The inevitable photos and videos Lucas has sent her—naked, and he’s either hard or touching himself in every one.
Tears spill freely now, sliding down my cheeks in hot, bitter streams. The flirting, the explicit language, the way he talks to these women—it’s the same sweet words he’s whispered tome, the same promises he’s made tome. Words that once made me feel cherished, adored, and special have been recycled and fed to strange women like lines from a script.
“I really like you. I’ve fallen for you.”
“I can’t just view you as someone I’m sexually attracted to anymore. You’re beyond that.”
“You’re the only one who has my heart.”
“What we have is so special. I know it’s not going to happen with anyone else.”
The man I love is a stranger.
Oh God, I’m going to be sick.
Dropping his phone to the couch, I stagger to the bathroom and collapse in front of the toilet. My body shakes as I retch violently. Everything inside me comes up in painful heaves until there’s nothing left. My palms sweat, and my pulse thunders in my ears. A scream lodges in my throat, but I swallow it down.
I curl into myself as fresh tears blur my vision. I cry on the cold, biting tiles until there’s only emptiness in the brutal knowledge that everything I ever wanted is slipping away.
Chapter 8
April
Islump against the bathroom wall, completely spent. It feels as if my skin has been peeled away, leaving nothing but raw muscle and nerves exposed.
What am I supposed to do?
