ANGELA’S POV

I always knew this day would come.

My secret love for my best friend would be exposed.

But not like this. Never this cruel.

I dropped my keys twice before I finally got them into the lock. My hands were shaking, mostly from exhaustion, but also from a tiny, stupid spark of hope that I couldn’t seem to smother.

It was my twenty-third birthday. I had just finished a twelve-hour double shift at the clinic, my feet felt like they were made of lead, and all I wanted was to walk through that door and see Ethan waiting with a cheap grocery store cake and that crooked grin of his.

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We had been best friends since we were six years old. He knew today was the day. He had to know.

When I woke up that morning, his bed was already empty. I told myself he had gone out early to plan something special. I told myself not to overthink it.

I pushed the door open, bracing myself for a “Surprise!” or at least the smell of something cooking.

Instead, I was hit with the sound of packing tape screeching against cardboard and the sharp, soul-crushing sound of something shattering.

“Oops,” a high-pitched, feminine voice giggled from the living room. “I guess that one was a bit fragile.”

I dropped my bag and sprinted toward the noise. My heart stopped.

Maya, Ethan’s girlfriend of three months, was standing over a box, a smirk playing on her perfectly glossed lips.

At her feet lay the shattered remains of the vintage, hand-carved music box Ethan had given me for my eighteenth birthday.

It was my favorite gift—one I had kept on my nightstand for five years as a symbol of his promise to always be my “home.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice cracking as I stared at the white shards on the hardwood floor.

“Oh, hi Angela,” Maya said, not sounding sorry at all. She kicked a piece of the porcelain under the sofa with her designer heel. “I’m just helping. Ethan and I decided that since I’m moving in today, we really needed to clear out the clutter. This guest room needs to be an office, you know?”