For the past two weeks, my best friend, Matthew Douglas, had been dodging me.

While scrolling, I came across a tarot livestream and decided to use it to check whether something had gone wrong between us.

I had barely sent two gifts into the stream when an anonymous male account unmuted himself. His voice was deliberately disguised, but he spoke with barely concealed glee. "Tarot master, I'm about to run off to Sanyara with my best friend's fiancée. Read my cards. Will he catch us?"

I recognized the cadence, the pauses.

I was still frowning at my screen when the tarot reader flipped a card and said, "The cards show some risk. My advice? Lay a smokescreen first. Tell him your company is sending you on a business trip. Stagger the timing, and you'll be in the clear."

A second later, my phone lit up. A message from Matthew appeared.

Matthew: [Sorry, man. I can't make it to your suit fitting this week. An investor just sprung a last-minute site visit on me in Sanyara. My bad!]

I stared at the words on my screen. "A business trip? What a coincidence."

The veins on the back of my hand stood out from how tightly I gripped my phone.

In the live stream, the tarot reader continued her explanation at her usual unhurried pace.

"Friend, the cards say your buddy is a deeply sentimental person. As long as your smokescreen holds, he won't suspect a thing."

That familiar male voice came through again, thick with poorly concealed pride. "Thanks so much! Honestly, I don't want to hurt my friend. But when love hits, what can you do? Besides, her fiancé only knows how to make money. She's bored as hell. She only feels relaxed when she's with me."

I yanked my earbuds out. A fire flared in my chest.

'Boring? Relaxed?'

I had spent every night wining and dining clients until midnight for Deborah's startup, drinking until my stomach bled. And she had the nerve to call me boring to my own best friend?

I drew a slow breath and forced the rage down. Then I called Deborah. The phone rang for a long time before she picked up.

"Hey, Leonard. Why are you calling now? I'm still going through project documents." Her voice carried a faint edge of impatience.

I closed my eyes. My voice came out flat and cold. "Debbie, did you manage to clear your weekend? Matt says he can't make it to the suit fitting anymore."

A brief, two-second silence followed. It was enough to crush the last sliver of doubt I had been holding on to.

"Oh, Leonard, terrible timing." Deborah's tone was apologetic, with a convincing hint of frustration. "The investors suddenly want an on-site visit to a cultural tourism project in Sanyara, and they want it this weekend. I can't make it either."

I let out a quiet, cold laugh. My voice remained perfectly even. "What a coincidence. You have a business trip, and he just happens to be unavailable?"

"Yeah, it's that time of year. Everyone's slammed." She forced a quick laugh and moved on. "Leonard, just go pick out the suit yourself. If you see something you like, charge it to my supplementary card. When I'm back from Sanyara, I'll bring you those local snacks you love. Sound good?"

Her supplementary card was linked directly to my own savings account.

I swallowed the disgust rising in my throat and answered in a low, steady voice, "Sure. Work comes first. Stay safe."

I hung up and opened my laptop without a word. I pulled up the travel app we shared.

Deborah relied on me for everything. I knew every password she had.

As expected, under upcoming trips, there were two first-class tickets to Sanyara. The passengers were Deborah Jones and Matthew Douglas.

They had also booked an ocean-view suite at one of Sanyara's top hotels.

I stared at the booking details and lost control. I kicked the trash can beside my desk and sent it flying.

Deborah and I had been together for five years. I had covered everything she needed, and I had handed over the down payment my parents set aside for our future home so she could fund her startup.

Matthew had been my college roommate for four years, the guy who slept in the bunk above mine. I had treated him like a real friend. He even had his current job because I pulled strings to get him in.

And now these two people, the ones I had trusted most, had gone behind my back and gotten together.

My phone screen lit up again. It was a text from Matthew.

Matthew: [Leo, don't be mad at her. It's always career comes first for women these days. Once the weekend's over, drinks are on me. I'll make it up to you!]

I looked at the message and felt sick. I opened my screen recorder and saved everything: The tarot stream replay and the booking records in the app.

If they wanted to play games with smoke and mirrors, then I was ready to play along.

The moment I walked through the front door that evening, I noticed a familiar pair of sneakers in the entryway. They were limited edition. I had given them to Matthew for his birthday last month.

Something rustled in the living room. I pushed the door open and found him standing in front of Deborah's wardrobe, holding one of her silk nightgowns against himself as if checking the fit.

"Leo, you're home." Matthew saw me and did not flinch. He walked over as if nothing was wrong, easy and relaxed. "Debbie's heading to Sanyara this weekend, and you're always swamped, so I figured I'd swing by and help her pack. Women have so much stuff. I didn't want her to forget anything."

He smiled with an open, guileless look, the kind that belonged to a man with a clean conscience.

I stared at him. My gaze settled on the red mark on his neck. "Very considerate of you. Finished all your own work already?"

Matthew touched his neck instinctively. His eyes shifted for a brief moment.

"Come on, my work is nothing compared to her project. She's meeting major clients. She can't afford to slip up." He turned back to the wardrobe and pulled a sapphire-blue silk scarf from the back. "Leo, this goes perfectly with that white blazer set of hers. Don't you think?"

I had brought that scarf back from overseas last month, sourced through a contact specifically for Deborah. She had taken one look at it and said the color was too loud. She had never worn it.

Now Matthew had pulled it out without hesitation, as if he were thoroughly familiar with her wardrobe.

I forced the anger down and walked over to the sofa. "You seem to know her tastes pretty well."

His hands paused for a beat. Then that easy, brotherly expression slipped back into place. "Come on, Leo. How would I know her better than you? I'm just offering an outside perspective."

The front door opened, and Deborah walked in. She saw Matthew and stopped. Something flickered across her face, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"Matt, what are you doing here?" she asked.

He went to meet her, warm and familiar. "Debbie, your man is always buried in work. I didn't want you forgetting anything for the trip, so I came to give you a hand."

Deborah glanced at me. I gave her nothing.

She took it as her cue. "You really didn't have to. Leonard, look at Matt. Now that's what a real friend looks like."

I watched them play off each other and felt my eyes grow cold.

"He's something, all right." I stood and walked toward them. "Since you two work so well together, maybe I should hand over the rest of her domestic needs to you."

Deborah's expression changed, and she grabbed my arm. "What is wrong with you? Matt is being kind. Stop making a scene."

"Making a scene?" I pulled my arm free and pointed at the scarf. "You told me that color was too loud. You never wore it once. Now Matthew pulls it out, and suddenly it's perfect?"

She faltered. Her eyes slid away. "I… I used to think that. I just see it differently now. It's actually not bad."

Matthew stepped in without missing a beat. "Leo, you're too sensitive. She works herself to the bone every day. She shouldn't have to come home and deal with your moods on top of everything else."

Listen to that. Righteous, measured, generous. And somehow I was the villain.

I looked at his self-satisfied face and laughed. "Fine. I'll drop it. You two take your time. I'm tired. I'll be in the study."

I walked in, closed the door, and locked it behind me.

Through the door, I heard Matthew lower his voice. "Debbie, his temper just keeps getting worse. Not like me. I actually care about how you feel."

Deborah murmured something soft to calm him. "Okay, okay, don't bother with him. After Sanyara, I'll find the right moment and have it out with him properly."

I pulled out my phone and typed every word into my notes app, exactly as she had said it: [Have it out with him.]

"Have it out with me, huh? I will make sure you never forget it," I muttered viciously.

On Saturday morning, Deborah stood in the doorway with her suitcase, lingering over the goodbye.

"Honey, I'll text you as soon as I land. Make sure you eat properly while I'm gone," she said.

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. If I had not already known the truth, I might have believed it.

"Safe travels."

I watched her step into the elevator. The moment the doors closed, the smile dropped from my face.

Half an hour later, I opened the vehicle tracking app on my phone. Deborah's car wasn't headed to the airport. It had stopped outside a residential complex I knew well: Matthew's apartment building.

I stared at the red dot on the screen. It remained parked downstairs for ten minutes, then started moving again, this time straight toward the airport.

…

At 2:00 p.m., Deborah's message arrived right on schedule.

Deborah: [Honey, made it to the hotel. The view here is gorgeous. Wish you were with me so we could watch the ocean together.]

She sent a photo with the view from the hotel balcony. I zoomed in on the reflection in the sliding glass door. It was blurry, but clear enough. A man lay stretched out on a lounge chair on the balcony, shirtless, wearing board shorts.

I would recognize that build anywhere.

I did not call her out. I kept my reply short.

[Beautiful view. Get some rest. Call me tonight if you're free.]

…

At 8:00 p.m., I video called Deborah. She took a long time to answer. When she finally did, she wore a hotel bathrobe, her hair half-dry, a plain white wall behind her.

"Leonard, I just got out of the shower. Have you eaten?" Her eyes did not quite settle on the camera. They kept drifting slightly to the side.

"I have." I held her gaze. "Debbie, turn the camera around. Let me see the room. I've been thinking about booking the same place next time I'm in Sanyara."

Deborah's face stiffened. "The room's a mess. There's nothing worth seeing. I'll pull up some photos online for you when I'm back."

I gave her no room to deflect. "No. I want to see the actual room."

Then it came through the speaker. A clear, bright clink of glass from somewhere off camera. Then Matthew's low laugh. His voice barely rose above a murmur, but the quiet room made it carry.

"Quit it." Deborah slapped her hand over the microphone. Her face turned pale. "Leonard, something just came up. A client is calling me. I have to go."

She hung up before I could respond. I stared at the black screen and let out a slow, quiet laugh.

This was the woman I had loved for five years. This was the man I had called my friend. I opened the booking app and bought a late-night flight to Sanyara, departing in two hours.

Since they wanted excitement, I would give them some.

While I packed, I made sure to include two things in my bag: the engagement watch Deborah had given me, and the car key I had given Matthew for his birthday.

…

At 2:00 a.m., the plane touched down at Sanyara Phoenix International Airport.

The sea wind hit me as I stepped outside, damp and salty, and did nothing to ease the anger in my chest.

I took a cab straight to the five-star hotel where they were staying.

The front desk attendant looked up with faint surprise. After all, a man was checking in alone in the middle of the night.

"Sir, do you have a reservation?"

I gave her Deborah's ID number and full name. "I'm her fiancé. I'm here to surprise her. Could you look up her room number for me?"

The attendant checked her screen, and her expression changed.

"I'm sorry, sir. Miss Jones is indeed a guest here, but her reservation was made for two. And she left specific instructions that she..." She paused, choosing her words. "She asked not to be disturbed."

I let out a short, cold laugh.

I reached into my bag, pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills, and set them on the counter. "I understand how this works. All I need is the room number. Whatever happens after that is my responsibility."