It was late. I was alone, scrolling through Wattpad, and settled on a steamy story titled My Roommate is My Best Friend's Boyfriend. The writing was good, the smut was top-tier, but the further I read, the more unsettling it became. The description of the male lead… Why did it sound exactly like my boyfriend? 1. 6'1", thin lips, a lecturer at his alma mater. Allergic to nuts, with a small red mole just under his left collarbone… Could it really be a coincidence? My throat tightened. I kept scrolling. 【...he pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, his fingers expertly unbuttoning my shirt. The city lights blazed outside, blurring the figures of people walking on the street below. The thrill of being caught, the sheer risk of it, only seemed to make him harder, rougher.】 Another long, explicit passage followed. My heart skipped a beat. Ethan's new apartment, the one he was so proud of, had a massive floor-to-ceiling window. He'd taken me to see it a few months ago when it was just an empty space. The setting sun had spilled across the river, catching in his smiling eyes. He’d held me from behind, his voice soft in my ear. "I know how much you love a good view. Once you finish your master's and move in, we can sit here every night and watch the city light up." I frowned. Could the man in this story really be Ethan? I read more carefully, but as I did, a sense of absurdity started to push back against my initial panic. The male lead in the story was wild, aggressive, whispering filthy things in the heroine's ear. My Ethan was gentle, reserved, with an almost old-fashioned shyness. The few times he'd tried to say something even remotely flirty, he'd been the one to blush first. How could that man be the same one pinning a girl against a window for the whole world to see? Ethan was moderately well-known on campus. A handsome young lecturer was bound to attract attention. It wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility that someone was using him as a muse for their fantasy. Besides, I only had two best friends. One was studying abroad in Berlin, and the other had graduated and was a lesbian. I trusted them both completely. I let out a long breath, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. Maybe I was just being paranoid. 2. Even though my gut told me it was impossible, I read the rest of the chapters. The plot was simple. The heroine, a college student, moves out of her dorm after a fight with her roommate. She finds a new place, only to discover that her landlord and new roommate is a man—her best friend's boyfriend. They both agree to keep it a secret. But living together, just the two of them, day in and day out… sparks were bound to fly. After the boyfriend has a fight with his girlfriend (the heroine's best friend), the heroine comforts him. They drink, and the long-suppressed tension finally explodes. The heroine discovers that beneath his gentle, scholarly exterior, her best friend's boyfriend has a completely different side. From there, the story was a non-stop smut-fest. My fingers, acting on their own, scrolled past the last chapter and into the comment section. A reader had posted: This feels so real, omg. Is the male lead based on a real person? Can't wait for the next update! The author had replied to that comment just two minutes ago. Let's just say... my inspiration is very close by. ;) He just wore me out, I'm exhausted! We're going to bed now, I'll update tomorrow! Goodnight! xoxo I stared at that comment for a long time. My logical brain was screaming that it was a coincidence, that I was overthinking it. But I opened my chat with Ethan anyway. I typed: Are you asleep? The thirty seconds I waited for a reply felt like an eternity. The only sound in the dark, quiet room was the frantic thumping of my own heart. My screen lit up. 3. Ethan: Just finished some work. About to head to bed. Why are you still up? You know you need your sleep. His reply was as prompt and caring as always. On any other night, it would have made my heart melt. Tonight, it felt like a slap in the face. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. Impulse took over. I had to know. I had to see for myself. Words could lie. His apartment couldn't. My fingers flew across the screen, moving faster than my thoughts. I opened the Uber app. Set destination. Request ride. Confirm. A long moment passed. I picked up my phone again and texted Ethan. Suddenly really miss you. I don't have class tomorrow. I'm coming over. Is that okay? The second the message sent, my phone started ringing. The screen glowed with his name: Ethan. I immediately declined the call. A new text from him popped up. It's almost 1 AM. I don't want you coming over by yourself this late. Be a good girl. I'll come pick you up first thing in the morning, okay? I replied: No. I want to see you now. I'm already in the Uber. After sending the text, I took two steps forward. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on, illuminating my pale face. I was already standing right outside his door. 4. I didn't knock. If the one-in-a-million chance was true, what would bursting in accomplish, other than showing my hand? I turned and slipped into the fire stairwell at the end of the hall. From this angle, I had a perfect view of his front door. A few minutes later, the door creaked open a few inches. Not all the way, as if the person inside was cautiously checking the hall. A man's voice, hushed and urgent, drifted out. "Hurry up." Then, a girl stepped out. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. She pouted. "Do I really have to go? Can't I stay a little longer? She's still in the car, right?" Ethan's voice was cold, hard, completely stripped of the warmth I was used to. It was the voice of a stranger. "Go home. Now. Don't make me say it again." "She could be here any minute. She can't see you. I'll text you when it's safe to come back." The girl seemed intimidated by his tone. She mumbled, "You're so afraid of her..." "Calla, you know exactly what she means to me." "And you're not afraid I won't come back?" "You will," Ethan said, his voice certain. The story on Wattpad mentioned that the male lead had stopped charging the heroine rent. But my mind couldn't focus on that detail. Because I recognized the girl. Calla. My sister. Or, more accurately, the sister I refused to acknowledge. The product of my father's affair. 5. Ethan and I had only been officially dating for six months, but we'd known each other for over twenty years. We weren't exactly childhood sweethearts. Our families had been neighbors, living in the same quiet cul-de-sac. My childhood memories were filled with him, a quiet little boy who always trailed after me, sharing his candy, chasing away stray dogs. My mom used to laugh and call him my little guardian angel. My world was small and safe back then. I thought it would last forever. Until Calla and her mother showed up. I'll never forget the look on my mother's face, the color draining from her cheeks. My happy, carefree childhood had been a lie, eaten away by a secret rot. Calla was only a year younger than me. Which meant that while my mother was pregnant with me, full of hope and excitement, my father was in another woman's arms, creating another "blessing." The arguments, the crying, the sound of breaking glass, the prying eyes of the neighbors... that period of my life is a dark, painful blur. My mother was a proud woman. She couldn't tolerate the betrayal, especially not when the other woman showed up on our doorstep with her child, demanding my mother step aside. In the end, my mother chose divorce. The day we left, it was drizzling. I pressed my face against the car window, looking back. I saw Ethan run out of his house, chasing our car, holding something in his hand. But he disappeared into the rain. That escape didn't just take my family; it severed my connection to my childhood, to Ethan, to everything I had ever known. My mom and I moved across the country. Calla, and everything associated with her, became a wound I never spoke of, a mark of shame burned into my soul. The next time I saw Ethan was in high school. 6. He was on stage in the auditorium, giving a speech as a student representative. He was tall, confident, poised. I sat in the audience, not daring to believe it was him. But as the crowd was filing out, he spotted me and called out my name. It felt like fate, pulling us back together. The trauma of my childhood had changed me. I was no longer the happy, outgoing girl he knew. But Ethan saw all of it—my fragility, my insecurity, my sharp edges—and he stayed. Year after year, through high school and college, he was there. Finally, I let my guard down. I allowed myself to believe that he truly understood me, that he loved me. I never, ever imagined that his other woman would be Calla. He, more than anyone, knew how much I hated her. Why? When he held her, did he ever think of the helpless little girl I used to be? Of the tears I cried? This wasn't just cheating. This was a slow, deliberate torture. He had taken my most painful memory and used it to slice away every last bit of my trust. The sensor light in the hallway clicked off, plunging me into darkness. I leaned against the cold wall and listened to the sound of his apartment door locking. The world was silent, but inside my head, the fortress I had built from love and trust was crumbling to dust. 7. My phone screen glowed in the dark. Ethan: Where are you? Should I come get you? I fought to keep my hands from shaking as I typed my reply. I'm suddenly not feeling well, really dizzy. Might have caught a chill. I'm not going to come over, just going to go back to my dorm and rest. He replied instantly: Not feeling well? How bad is it? Where are you right now? Still in the car or back at campus? Don't move. Tell me where you are. I'm coming to find you right now. Wait for me. His panic felt so real it was almost convincing. I didn't reply. Less than two minutes later, that door opened again. Ethan was rushing out, a t-shirt thrown on crookedly, his face a mask of genuine concern. He was fumbling to put on a jacket with one hand while holding his phone with the other. Watching him, so flustered and worried, I wanted to laugh. But all I felt was a deep, hollow sadness. Just as the elevator doors were about to open for him, I stepped out from the end of the hall. The stark, white light of the sensor enveloped us both. My voice was low, but in the silent hallway, it was as loud as a gunshot, and it made him freeze, his back rigid. "Ethan." 8. His hand, halfway into his jacket sleeve, stopped moving. He stared at me, dumbfounded. "Chloe? I thought you were sick." I ignored his question. "I just saw someone who looked a lot like Calla leaving your apartment." My voice was flat. "Tell me I was mistaken." His face went pale. He knew there was no point in lying. After a long moment, he managed to choke out two words. "I'm sorry..." "When did it start?" I asked. He looked down, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Four months ago. That time we had that big fight... she came over to comfort me. I'd been drinking. I thought... I thought she was you. It just... happened." I closed my eyes. It matched the plot of the story perfectly. The journey from suspicion to certainty, from a flicker of hope to utter despair, had been brutally fast. It hurt, but more than the pain, I felt sick. I suddenly remembered my freshman year of college. Ethan and I had ended up at different schools. We had a stupid fight, and I'd impulsively told him I never wanted to see him again. I was hysterical, screaming cruel things into the phone. Two hours later, my roommate burst into our room, panicked. Ethan had scaled the spiked iron fence around our all-girls dorm. His palms were bleeding, but he didn't seem to notice. He just stood under my window in the pouring rain all night, his eyes fixed on my room. He was so proud, so arrogant. But in front of me, he had made himself small. He ended up with seven stitches. As the nurse put in his IV, he looked at me, his eyes red-rimmed. "Chloe, I don't want anyone but you. If you ever say those words to me again, I'll... I'll..." He never finished the threat. He just buried his head in my neck and cried, hot tears scalding my skin. He couldn't live without me. I had been so sure of that. And it was that certainty that made this betrayal so much more pathetic. "Ethan," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. "We're done." 9. He refused to accept it. He begged. He pleaded. He was about to get on his knees. I didn't stop him. So he knelt. I knew he was trying to make me feel sorry for him, to make me soften. But even fate wasn't on his side. As he knelt, his phone slipped out of his pocket and clattered on the floor. The screen lit up with a text notification. I snatched it up before he could. The words on the screen were bright and damning. Calla: Is she gone yet? I miss you. We didn't get to finish earlier... Can you just tell her to go home so I can come back and play? ? I let out a cold laugh and threw the phone at him. It bounced off his chest with a dull thud. "You both make me sick." I turned and walked away. He scrambled to his feet, desperate. "Chloe, wait, let me explain—" I spun around and spat the words at him. "Don't you dare touch me with the same hands you touched her with!" The pure disgust in my eyes finally broke him. He froze, not daring to take another step. I walked into the elevator without looking back. As the doors slid shut, his figure disappeared from my sight, once and for all.
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