His Mistress Stole Our Stars

I should have been sleeping. It was nearly midnight, and I had an early class tomorrow, but there I was—scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, my face bathed in the blue light of my phone screen. The familiar rhythm of swipe, double-tap, swipe had become almost meditative, lulling me into that strange state between wakefulness and sleep.

Until I saw Madison Blake's story.

My thumb froze mid-swipe. Madison rarely posted anything personal—her feed was a carefully curated collection of debate team victories and aesthetic coffee shops. But this was different. This was a paragraph of text, white letters on a black background, the kind of post people make when they're feeling emotional.

"When someone gives you their time in secret but gives someone else their promises in public, remember that actions speak louder than words. Some people will never see your worth because they're too busy protecting a fantasy they've created with someone who doesn't even exist anymore."

Something cold settled in my stomach. I read it again, then a third time. The words seemed to pulse on my screen, each one hitting with precision. Madison and I weren't friends—we barely interacted outside of shared classes—but there was something in the specificity of her words that made my skin prickle.

"...protecting a fantasy they've created with someone who doesn't even exist anymore."

I set my phone down on my nightstand, suddenly wide awake. Jake and I had been best friends for eighteen years before we finally crossed that line into something more three months ago. Everyone had always said we were inevitable—our parents were best friends, we'd grown up together, we knew each other better than anyone else in the world.

Or at least, I thought we did.

I picked up my phone again and stared at Madison's words until the screen went dark. It was probably nothing. Just vague relationship drama that had nothing to do with me. With us.

But sleep didn't come easily that night.

---

The next morning, I sat at my kitchen counter nursing a cup of coffee when Jake walked in through the back door like he had thousands of times before. His familiar smile warmed me as he dropped his backpack by the door and came over to kiss my cheek.

"Morning, Em," he said, helping himself to coffee from the pot I'd made. He looked tired but happy, his dark hair still damp from his shower.

"Hey," I replied, watching him over the rim of my mug. "You were up late last night?"

"Yeah, working on that history paper. You know how it is." He leaned against the counter, his body language relaxed and open.

I nodded, then decided to test the waters. "I saw Madison Blake posted something interesting on Instagram last night."

The change was subtle but unmistakable. His smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, and his eyes darted away from mine before returning. "Oh yeah? I don't really follow her stuff."

"It was... cryptic. Something about people giving their time in secret but their promises in public." I kept my tone casual, stirring my coffee slowly.

Jake's knuckles whitened around his mug. "Sounds like typical social media drama." He glanced at his watch. "Hey, I meant to tell you—I don't think I can make dinner tonight with our parents."

"What? Why not? They've been planning this for weeks."

"I know, I know." He ran a hand through his hair—a nervous habit I'd seen a thousand times. "But we have this group project due tomorrow, and we're nowhere near finished. The team's counting on me."

Something in his voice didn't sound right. Eighteen years of friendship had taught me to recognize when Jake wasn't being completely honest.

"Can't you work on it after dinner? It's only a couple of hours."

"Em, I wish I could, but..." He sighed, looking genuinely conflicted. "This is worth thirty percent of our grade. I can't let the team down."

I wanted to push further, but the look in his eyes stopped me. Instead, I nodded. "Okay. I'll tell our parents."

His relief was palpable. "You're the best. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

---

That evening, I sat at the dining table with our parents, acutely aware of the empty chair beside me. I'd relayed Jake's excuse, watching disappointment flicker across four faces before they'd nodded in understanding. Jake had always been the responsible one, the one who took his commitments seriously.

From the dining room window, I watched Jake hurry out to his car, backpack slung over one shoulder. He glanced around furtively before getting in—a small gesture that sent another chill through me.

As his headlights illuminated the street, I noticed he turned right instead of left. Right toward the affluent neighborhood where Madison Blake lived with her parents. Left toward the library and the school.

I watched until his taillights disappeared around the corner, the knot in my stomach tightening with each passing second.

Madison's words echoed in my mind: "Someone who doesn't even exist anymore."

I wondered, with a growing sense of dread, if the Jake I thought I knew had ever existed at all.