His Mistress Stole Our Stars

My phone rang just after nine that evening. I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring at Madison's Instagram profile for what felt like the hundredth time, when Mrs. Morrison's name flashed across my screen. My stomach dropped instantly.

"Hello?" I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Emma, honey." Mrs. Morrison's voice was tight with worry. "Is Jake with you?"

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the lie I was about to tell. "No, he's not. I thought he was working on a group project tonight?"

"That's what he told us too, but..." She paused, and I could hear Mr. Morrison's voice in the background, asking questions I couldn't quite make out. "We've been calling him for hours. He was supposed to check in after dinner. This isn't like him, Emma."

The concern in her voice made my chest ache. For eighteen years, Jake had been the reliable one, the responsible son who always called, always showed up. Until now.

"I'm sure he's fine," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Maybe his phone died, or he's somewhere with bad reception."

"Maybe," Mrs. Morrison said, but she didn't sound convinced. "If you hear from him, please tell him to call us immediately. His father is beside himself with worry."

"I will, I promise."

After hanging up, I immediately dialed Jake's number. It went straight to voicemail, just as it had the five times I'd tried earlier.

"Jake, it's me again. Your parents are really worried. They've been calling you for hours." I paused, fighting to keep my voice from breaking. "Please call them. Or call me. Just... let someone know you're okay."

I sent a text right after:

*Your parents just called me. They're freaking out. Whatever you're doing, whoever you're with, please just call them.*

The message showed as delivered, but the read receipt never appeared. I sent another:

*This isn't about us anymore, Jake. Your family is worried sick. Just turn on your phone for five minutes.*

Still nothing.

I paced my room, scenarios racing through my mind. What if something had actually happened to him? What if he wasn't with Madison at all, but hurt somewhere? The thought made my stomach twist with guilt. But then I remembered the constellation jewelry, the way he'd rubbed his neck when he lied to my face.

No. He was with her. I was sure of it.

Another hour passed. Mrs. Morrison called again, her voice now edged with panic. Mr. Morrison had gone out driving around town looking for Jake. They'd called his other friends. No one had seen him.

"We're going to check the hospital next," she said, and I heard the tremor in her voice.

"Mrs. Morrison, please—I'm sure he's fine," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "He probably just lost track of time."

"For six hours? Without checking his phone once? That's not my son, Emma."

Except it was. It was exactly who Jake had become—someone who would turn off his phone and disappear with Madison while his family worried themselves sick.

After we hung up, desperation drove me to open Instagram again. This time, I went to Madison's profile and tapped the message icon. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I started typing:

*Madison, I know Jake is with you. His parents are worried sick. They're about to start checking hospitals. Please just tell him to call home.*

I hit send, watching as the message appeared in our empty chat history. Then, almost immediately, something strange happened. The message disappeared, replaced by text saying I couldn't send messages to this account.

She had blocked me.

I stared at the screen in disbelief, a cold realization washing over me. Madison knew exactly what she was doing. She knew Jake's family was looking for him, knew I was trying to reach him, and her response was to block me—to cut off any chance I had of reaching Jake through her.

This wasn't just about Jake betraying me anymore. This was about two people so wrapped up in their selfish desires that they were willing to let a family suffer with worry.

My phone buzzed again. Mrs. Morrison's name appeared on the screen, and something in my gut told me this call would be different from the others.