Love Lost to Illness and Lies

When Armani came home that evening, he brought me a necklace. It was the latest design from a high-end brand, very pricey and elegant. Still, it wasn't my style. There was a lingering, sickly-sweet scent of spiced honey cake clinging to him.

"Don't be upset, Mikayla," he said, "I've only ever thought of Vienna as a sister."

Armani grew up in a foster home, and Vienna’s mother ran the place. They grew up together until they were separated when Vienna’s father took her abroad at fifteen.

"Mikayla, you're the one I love the most. Please, believe me, won't you?"

He hugged me from behind, his warm chest radiating a comforting heat. So many times, I had believed him without hesitation. Yet now, I paused.

I took the necklace from him and went to wash up, saying nothing. When I came back, I found Armani lounging on the couch, looking at ease as he chatted on the phone.

"You women just get each other, Vienna. Mikayla really didn't get upset."

"Yeah, Mikayla is amazing in every way, just a bit prone to jealousy. Go easy on her."

I listened quietly to their conversation, clenching my hands until they went pale. When had things between Armani and me changed like this? When did our relationship become a game of deception?

I didn’t know the answer. I glanced at the necklace resting on the vanity and walked over, tossing it into the trash without a second thought.

Stomach pain kept me awake late into the night. I could hear Armani's steady breathing behind me as I tried to stifle my groans. From the corner of my eye, I saw something gleaming. The necklace lay in the trash, casting a faint silver light. Just like my silent tears.