My Best Friend Tricked Me to Steal My Man

The girl's faint fragrance drifted toward Jude Harrington, mingling with the stillness of the night. Ivy’s fair skin glowed under the dim light, an unspoken temptation lingering in the air.

Since his wife left, Jude had dedicated his life to raising his daughter, never seeking another partner. To say he wasn’t lonely would have been a lie.

When he didn’t push her away, Ivy took a bold step forward, settling herself onto his lap.

Jude stiffened, frozen by the unexpected warmth in his arms. He dared not move, his breath hitching as he stared at the girl before him.

Ivy’s eyes shimmered with something unreadable—love, mischief, desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her face up, her lips mere inches from his.

His Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily. His breath grew heavy and warm.

Slowly, his hands rose to her shoulders.

Just as he was about to close the distance, the door burst open.

Sylvie stood at the threshold.

Silent.

Unmoving.

The air between them crackled with tension.

No one spoke.

The weight of unspoken words pressed down, suffocating, unbearable.

Jude’s gaze darted away, his face paling with the panic of being caught.

Ivy, however, remained calm. Without a word, she slid off Jude’s lap and strolled out, as if nothing had happened.

Sylvie’s gaze lingered on her father, cold and unreadable, before she turned and left without a single word.

From that day on, Jude never met Sylvie’s eyes again.

He spoke to her only in hushed tones, his head perpetually bowed, shame weighing down on him like a heavy chain.

And Ivy?

She never spoke of that night.

Never acknowledged it, as if it had never happened.

One afternoon, after school, Sylvie returned home to an eerie silence.

A silence so thick it pressed against her chest.

Something felt wrong.

She walked toward her father’s study, her fingers tightening around the doorknob before she slowly pushed it open and froze.

A pair of feet hung lifelessly in front of her, swinging gently.

Jude had hanged himself.

A scream tore from Sylvie’s throat—a sound of anguish so raw it could break stone.

But no amount of screaming could wake him.

No amount of tears could bring him back.

Jude had been on the verge of something great.

A well-respected writer, sought after by publishing houses. His novels were already printed, ready to hit the shelves. A signing event had been arranged.

He had a future.

A name to make.

A legacy to leave.

But now—

Now, he was gone.

The police ruled it suicide.

There was no evidence to suggest otherwise.

No one was punished.

And Ivy walked away, untouched by it all.

From that day forward, Sylvie never spoke to Ivy again.

Not once.

Not ever.

Ivy’s sudden reappearance shattered the fragile balance of Sylvie’s life.

First, she had ruined her once.

Now, she had stolen her boyfriend.

Wasn’t it enough?

Did Ivy intend to take everything from her?

The thought ignited a fire in Sylvie’s chest—hot, raging, consuming. But no matter how fiercely it burned, it could never erase the deep, suffocating pain within her.

It was late at night when Sylvie finally returned home.

The moment she stepped through the door, a concerned voice greeted her.

"Sylvie, where have you been? I couldn't reach you."

Gideon.

She barely lifted her gaze. "My phone died. I lost track of time while playing."

Her voice was hoarse, drained of warmth. She lowered her head, pretending to fumble with her slippers.

The air still carried the faint traces of laughter and sweetness. A home she once cherished now felt suffocating. Disgusting.

Without another word, Sylvie walked past him and shut herself in her room.

From that day on, something changed.

Sylvie no longer looked Gideon in the eye. Her words became fewer, her touch colder.

One evening, Gideon cornered her, his voice soft but laced with confusion.

"Sylvie, what’s wrong? I feel like you’re avoiding me."

She turned her face away, her tone indifferent.

"It’s nothing. The staff at the nursing home informed me that my mom's blood pressure has been high recently. Her heart condition isn’t good. I’ve just been worried."

"Then go spend time with her," he said gently, patting her shoulder.

She nodded, but said nothing more.

Days later, the phone rang.

A trembling voice on the other end.

"Sylvie! Hurry! Come to the hospital—your mother had a cerebral hemorrhage! The doctor says it’s serious!"