Lena stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse apartment she shared with Anthony Grayson. A soft, breathy moan drifted down the hallway, cutting through the stillness. Lena stopped in her tracks, one foot suspended in the air.
Then came the voice—rough, familiar, dripping with lust: "Agh, you feel so good. That bitch never even let me touch her." The words hit Lena like a slap. No. That couldn't be real. Her mind raced, searching for any other explanation. Maybe the TV was on. Maybe she was imagining it. But then came another moan—soft, breathless, unmistakable. Madison. Her secretary. "Fuck me hard, baby. I'm all yours."
A cold rush swept through Lena's body as her legs carried her toward the slightly open bedroom door. Each step grew heavier, her breath stuck in her chest. Her heart kept whispering no, but deep down, she already knew the truth.
She pushed the door open, and the sight hit her like a punch. Anthony—her fiancé of five years—was in bed with Madison Wells. Madison, the woman Lena had mentored, supported during layoffs, treated to lunch on hard days, even called "family" at the office party. And now she was lying naked on Lena's bed, face still flushed with pleasure.
Anthony's broad back was to her, but the movement—the rhythm—made everything clear. Lena stood frozen, unable to breathe. Her mind tried to deny it, to pretend it wasn't real. But then Madison's soft, breathy "Oh, Anthony" was followed by his deep groan, and the truth hit her like a freight train.
The drink slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor as coffee splattered across the rug. Madison shrieked, clutching the blanket to her chest as her face drained of color, eyes wide with panic.
Anthony turned, looking more annoyed than guilty, like she'd interrupted a meeting—not walked in on him cheating in their bed. "Lena—" he began.
"I came home early," she said, her voice calm and steady, even surprising herself. Because if she let the pain in—really let herself feel it—she didn't know what she might do.
Anthony had the gall to sigh, dragging a hand through his tousled hair like he was the one inconvenienced. "This isn't what it looks like." Lena blinked slowly.
Not what it looks like?
Madison was naked. Anthony was half-naked. And the bed—their bed—still reeked of sex and sweat and lies.
"What exactly does it look like, Anthony?" Lena asked, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. It cut through the heavy silence like a blade, each word dripping with venom and disbelief. He sat up slowly, the sheets pooling around his waist, and for a moment, he looked almost ashamed—until his expression twisted into something Lena recognized all too well: frustration, impatience, as if she were the one being unreasonable.
"It was a mistake, Lena," he muttered, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "You weren't supposed to find out like this." Her breath hitched, a slow exhale escaping her lips as her pulse thundered in her ears. She didn't look away. Didn't blink. Just stared at him with a coldness he'd never seen in her before. "I see," she said at last, her voice controlled, folded arms hiding the tremor in her chest. "So the mistake wasn't that you cheated on me. The mistake was that I found out."
Anthony groaned, like this conversation was a chore, like her pain was a burden. He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching blindly for his discarded pants. "We've been together for years, Lena. You never even let me touch you—" "Oh, don't you dare blame this on me," she hissed, the words slicing through the air with such force that Madison visibly flinched, drawing the blanket tighter around her trembling form.
Lena's fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as the heat of betrayal scorched its way through her body. Rage crawled up her spine, hot and fast, threatening to reduce every last shred of her composure to ash. For years, she had poured herself into this man—stood by him when his business collapsed, defended him when his partners walked away, comforted him when he fell apart. She had believed in him when he didn't even believe in himself. And this? This was how he repaid her?
Her eyes flicked to Madison, who sat frozen, her pale face blank with guilt and terror. "I trusted you," Lena said quietly, and though her voice lacked volume, it struck like a thunderclap. Madison opened her mouth. "Lena, I—"
"Baby, this isn't what it looks like," Anthony blurted, fumbling with his pants, trying to save face.
Lena let out a dry laugh, crossing her arms as she looked at him like he was nothing more than dirt on her shoe.
"Really? Because it looks exactly like what it is—you screwing my secretary in our bed."
Madison's face twisted, and unbelievably, she looked offended.
"Lena, I didn't mean—" But Lena turned on her, eyes gleaming with fire. "You didn't mean to spread your legs for my boyfriend?" she snapped. Her voice was calm—terrifyingly so—but it crackled with the fury of a woman betrayed.
"Save it. Just save it." Her gaze lingered for a beat, burning into Madison's face until she looked away, her lip trembling. There was nothing left to say. No apology, no excuse, no pathetic half-hearted explanation could glue back the shattered pieces of Lena's heart. But she would be damned if she let them see her break. She would not cry. Not for him. Not for her. Not here. Instead, she drew in a long, steady breath, straightened her spine, and turned to Anthony one final time. "I hope she was worth it," she said softly, almost gently, and it made the words land like a punch to the gut.
Lena walked out of the apartment with the steady, measured pace of someone who had just discarded a weight that had been pulling her down for far too long. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing off the life she thought she had with Anthony. Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, each one marking the distance between who she had been and who she was becoming.
She didn't pause as she descended the stairs or even when she reached her car. It was almost as if her body was on autopilot, guiding her to the place where she'd be able to collapse and process what had just happened. But as she stepped into the quiet sanctuary of her apartment, she didn't immediately fall apart like she thought she would.
Lena sank onto the couch, her body heavy but somehow still alert. The apartment around her felt alien, like the space itself was watching her, waiting for her to make sense of everything that had transpired. The soft hum of the city outside seemed distant, a world apart from the storm raging inside her chest.
She closed her eyes, her mind replaying the images, the words. Anthony's fumbling attempt at a defense, the look of guilt—and then the audacity, the nerve to try and talk his way out of it. Really? Because it looks exactly like what it is—you screwing my secretary in our bed. She'd said it with such finality, as if breaking through a veil of denial that had been there for too long.
And yet, instead of collapsing into the tears she had expected to fall, there was just a steady pulse of anger. It radiated from the pit of her stomach, growing, filling the space within her. How dare he? How dare they? The thought was like fire, spreading through her veins. She was angry—so angry—that it almost surprised her. How could she have been so blind? How could she have wasted eight years on someone who didn't even have the decency to be honest with her?
She thought she should feel crushed. She had imagined she would, for months, even years. But now, she felt nothing but seething betrayal. She leaned back against the couch, staring at the blank wall across from her. Eight years of dating, she thought, and not a single tear. She was supposed to feel devastated, broken. But she didn't.
Did I ever really love him? The question lingered, unanswered. A bitter laugh rose in her throat. All those years, the plans, the promises—they all seemed so insignificant now, like sand slipping through her fingers.
Lena stared blankly at the ceiling, the silence in her apartment pressing in around her. Her fingers hovered over her phone for a long moment before she finally tapped on Sophie's name and hit call.
It rang once. Twice.
"Lena?" Sophie's voice came through, warm and curious. "Everything okay?"
Lena took a breath. "I walked in on Anthony. With Madison."
A pause.
"In your bed?" Sophie asked, her voice low, serious.
"Our bed actually, at the one at our penthouse apartment" Lena whispered.
Another pause—but to Lena's surprise, there was no gasp of shock. No string of outraged curses.
Instead, Sophie exhaled like someone finally being proven right. "Honestly? I'm sorry it happened like that. But... I'm also kind of glad."
Lena blinked. "What?"
"I never wanted to say anything while you were still with him, but Anthony? He was never it, Lena. He never saw you—really saw you. You've been shrinking around him for years."
Lena's throat tightened, but not from sadness. It was the strange sensation of hearing something she had always suspected but never dared to admit out loud.
"You deserve more than some smug jerk who cheats when things get hard," Sophie continued, gentle now. "You've always deserved more."
Lena let out a soft, shaky breath. "I thought I'd be crying right now. But I'm not. I'm just... angry. And honestly? Relieved."
"Good," Sophie said firmly. "Because this isn't the end of something. It's the start of something better."
Lena leaned back into the couch cushions, the warmth of Sophie's voice slowly grounding her.
"I needed to hear that," she murmured. "Thank you."
"Anytime," Sophie said softly. "You've held so much together for so long, Lena. It's your turn now."
There was a pause, a shift in tone, then Sophie added casually, "By the way, are you still going to that charity gala next weekend? The one hosted by that huge investment firm—Sterling & Vale?"
Lena blinked. She had completely forgotten about it.
"I RSVP'd ages ago," she said slowly, rubbing her temple. "Didn't think I'd actually go…"
"Well, maybe you should. New dress, strong wine, and an open bar filled with better men," Sophie teased lightly. "Come on, it'll be good for you."
Lena gave a small, tired laugh. "Maybe. We'll see."
"Think about it," Sophie said, her voice warm again. "And if you go, you're not going alone."
"Thanks, Soph. Really."
"Always. Text me if you need anything, okay?"
"I will."
They hung up, and Lena stared at the screen for a moment before placing the phone beside her. The ache in her chest was still there—but it didn't feel hollow anymore. It felt like something was waking up.