Plot Twist, I Was Just Her Wallet

My best friend Jack called me wasted at 2 AM, slurring into the phone, "Dude... I need a ride."

I rolled my eyes but threw on a hoodie and grabbed my keys—what are friends for, right?

When I got to the VIP room at Pulse, the door was cracked open. I was about to barge in when I froze.

There, under the dim neon glow, was my girlfriend Celine—her lips locked with Jack's, her fingers tangled in his hair like she owned him.

My stomach dropped.

Jack pulled back just enough to smirk at her. "So... you actually into him?"

Celine let out this soft, mocking laugh. "Please. You're the one I've always wanted."

I stepped back, my pulse roaring in my ears. Pulling out my phone, I fired off one text: "We're done." Then I blocked her number.

I should've walked away for good.

But of course, they came crawling back—begging, crying, playing the victim.

The bass from the club vibrated through my phone when Jack called. He sounded wrecked, so against my better judgment, I hauled ass downtown.

The private room door was slightly open.

And there they were—Celine's perfect silhouette pressed against some guy, his hands roaming like he had every right.

I edged closer, my breath shallow.

Then the strobe light hit them.

Jack.

And Celine.

Her dress was hiked up, his mouth on her neck—disgustingly possessive.

My vision blurred.

I dialed her number, my thumb shaking.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, hesitated, then answered with this fake-ass professional tone. "Hello?"

I swallowed the acid in my throat. "Where are you?"

"Work dinner," she lied smoothly, even as Jack nipped at her ear. "Might be late."

I wanted to scream. Instead, I whispered, "Okay. Stay safe."