Just One Lie

Prologue

They say that love is patient that it's kind. That it doesn't envy.

He knew this because he'd read every word and line of advice on what it meant to love someone. To care for them unconditionally, to want nothing but their happiness. That's what he wanted for her, after all. She was his best friend. She had been since they were high school, and he knew her better than anyone. Her quirks, fears, and dreams—all tucked away in his mind, cataloged and cherished like precious treasures.

So when he finally told her how he felt, it was with every ounce of that pure, undying love. He bared his heart to her, hoping she'd see just how much he wanted her, how long he'd waited.

But her reaction wasn't what he expected. There was no spark in her eyes, no relief or joy. She'd laughed awkwardly, twisting her fingers together, before giving him a soft, pitying smile. Then, she said it: she wasn't into men, had never been. She didn't want to hurt him, she claimed, but she just couldn't feel that way about him.

He'd swallowed his disappointment, and masked his hurt behind the same smile he'd perfected over the years. It was just another sacrifice for her happiness, he thought. Another piece of his heart to be silenced, tucked away. He wanted her in his life more than he wanted her love.

But that night, as he lay alone, staring at the ceiling, a different feeling crept into his mind. Something darker, twisting under his skin. It wasn't the rejection—it was the lie. She hadn't rejected him out of fear of hurting him; she'd just wanted an easy escape. And it had worked. For a while, he let himself believe that he could accept her decision, that he could move on.

Until he saw her months later, laughing, her arm intertwined with someone else's—a guy, of all things. They looked happy. She was glowing in a way he'd never seen before, leaning on someone who wasn't him. The sight of them together struck him like a knife in the gut, twisting with each laugh that drifted from across the street. How could she lie like that? How could she pretend to be something she wasn't, just to get away from him? After all these years, after everything he'd done for her?

The anger simmered slowly, turning his mind over, calculating, transforming into something beyond rage. She belonged with him; he was the one who knew her better than anyone. He was the one who loved her, truly loved her, without limits. And now, she'd torn that all apart with her lies. Lies he intended to make her pay for.

If love was supposed to be patient, then he'd waited long enough.

Because she was HIS. And if he had to destroy everyone around her to prove it, he would without a second doubt.