Double Deception

Chapter 3: A Web of Doubts

The unease that had taken root in me after the coffee shop encounter refused to fade. It spread quietly, like cracks under glass — invisible at first, until you realized the entire surface was no longer whole.

Every time Emily smiled, I caught myself wondering what lay behind it. Every casual text from her made me question who was holding the phone. The more I tried to convince myself that I was imagining things, the more the doubt grew.

Something wasn't right.

And I was beginning to suspect that whatever this was — whatever she was — it wasn't something I could explain away.

It was a Thursday night when the tension finally spilled into our conversations.

We sat on the couch, cartons of Chinese takeout spread across the coffee table. The scent of sesame oil and ginger filled the air, and for once, Emily looked relaxed — hair down, legs tucked beneath her, her laughter soft as she told me about her day.

But the question that had been burning in my mind wouldn't stay buried any longer.

"So," I began, trying for casual, "why didn't you ever tell me about Emma before the barbecue?"

Her chopsticks paused midair. "Hmm?"

"Your sister," I clarified. "You never mentioned her before that day. Not once."

Emily blinked, then smiled, but it was the kind of smile that looked practiced. "Oh, I guess it just never came up. Emma and I weren't close growing up, and she's been away for so long... there wasn't really a reason to."

It was a reasonable explanation. It was also almost word-for-word what she'd said the last time I asked.

I studied her for a moment — the calm tone, the steady hands. Too steady. "She seems to know a lot about me," I said slowly. "And about us."

Emily's eyes flicked to the muted TV. "I've told her a little," she said lightly. "She's my sister, Alex. Of course she's curious about my life."

Her voice carried a faint irritation, the kind that signaled the topic was closed.

I forced a small smile. "Right. Of course."

We finished dinner in silence, the clink of chopsticks the only sound between us.

That night, while Emily showered, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone.

The screen lit up suddenly — one new message from the same unknown number.

Still like your coffee black with one sugar? ;)

My heart skipped.

The detail was so specific — something Emily knew, something I hadn't told anyone else.

I typed before I could stop myself:
Who is this?

The reply came instantly.
You know who it is. Don't pretend you don't miss me.

Emma, I typed, my pulse quickening. This needs to stop. Whatever you're doing, it's not okay.

A moment passed. Then another message appeared.

What's not okay? A little honesty? A little fun? You're just afraid of what you might feel if you stop pretending.

My thumb hovered over the delete button, but I couldn't bring myself to press it.

There was something in her words — not just the teasing, but the confidence. She knew I hadn't told Emily about the messages.

And she was right.