I should have known something was wrong when Marcus kept checking his phone during our "special dinner." But I didn't. I was too busy being the perfect girlfriend. The one who laughed at his jokes. The one who pretended not to notice when he forgot our anniversary. Again. Six years. That's how long I'd been playing this role. The restaurant was beautiful. Candlelit. Expensive. Marcus had even worn the tie I bought him last Christmas—the one still had the tags on it until this morning, probably. "Close your eyes," he said, reaching across the table. My heart hammered. This was it. Finally. I closed them. I heard the velvet box snap open. Heard his intake of breath. Felt tears already forming behind my eyelids because after six years of waiting, of being patient, of being understanding— "Lena, open your eyes." I did. The ring was gorgeous. A princess cut diamond that caught the light and threw rainbows across the white tablecloth. Exactly what I'd pinned on Pinterest three years ago. "Marcus," I whispered. He was smiling. That boyish smile that made me fall for him in college. "I know I've made you wait. But you're it for me, Lena. You've always been it." I reached for the ring. That's when I heard her voice. "Oh my GOD, you actually did it!" Iris. Marcus's childhood best friend. The girl who was always just *there*. At our dates. Our vacations. Our *life*. She materialized at our table in a cloud of expensive perfume and audacity, her blonde hair perfectly curled, her dress probably costing more than my rent. "Iris, hey—" Marcus started. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the ring. "Let me see it," she said, and before I could process what was happening, she plucked the ring from the box. My ring. She held it up to the light, examining it like she was a jeweler and not an intruder. "Hmm. Nice clarity. Good cut." Then she did something that made my blood turn to ice. She slipped it onto her own finger. "Iris—" Marcus said, but he was laughing. Actually laughing. She held up her hand, admiring how the diamond looked against her skin. "You know what? It suits me better." The restaurant noise faded. The clinking glasses. The soft jazz. The murmur of other people's happiness. All I could hear was the roaring in my ears. "Iris, come on," Marcus said, still smiling. "Give it back." "Why? I'm just trying it on." She wiggled her fingers. "Don't be so sensitive, Lena. It's just a joke." Just a joke. How many times had I heard that phrase? How many times had I swallowed my anger, my hurt, my screaming instinct that something was *wrong* with how much space Iris took up in my relationship? "Give it back," I said quietly. Iris raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "I said give it back." Marcus reached for my hand. "Babe, she's kidding. Don't make a scene." Don't make a scene. Six years of not making scenes. Six years of being cool. Being understanding. Being the girlfriend who didn't get jealous when his "best friend" called at midnight. Who didn't complain when she joined our vacation to Cabo. Who smiled through every boundary violation because I didn't want to be *that* girl. The crazy one. The insecure one. I stood up. "Lena—" Marcus's smile finally faltered. I walked around the table. Iris watched me approach with this little smirk on her face. Like she'd won something. Like she always won. I grabbed her wrist. "What are you—" I pulled the ring off her finger. She tried to make a fist, tried to keep it, but I was done being gentle. Done being nice. The ring came free. "That's mine," I said. The restaurant had gone quiet. People were staring. Marcus was half-standing, his face red. "Lena, sit down," he hissed. "You're embarrassing yourself." Embarrassing myself. I looked at the ring in my palm. Then at Marcus. Then at Iris, who was rubbing her wrist with this wounded expression that didn't reach her eyes. "No," I said. "I don't think I am." I dropped the ring into my purse. "Lena, what the hell—" Marcus grabbed my arm. I pulled free. "Six years, Marcus. Six years I've watched you choose her. Six years I've made myself smaller so she could fit into our relationship. Six years of 'it's just a joke' and 'don't be insecure' and 'she's like my sister.'" "She IS like my sister—" "Sisters don't look at their brothers the way she looks at you." I grabbed my coat. "And brothers don't let their sisters disrespect their girlfriends." "Fiancée," he corrected desperately. "You're my fiancée now." I laughed. It came out sharp and bitter. "No. I'm not." I walked toward the exit. Behind me, I heard Iris say something to Marcus. Heard him curse. Heard chairs scraping. But I didn't turn around. I pushed through the restaurant doors into the cold night air and kept walking. My phone started buzzing before I reached my car. Marcus. Then Iris. Then Marcus again. I turned it off. I sat in my car in the parking lot, hands shaking on the steering wheel, and pulled out the ring. It really was beautiful. Everything I'd ever wanted. But as I looked at it, I realized something. I'd never actually seen Marcus buy it. Never seen the receipt. Never heard him talk about picking it out. And Iris had known exactly what clarity it was. What cut. Like she'd seen it before. My phone buzzed one more time before the power died completely. A text from my best friend Jade that must have come through just before I shut it down. I turned the phone back on just to read it. **Jade: Girl, call me. I just saw something on Iris's Instagram story from last week. You need to see this.** I opened Instagram with trembling fingers. And that's when my entire world shifted on its axis. ---