Here’s *Chapter 2: Kiki* —

Maya didn’t sleep.

She told herself she would. She told herself that leaving the chat was the hard part, and now it was done. Clean. Over. But her phone was still on the bed, screen-down like a dare. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it: Jay in Kiki’s story, blurred but undeniable. The way his hand rested on someone else’s waist. The way he laughed.

By 3 AM, she was no longer trying to sleep. She was hunting.

Kiki’s Instagram was public. That was the first mistake — Jay’s or Kiki’s, Maya hadn’t decided yet. The second mistake was Kiki’s caption from two hours ago: _my ride or dies 🥂 #tuesdayvibes_.

Jay wasn’t tagged. Of course he wasn’t. But Maya knew his hoodie. The black one with the frayed sleeve. She’d told him it made him look like he was hiding from the world. He’d said, _Only from everyone but you._

She scrolled. Kiki had stories archived as highlights. _Bdays. Girls Trip. Us._ Maya clicked _Us_.

Photos loaded like accusations. Kiki and Jay at a rooftop bar. Kiki and Jay at a beach, her head on his shoulder. Kiki and Jay in a mirror selfie, his arm around her, her caption: _3 years, still crazy about this one ❤️_

Three years.

Maya did the math. Three years ago, she was still engaged to Daniel. Three years ago, she didn’t even have this dating app. Three years ago, Jay had been telling Kiki he loved her while telling Maya that love was “fate > algorithms.”

Her throat burned. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to call him. She wanted to do neither.

Instead, she DM’d Kiki. No plan. Just fingers moving faster than sense.

*Maya* [3:17 AM]: Hey. I don’t think you know me. But I think you know Jay.

Kiki read it in four minutes. Maya watched the _seen_ notification appear. No dots. No reply. Just _seen_.

At 7:02 AM, her phone buzzed. Not Kiki. Jay.

_Can we talk? Please. In person. Let me explain._

Maya stared at the text. _Let me explain._ As if this was a misunderstanding. As if there were a version of the truth where he wasn’t a liar.

She didn’t answer. She got dressed, grabbed coffee, and went to work with Kiki’s profile still open in her browser. By lunch, Kiki had posted again. A selfie. Red eyes. No caption. Just a black heart.

*🖤*

Maya’s phone buzzed again at 2:14 PM. Unknown number.

*Unknown*: _He told me about you. Said you were “just a girl from the app.” Said it wasn’t serious._

*Unknown*: _I believed him. I’m sorry._

Maya’s hands shook. She didn’t have to ask who it was.

*Maya*: _Three years?_

*Kiki*: _Three years. And one apartment. And a dog._

A dog. Maya put her coffee down before she dropped it. There was a dog.

*Kiki*: _He told me you knew. That you were okay with it. That you were “poly too.”_

*Kiki*: _Are you?_

Maya laughed then. A sharp, broken sound that made her coworker look up. No, she wasn’t poly. She wasn’t okay with it. She wasn’t anything except the other woman in a story she didn’t agree to be in.

*Maya*: _I didn’t know. About any of it._

*Kiki*: _I didn’t either. Not about you._

*Kiki*: _He’s at work right now. Or he says he is._

*Kiki*: _Do you want his location?_

Maya’s breath caught. The question hung there, blinking on her screen. _Do you want his location?_

She thought about the rain last night. About _Fate > algorithms_. About _I love you_ sent at 12:17 AM while Kiki was probably asleep in their bed.

Her thumb hovered.

*Maya*: _Yes._

Kiki sent a pin. Not “work.” A hotel downtown.

Maya stood up. She didn’t grab her bag. Didn’t tell her boss she was leaving. She just walked out, phone in hand, the map already routing her to a truth she wasn’t sure she could survive.

But she was done being lied to.

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