Betrayal rarely announced itself.
It didn't crash through the door or arrive with raised voices and accusations. More often, it slipped in softly, wearing a familiar face and carrying excuses that sounded reasonable enough to believe.
Ife discovered this on a Tuesday.
The day had begun almost peacefully. Too peacefully, she would later realize. Arden had left early with Victor, promising he'd be back before noon. The apartment felt unusually quiet without him—no tension humming in the walls, no watchful pacing.
Just space.
She decided to clean.
Not because the place was dirty, but because moving her hands helped quiet her thoughts. She wiped surfaces, folded clothes, straightened books she had already organized twice. That was when she noticed it.
Her phone.
It wasn't where she'd left it.
She was sure of that.
Ife stood still in the middle of the room, heart slowing instead of racing. Fear she understood. Panic she could handle. But this—this felt wrong in a subtler way.
She found the phone on the kitchen counter.
Face down.
She didn't remember putting it there.
When she picked it up, the screen lit immediately.
A message preview glowed at the top.
Unknown Contact: We need to talk. I know where you are.
Her stomach dropped.
Arden returned to chaos.
Not the loud kind—the kind that slammed doors and drew attention—but the quiet tension that pressed against the skin like humidity before a storm. Ife stood by the window, phone in her hand, face unreadable.
He knew instantly.
"What happened?" he asked.
She turned slowly. "Someone knows where we live."
The air shifted.
Victor appeared moments later, already alert. "Show me the message."
Ife handed him the phone.
Victor read it once. Then again.
"Do you recognize the number?" Arden asked.
She shook her head. "No."
Victor's jaw tightened. "That's not random."
They traced it faster than Arden expected.
Too fast.
Victor's fingers flew over a device, pulling up location data, access logs, timestamps. Ife watched silently, unease crawling deeper with every second.
"This message was sent from within a one-mile radius," Victor said.
Arden frowned. "That's not possible."
"It is," Victor replied. "If someone gave them access."
Ife's chest tightened. "Access to what?"
Victor didn't answer immediately.
Arden did.
"Our routines."
The name came like a whisper.
Zainab.
Ife felt it before it was said, like a premonition rising from somewhere she didn't want to look.
"No," she said quietly. "That's not possible."
Victor's expression was apologetic but firm. "She accessed your location two days ago."
Ife shook her head, backing away. "She's my friend."
Arden stepped forward. "Ife—"
"She wouldn't," Ife insisted. "She wouldn't do that."
Victor lowered his voice. "She met with Clara yesterday."
The room went silent.
The floor felt unsteady beneath Ife's feet.
"She asked questions," Victor continued. "About Arden. About you. About where you felt safest."
Ife's breath came shallow now. "She was worried."
"She was paid," Victor said gently.
Ife left the apartment without saying a word.
Arden followed.
She walked fast, tears blurring her vision, anger burning hotter than fear. Zainab's laugh echoed in her head. Her concern. Her casual questions.
Are you okay there?
He seems intense.
Just tell me where you are, so I know you're safe.
She stopped abruptly in front of Zainab's building.
Zainab answered the door smiling.
It faded instantly.
"Ife—"
"Don't," Ife said, voice shaking. "Just don't."
Zainab's shoulders sagged. "I didn't think it would go this far."
Ife laughed—a broken sound. "You sold me."
"I didn't sell you," Zainab said quickly. "I just… talked."
Arden stepped into view behind Ife.
Zainab's eyes widened. "I was trying to protect you."
"You exposed her," Arden said coldly.
Zainab's eyes filled with tears. "They said you were dangerous."
Ife stared at her. "So you decided I was disposable?"
Silence.
That was answer enough.
Back in the apartment, Ife sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in her lap.
"I trusted her," she whispered.
Arden knelt in front of her. "I know."
"They didn't have to threaten me," she continued. "They didn't have to scare me. They just had to ask someone I loved."
That was the cruelty of it.
Arden took her hands carefully. "This is not your fault."
She looked up at him, eyes raw. "It feels like it is."
"Then feel it," he said softly. "But don't carry it alone."
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her, steady and sure.
For the first time since this began, she cried.
Victor watched from a distance, phone pressed to his ear.
"They've crossed another line," he said. "Yes. She's compromised emotionally."
A pause.
Then: "Yes. We proceed."
That night, Ife lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Betrayal hurt differently than danger. Danger sharpened you. Betrayal hollowed you out.
Arden turned toward her. "I'm here."
She reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt.
"I know," she said softly. "That's why it hurts."
Because love, she realized, didn't just make you brave.
It made you visible.
And someone had opened the door.