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239-5728.

239-5728.

I pull out my phone and select new contact and enter in the phone number. As for his name? Well, I put a hockey puck and then the word head right after.

I curl into a ball on my bed, still wearing the clothes I ran out of Cade's apartment in, my special lingerie bunched uncomfortably beneath them. I should shower. I should wash away every trace of that man on my body, of what happened tonight. But I can't move. Can't bring myself to stand under the spray of water and face what I've done.

The tears won't stop. They leak from the corners of my eyes, soaking into my pillow until it's damp against my cheek. How did I make a mistake this big? I went to Cade's place to take our relationship to the next level, and instead, I slept with his brother. His fucking brother!

I keep seeing Sanderson's face when I close my eyes—that moment when the light hit him and I realized he wasn't Cade. They share the same eyes, but where Cade's are warm honey, Sanderson's are amber fire. There's something harder about him, darker. A roughness that Cade's gentle nature lacks.

God help me, I was attracted to him instantly. Even in that moment of horror, something electric passed between us. He seemed more difficult than Cade, more brooding, more entitled to take what he wants. And that shouldn't be appealing—it should send me running in the opposite direction—but my body betrayed me. And it still is.

I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the persistent ache between them. I never finished. The moment of crisis interrupted what would have been—what was already becoming—the first orgasm of my life. And now I'm left with this ghost of pleasure haunting me, a physical reminder of my betrayal.

I wish I had pulled out my phone, just for a second in that dark room. If I'd looked at his sleeping face, I would have known it wasn't Cade. Would have seen the differences that are so obvious now—the sharper jaw, the hint of stubble Cade doesn’t have, the slightly broader shoulders.

The night stretches endlessly before me. I check my phone: 2:17 AM. I have class at nine. Five hours of this hell to go, and I know I won't sleep through any of it. I'm a wreck, my mind racing between crushing guilt and flashes of unwanted desire. I have no idea what to do next, but there's no coming back from this, no way to look Cade in the eyes and not see his brother, not remember what happened tonight.

My alarm blares, and I realize I must have fallen asleep. My eyes feel swollen, gritty with dried tears.

Fresh tears spring to my eyes from the thought of last night as I drag myself to the shower. The hot water does nothing to wash away the memory of his hands on my skin, the feel of him inside me. If anything, it makes it worse, my body flushing with the memory.

My phone chimes as I'm getting dressed, and my heart is racing out of control.

Lennox: Sooooo??? How did it go with Cade last night? I need details!

I can't even look at the message, much less reply. How could I possibly explain this? "Oh, it went great, except it wasn't Cade, it was his brother, and I didn't even realize until he was coming." Yeah, that would go over well.

I throw on a hoodie and jeans, not bothering with makeup to cover my puffy eyes. Let people think I'm sick. I am sick—sick with guilt, sick with shame, sick with the knowledge that I've ruined everything with my boyfriend.

The day passes in a fog. I sit through Comparative Literature staring blankly at my notebook, not writing a single word. In Bio Ethics, Professor Henley calls on me twice, and both times I have no idea what she's asked. By lunch, I've ignored three more texts from Lennox, two from my study group, and—worst of all—one from Cade.

Cade: Hey beautiful, sorry about last night. My phone died and I crashed at Jake's after the party. Want to grab dinner tonight?

My stomach turns. Sorry about last night? He has no idea what happened last night. No clue that while he was partying with Jake, I was in his bed with his brother.

I hide in the library during my free period, tucked into a corner desk with my hood pulled up. I need to end this. Every minute I let pass without telling Cade the truth is another minute of betrayal.

With shaking fingers, I finally type out a text.

Hannah: Cade, I don't think we should see each other anymore. I'm sorry.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately regret the wording. It's too cold, too abrupt after two months together. But what else can I say? "I had sex with your brother by mistake and now I can't face you"?

His response comes almost instantly.

Cade: Wait, what? Hannah, where is this coming from?

I bite my lip, trying to find words that won't reveal too much but won't be completely dishonest either.

Hannah: I just don't think this is working for me. I need some space.

Cade: That's bullshit. Everything was fine yesterday. What happened?

My hands tremble. What happened? I fucked your brother , that's what happened.

Hannah: Nothing happened. I've just been thinking about this for a while.

Cade: No, you haven't. Is this because I didn't come home last night? I told you my phone died. I was going to explain everything tonight.

A spark of suspicion ignites in my chest. There's something defensive in his tone, something that doesn't quite ring true.

Hannah: Where were you last night?

Cade: I told you, I was at Jake's. The party got wild, and it was too late to drive. Why are you really breaking up with me?

I stare at the screen, wondering if there's more to the story. Why would he tell me he'd be home if he was planning to go to a party? What is he hiding?

Hannah: I think we want different things, Cade. This isn't about last night.

It's the biggest lie I've ever told. This has everything to do about last night.

Cade: This makes no sense. We need to talk in person. Let me come over.

The thought of seeing him face-to-face makes me physically ill.

Hannah: No. I need space. Please respect that.

Cade: Is there someone else?

The question hits me like a slap. Is there someone else? His own brother. The taste of bile rises in my throat.

Hannah: No. It's not that.

Cade: Then what is it? I deserve a real explanation, Hannah.

He does. Of course he does. But I can't give him one without destroying him, without destroying whatever relationship he has with Sanderson. And despite everything, I don't want to be responsible for that.

Hannah: I'm just not ready for a relationship right now. I thought I was, but I'm not. I'm sorry.

It sounds weak, but it's the best I can do.

Cade: This is about last night. Something happened. Tell me what it is, and we can fix it.

My heart pounds against my ribs. Does he know? Has Sanderson told him already?

Hannah: I just need to focus on school right now.

Cade: I don't believe you. If you're going to break up with me, at least be honest about why.

Tears blur my vision. Honest? He has no idea what honesty would cost all of us.

Hannah: I am being honest. This isn't working for me anymore. I'm sorry.

Cade: Whatever, Hannah. When you're ready to tell me the real reason, you know where to find me.

His final text sits on my screen like an accusation. I turn off my phone, unable to bear any more communication, and bury my face in my hands. It's done. It's over. And somehow, that knowledge brings no relief, only a hollow ache where something good used to be.

I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe. The sobs wrack my body, making my ribs ache with the force of them. I didn't realize how much Cade cared about me. His texts were so raw, so confused—did he really like me that much? For a fleeting moment, I consider telling him the truth. Maybe, just maybe, he would forgive me. Maybe we could work through this somehow.

But reality crashes back. I slept with his brother. There's no forgiving that, no coming back from it. The shame of it burns through me, made worse by the knowledge that my body still aches for release, still remembers the feeling of Sanderson inside me. I press my thighs together, denying myself even that small comfort. I don't deserve relief. I don't deserve anything.

Lennox has texted me five more times by evening.

Lennox: Seriously, are you okay?

Lennox: Did you die??? Should I call the police???

Lennox: Okay now I'm actually worried

Lennox: HANNAH ANSWER ME OR I'M COMING TO YOUR ROOM

I finally text her back.

Hannah: Sorry, been swamped with schoolwork. Nothing happened last night. Didn't see Cade. Talk later?

It's so far from the truth it's almost laughable, but it's all I can manage right now. I can't face her questions, can't risk breaking down and telling her everything. I need to keep this secret buried deep where it can't hurt anyone else.

When I get back to my dorm, I collapse onto my bed again. The tears come instantly, as if they were just waiting for me to be alone. I cry until my throat is raw, until my eyes burn, until I have no tears left. And then I cry some more, dry, painful sobs that shake my entire body.

I cry through the night, through the next day, missing my classes, ignoring more texts from everyone. I can't face the world, can't face myself. I've become someone I don't recognize, someone who sleeps with her boyfriend's brother and then lies about it.

By the second day after the breakup, I've ignored so many texts from Cade that I should have expected what comes next. But I'm still not prepared when he finds me outside my Comparative Literature class, his face a storm cloud of anger and hurt.

The moment I see him, my world stops spinning.

Everything freezes—my breath, my heartbeat, my thoughts—as a tidal wave of emotions crashes over me. I physically stagger backward, my back hitting the brick wall of the humanities building as the full weight of what I've done manifests in the form of Cade standing before me.

His eyes—so like his brother's and yet completely different—are red-rimmed and furious. He's been crying too. The knowledge pierces me like a physical pain, radiating from my chest outward until even my fingertips ache with guilt.

"What the hell, Hannah?" His voice is low, controlled, but trembling with emotion.

I can't speak. My mouth opens but no words come out. I'm drowning in shame, in the knowledge that beneath his anger is a confusion I can never clarify. My skin feels too tight, burning with the memory of his brother's touch, and I want to tear it off, to somehow shed the person who did this terrible thing.

"You've been ignoring me for two days," he continues, moving closer. "You break up with me over text with no explanation, and then you just disappear?"

The disgust I feel for myself is overwhelming. It coils in my stomach, writhes up my throat, threatens to spill out in a confession I know I can't make. I've never hated myself more than in this moment, looking at the pain in his eyes and knowing I'm the cause of it. And beneath that self-loathing is a deeper shame—the realization that even now, even here, some traitorous part of me is comparing him to his brother, noting the differences in their build, their stance, the timbre of their voices.

"I can't do this here," I manage to whisper, my voice a broken thing.

"Then where? When?" His voice rises slightly. "You won't answer my calls, you won't reply to my texts. What am I supposed to do, Hannah? Just accept that it's over with no explanation?"

Tears threaten again, but I blink them back. I don't deserve the release of crying. I don't deserve anything but this moment, this confrontation, this consequence of my actions.

"There's nothing to explain," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady, cold even. It's the only way I can get through this without breaking down completely. "It's just not working for me anymore."

"Bullshit!" he hisses, his fist connecting with the wall beside my head. I flinch but hold my ground. "Three days ago, you were texting me about how excited you were to see me. And now suddenly it's 'not working'? What happened, Hannah?"

What happened? I betrayed you in the worst possible way. I ruined everything good between us because I was too impatient, too reckless, too eager to move forward without making sure I was in the right bed, with the right man.

"Nothing," I say, the lie tasting like ash. "I just realized I'm not in the right place for a relationship right now."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me there's no one else," he demands, his voice breaking.

I force myself to meet his gaze, to hold it steady even as I feel myself crumbling inside. "There's no one else, Cade." Another lie, because how do I tell him the "someone else" is his own brother?

Something in my eyes must convince him, or maybe it's just the coldness in my voice, because his shoulders slump slightly.

"I don't understand," he says, and the anger is giving way to hurt now, which is somehow worse. "I thought we were good together. I thought you were happy."

"I was," I admit, and that at least is true. "But I'm not anymore. I'm sorry."

"Sorry," he repeats, the word hollow. "You're sorry. That's it? That's all I get after two months?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak again. The mask of indifference I'm wearing feels like it might crack at any moment, revealing the broken, guilty mess beneath.

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity, searching my face for some clue, some explanation that makes sense. I hold myself rigid, afraid that if I move, if I soften even slightly, I'll collapse into his arms and confess everything.

Finally, he steps back, his expression hardening.

"Fine," he says. "If that's how you want it, fine. But don't come crawling back when you realize what you threw away."

He turns then, his movement sharp with anger, and slams his fist into the wall one more time before storming off. I watch him go, rooted to the spot, fragments of my heart scattering with each step he takes away from me.

I somehow make it through my lecture, though I couldn't tell you a single word that was said. The moment I'm back in my dorm room, I crumple to the floor, my back against the door, and the dam breaks. I sob into my hands, then crawl to my bed and bury my face in my pillow to muffle the sounds of my grief.

I don't leave my room for the rest of the day. I don't answer texts. I don't eat. I just lie in bed, replaying the look on Cade's face as he walked away, knowing I've lost him forever. And knowing, with a certainty that hollows me out, that I deserve every second of this pain.