The office afterparty was in full swing. Glasses clinked, music pulsed low through the suite, and scattered conversation floated through the room like smoke. You were standing near the balcony door, a drink in hand, eyes drifting between the open skyline and the couch where Daniel now slouched with a smug kind of comfort. The air smelled of expensive cologne and champagne, sweet but cloying.

He caught your glance and smiled. That kind of smile, the one that doesn't reach the eyes. Cold chills prickled the back of your neck despite the warm room.

"Still waiting on her, huh?" he said, tapping the rim of his glass with a manicured finger. "Classic Emilie. Always late. Always leaving someone hanging."

You didn't reply, merely tightening your grip on your drink. The ice clinked loudly in the silence.

He leaned forward, voice lowering just enough to signal the shift. The kind of tone people use when they pretend it's casual, but every word is a blade. "You ever wonder why she's really late?"

You frowned, but said nothing. The distant thump of the bass matched the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Look, I'm not trying to mess with you," he said, that grin never fading, "but you're too smart to be this naïve. Don't tell me you thought all that time we spent together was innocent."

He chuckled, shaking his head like he pitied you. "The weekend she missed your birthday? She was at my place. The night you left the office early and we stayed back finishing the pitch deck? We didn't just talk design. She never told you? Guess it wasn't important enough to mention. Or maybe... maybe she didn't want you to know she likes being handled a little rough."

Your grip on the glass tightened until your knuckles whitened. The condensation made it slippery in your palm.

He leaned in closer, voice hushed but deliberate, hot breath against your ear. "You should've seen the way she looked at me when I had her pinned to my couch. Like she couldn't breathe without it. You know what she said? She said my name. Over and over. Like it was the only thing she remembered."

He took a sip, paused, and then added with theatrical timing. "But hey, maybe she tells you different things when she's curled up next to you, yeah? Or maybe she saves the real stuff for when it counts."

His eyes locked on yours, dark and unblinking. "I mean, she likes you, sure. You're the safe one. The backup. The 'emotional intimacy' guy. But don't feel bad. Every story needs a supporting character."

The room didn't feel warm anymore. It felt suffocating. Distant clinks and music blurred into noise, a meaningless roar in your ears as your stomach twisted into knots.

"You really thought someone like her would choose you over me?" he continued, chuckling softly. "Come on, man. We both know how this ends. You walk away, heartbroken. I pick up the pieces. She forgets you ever existed."

He tilted his head, feigning sympathy. "Better now than later, right?"