Page 3 of If He Hadn't Cheated
He finally looks up.
Knox Cain’s eyes are the kind that see too much. Dark, sharp, and unblinking. For a moment, I feel pinned to the carpet, exposed under fluorescent light. That look used to intimidate me. Now it pisses me off.
“He’s studying with Stephanie,” one of the guys says quickly, jumping in before Knox can speak again.
The name hits like ice water down my spine. “Stephanie?”
It sounds foreign, but my brain catches up fast. Stephanie is that girl. The one with the body of a cheerleader and the face of someone who always gets what she wants. Sebastian mentioned her once or twice, casually, like she was just another name in a sea of faces. The girl who only dated athletes. The one who laughed too loud .
“Yeah,” the blonde guy adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “Building Five. Second floor. Room 207.”
Knox’s eyes flick toward him, sharp and silent, like a knife without a handle.
Knox turns back to me, his gaze unreadable. For a second, something flickers. Pity? Regret? Hate? Maybe just frustration. Then it’s gone.
“Room 207,” he repeats, his voice calm. “If you hurry, you might catch them before they finish.”
The way he says it makes my stomach drop.
There’s something behind those words, something jagged. And I know, right then, that I should turn around and go back to my dorm room. But I don’t.
I thank them quietly and leave. My footsteps echo down the hallway like they’re chasing me.
The elevator takes too long. My reflection in the polished steel doors looks like a stranger, hair curled, lip gloss too shiny,smile faded. Hopeful. Too hopeful. And that’s what breaks my heart most. That I still believe he wouldn’t do this to me. That I still think there’s some logical explanation. Study partners, nothing more. Just a misunderstanding as to why he isn’t answering my calls.
The elevator dings on the second floor, and I step out into a hallway that smells like carpet cleaner and burnt coffee. Room 207 is halfway down, its door slightly ajar.
My hand pauses on the handle.
There’s a voice in my head screaming not to open it. That voice sounds like my mother, who always told me to listen to my instincts, to never ignore the tension that coils in your stomach like a bad omen.
But I ignore her.
I twist the knob. Not bothering to knock.
The door swings open slowly.
And the world stops.
It takes a few seconds to register what I’m seeing. My mind tries to find another explanation, any at all, but there isn’t one.
Stephanie is on the counter, legs wrapped around Sebastian’s waist. His shirt is on the floor. Her ponytail bobs in time with their movements. Her hands are in his hair. His jeans hang low, halfway down. His back arches, his fingers digging into her thighs.
Beside them, his phone lies facedown, the same phone with the cracked case I teased him about two weeks ago. The one he always kept on silent when he was with me.
It’s too much. Too loud. Too vivid. The sound of her moans. The look on his face. The betrayal blooming like poison inside my chest.
My knees buckle. My heart stutters. But something inside me, something sharp and furious, keeps me standing.
I step forward and shove the door open wider.
It slams against the wall.
They freeze.
Stephanie gasps, scrambling to cover herself. Sebastian’s head jerks toward me. His eyes widen. His mouth opens, reaching for words that won’t come.
“Lana,” he says.
