I thought I’d met the perfect man until the day he vanished without a word. When I went to check on him, I found out he was at his own wedding. But that was only the beginning of the lies.
Jake was the kind of man you read about in novels but never expect to meet in real life. He was a successful businessman, effortlessly charming, and somehow managed to make everyone around him feel special. For the past month, he’d made me feel like the only woman in the world.
Our dates had always been perfect, like scenes from a romantic movie. Jake had a knack for picking places that felt magical—intimate rooftop dinners, quiet strolls by the river, surprise picnics in hidden gardens. That evening was no exception.
We were seated in the coziest corner of an elegant rooftop restaurant. The soft glow of candlelight flickered between us, and the city skyline twinkled in the background. But something was off.
Jake wasn’t himself. As the evening progressed, I couldn’t ignore the subtle tension in his face. It was the way his jaw tightened when he thought I wasn’t looking or the faraway look in his eyes when the conversation lulled.
“Long day?” I asked, trying to ease him into talking. He nodded, his gaze fixed on the flickering candle between us. “You could say that.”
The small talk that usually flowed so easily felt stilted.
“You seem… different tonight,” I said softly, setting my fork down. “Do I?” He smiled.
“Sorry, I guess I’m just tired.”
Tired didn’t quite explain the way he barely touched his food or how his usual quick wit seemed to have vanished. By the time dessert arrived—a slice of chocolate cake we’d planned to share—I was beginning to feel uneasy. Then, out of nowhere, he sighed deeply.
“I think I might have caught something,” he said quietly, not meeting my gaze. “Let’s cancel our weekend trip to the lake house.”
“What?! Jake, we’ve been planning that trip for weeks.
Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, offering a faint smile. “I just need a few days to rest.”
But Jake didn’t look sick. He, probably, looked troubled.
I searched his face, hoping for a sign that he was hiding something. “If there’s anything I can do, you’ll tell me, right?” I asked, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “Of course,” he said, giving my fingers a quick squeeze before pulling away.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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