My wife laughed too loudly as another man lifted her out of the pool during the one-minute dare while the whole party cheered. When I told her she was crossing the line, she smirked and said, “You look so pathetic compared to this attractive man.”

 

My wife laughed too loudly as another man lifted her out of the pool during the one-minute dare while the whole party cheered. When I told her she was crossing the line, she smirked and said, “You look so pathetic compared to this attractive man.”

The guy holding her gave me a wicked grin and said, “No woman can resist me.” I nodded, set my drink down, and walked away before the crowd even stopped laughing. They thought I had lost that night, but in truth, I had only just started the countdown.

That backyard in suburban Ohio went quiet for about three seconds after I left.

Then the laughter came back louder.

I could still hear it from the driveway, mixed with splashing water, country music from a Bluetooth speaker, and the sharp pop of someone opening another soda can near the grill. Red cups were scattered across the patio table beneath strings of white patio lights.

A small American flag hung beside the porch light. Someone had brought a grocery-store sheet cake with blue icing, and my wife’s wet footprints crossed the concrete like she had just walked over the last line of our marriage.

I did not slam the gate.

I did not yell.

I only stopped beside my truck, looked back once, and saw Lauren still in the pool, still smiling, still letting everyone believe I had walked away because I was embarrassed.

The man’s name was Ethan.

I knew that because five minutes earlier, he had introduced himself with that loud confidence some men use when they think every room belongs to them.

“Relax, buddy,” he had said, raising both hands like he was the harmless one. “It was just a dare.”

Lauren had laughed and leaned closer to him.

“See?” she said. “He gets it.”

No, I thought.

He did not get anything.

Not yet.

When I got into my truck, my phone buzzed before I even started the engine.

It was a text from Lauren.

Don’t make a scene. You’re embarrassing yourself.

I stared at those words under the yellow glow of the dashboard.

Then another message came in.

And this one was not from her.

It was from a number I did not recognize.

The message had only nine words.

You don’t know me, but you need to see this.

There was a video attached.

For several seconds I did not touch it. I could still hear Ethan laughing from the backyard, and I could still hear Lauren’s voice rising above everyone else as if she wanted to make sure I knew the party had become more fun after I left.

Then I pressed play.

The video was a screen recording of a group chat. It moved quickly, showing names, jokes, dollar amounts, and one photograph that made my hand tighten around the phone.

The photograph was of Lauren.

It had been taken three days earlier outside a coffee shop near Easton Town Center in Columbus. She was standing beside Ethan, smiling while he leaned against the hood of his car.

Under the picture, Ethan had written, She says her husband is coming Saturday. This is going to be easy.

Someone named Mason replied, How easy?

Ethan answered, One minute in the pool. I get her to make him look stupid in front of everyone. Five hundred says he leaves.

Another message followed.

Make it a thousand if she lets you pick her up.

Ethan had responded with three laughing emojis.

Then came the sentence I would remember more clearly than anything he said to my face.

She already wants to prove she can still get attention. I’m just giving her the stage.

I watched the screen recording twice.

On the third viewing, I noticed something else.

There were messages from Lauren too.

Not in that group chat. They appeared as screenshots Ethan had posted for his friends.

Lauren: Daniel has become so predictable lately.

Ethan: Predictable can be useful.

Lauren: Don’t be cruel.

Ethan: You’re the one who said you wanted to remind him other men notice you.

Lauren: Maybe I do.

Ethan: Then Saturday will be fun.

My stomach turned, but not for the reason I expected.

There was anger, yes. There was humiliation too. But underneath both was a strange cold clarity.

Lauren had not been swept into a spontaneous dare.

She had walked into that pool knowing what Ethan wanted.

Maybe she did not know about the bet. Maybe she did not know he had been sharing her private messages. But she knew enough to understand what the moment was supposed to do to me.

She wanted a reaction.

She wanted jealousy.

She wanted proof that I could still be made to compete for her.

Instead, I had walked away.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number: I’m sorry. There’s more.

I typed one question.

Who are you?

The answer came almost immediately.

Rachel. Ethan’s fiancée.

I read it twice.

Then I looked back toward the house.

Ethan was still in the pool with my wife.

His fiancée was texting me from somewhere else.

For the first time that evening, the laughter behind the fence sounded different.

Not louder.

Smaller.

I called Rachel.

She answered on the second ring but did not say hello.

“Are you really engaged to him?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Her voice was calm, but there was something strained beneath it.

“How long?”

“Eleven months.”

“Does Lauren know?”

“I don’t think so.”

I leaned back against the driver’s seat and closed my eyes.

Rachel continued before I could ask another question.

“I found the group chat this afternoon. Ethan left an old tablet connected to his account. I wasn’t looking for anything. A notification appeared, and your wife’s picture was on the screen.”

I said nothing.

“I recognized her from the party invitation,” Rachel said. “I was supposed to be there tonight.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“My mother had surgery in Cincinnati yesterday. I stayed with her.”

That explained why nobody at the party had mentioned Ethan being engaged. The gathering belonged to one of Lauren’s coworkers, and Ethan had arrived through someone else. To most of the people in that backyard, he was just a confident stranger with a good smile and no visible history.

Rachel knew the history.

And apparently, now I did too.

“How much more is there?” I asked.

She was quiet for a moment.

“Enough that you should not confront them tonight.”

That sentence caught my attention.

“Why?”

“Because Ethan thinks this is a game. If he knows I found the chat, he’ll delete everything before I can save it.”

I looked again at Lauren’s message telling me not to make a scene.

“Send me what involves my wife,” I said. “Nothing else.”

Rachel exhaled softly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not asking me to destroy him for you.”

I almost laughed, but there was nothing funny in the truck.

“I don’t need you to destroy anybody,” I said. “People like Ethan usually do that themselves.”

Rachel did not answer immediately.

Then she said, “That’s exactly what I’m hoping.”

I drove home alone.

Lauren did not come back with me.

At 11:48 p.m., she texted that she was staying another hour because I had made things awkward and she did not want my mood ruining everyone’s night.

I replied with one word.

Okay.

At 12:37 a.m., she sent a picture of the pool lights and wrote, See? Everyone calmed down after you left.

I did not answer.

At 1:14 a.m., she called.

I let it ring three times before picking up.

“You’re seriously doing the silent treatment now?” she asked.

“No.”

“Well, it feels like it.”

“I came home.”

“I know that, Daniel.”

Hearing my name in that irritated tone almost made the whole situation feel normal again. Almost.

“Are you coming home?” I asked.

“Eventually.”

“Are you with Ethan?”

There was a pause.

Then Lauren laughed.

“Oh my God. This again?”

“It was a question.”

“He’s here. So are fifteen other people.”

“Okay.”

Another pause.

“You really are jealous.”

“No, Lauren.”

“You walked out because another man made you feel insecure.”

“No.”

“Then why did you leave?”

I looked at the second batch of screenshots Rachel had sent while I was driving.

Because I had learned my wife had been messaging Ethan for six weeks.

Because I had learned she had met him twice for coffee and once for lunch.

Because I had learned she had told him intimate details about our marriage, including arguments I thought belonged only to us.

Because I had learned Ethan had copied those details into a group chat where men I had never met laughed about them.

But I did not say any of that.

“I left because I did not want to stay,” I said.

Lauren scoffed.

“That makes no sense.”

“It will.”

She went quiet.

“What does that mean?”

“It means come home when you’re ready.”

I ended the call.

That was the moment the countdown became real to me.

Not because I had a plan for revenge.

I did not.

I had something more useful.

Time.

Rachel had told me Ethan’s engagement dinner was exactly fourteen days away.

It was supposed to be small: parents, siblings, a few close friends, dinner at a private room in a restaurant overlooking the Scioto River. Ethan thought Rachel was still excited about it.

She had not decided whether she was going to cancel.

I told her not to decide anything because of me.

She said she was not.

“I need to know what he does when he thinks nobody knows,” she said.

That sentence stayed with me.

So I opened the clock app on my phone and set a timer for thirteen days, twenty-two hours, and forty-six minutes.

I did not label it revenge.

I labeled it truth.

Lauren came home at 2:03 a.m.

I was in the kitchen drinking water when the garage door opened.

She walked in barefoot, carrying her heels in one hand and her wet hair tied loosely behind her head. She looked tired but not ashamed.

“Are you going to glare at me all night?” she asked.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You know what I mean.”

I set the glass down.

She crossed her arms.

“I am allowed to have fun.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“I am allowed to be around attractive men.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“And I’m allowed to joke around without my husband storming off like a teenager.”

“I didn’t storm off.”

That irritated her.

“You left.”

“Yes.”

“Because I embarrassed you.”

I looked at her for several seconds.

“No,” I said. “You embarrassed yourself.”

The confidence slipped from her face for just a moment.

Then it returned.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe.”

“Ethan was right about you.”

The words came out before she seemed to realize she had said them.

I felt something inside me become very still.

“What did Ethan say about me?”

Lauren’s eyes shifted toward the counter.

“Nothing important.”

“You just said he was right.”

“He said you take everything personally.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“At the party.”

It was a lie.

I already had a screenshot from five days earlier.

Ethan: He’ll get upset. Men like Daniel always do.

Lauren: You don’t know him.

Ethan: I know the type.

Lauren: He can be sensitive.

Ethan: Then Saturday should be entertaining.

I could have turned my phone around and ended the conversation with one image.

I did not.

Instead, I nodded.

“Good night, Lauren.”

She stared at me as I walked toward the guest room.

“You’re sleeping in there?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Then it should be easy to fix.”

“How?”

I stopped at the hallway.

“Tell me the truth before I have to ask for it.”

Her face changed again.

Only for a second.

But I saw it.

The next morning, she acted as if nothing had happened.

She made coffee. She asked whether I wanted eggs. She complained that our neighbor had left his trash bins by the curb again. She even reminded me that we were supposed to visit her parents the following Sunday.

I watched her move around the kitchen and wondered how many marriages survived because one person became skilled at pretending yesterday had not happened.

At 8:22 a.m., Ethan texted her.

I knew because Rachel sent me a screenshot from his synced tablet.

Ethan: Your husband recover yet?

Lauren: He’s being quiet and weird.

Ethan: Told you. Insecure.

Lauren: I think I pushed too far.

Ethan: Don’t backpedal now.

Lauren: Easy for you to say.

Ethan: He’ll get over it.

Then Ethan wrote something that changed the shape of the problem again.

You said you wanted him to fight for you. Let him sweat.

I read that line while sitting in my office parking lot.

For months, Lauren had complained that I was too calm.

When her car broke down, I called roadside assistance instead of getting angry.

When our vacation flight was canceled, I found another route instead of shouting at the airline desk.

When we argued, I usually asked for ten minutes before answering because I hated saying things I would later regret.

Lauren used to tell me she appreciated that.

Somewhere along the way, she had begun calling it indifference.

Ethan had apparently turned that insecurity into a lever.

He told her that if she made another man want her in front of me, I would finally become possessive.

He told her jealousy would prove passion.

And Lauren had been willing to test the theory.

That did not excuse her.

But it explained why she looked almost disappointed when I walked away.

She had wanted me to fight Ethan.

Instead, I had removed myself from the stage.

By lunchtime, the countdown showed thirteen days and nine hours.

Rachel sent another message.

There are other women.

I stared at the screen.

What do you mean?

She sent three screenshots.

Different names.

Different photographs.

The same kind of jokes.

Ethan had been doing this for months.

Sometimes he flirted with women who were dating someone. Sometimes they were married. Sometimes he never met them in person at all. He seemed less interested in the women themselves than in proving he could make them cross a boundary.

Then he reported the details to the group chat like scores from a game.

One message read, Boyfriend lasted six minutes before he started yelling.

Another read, Husband never noticed.

A third read, She blocked me after. Still counts.

I felt sick.

Rachel wrote, I thought I knew him.

I typed, So did Lauren.

Then I deleted it.

Because that was not entirely true.

Lauren did not know Ethan.

She knew the version of Ethan he had designed for her.

But she knew me.

And she had still chosen to use me as the other half of his experiment.

That distinction mattered.

For the next four days, I said almost nothing about the party.

That silence bothered Lauren more than anger would have.

On Tuesday night, she followed me into the laundry room while I was folding towels.

“Are you planning to punish me forever?” she asked.

“I’m not punishing you.”

“You barely talk to me.”

“I talk when there’s something real to talk about.”

She leaned against the doorframe.

“I already told you it was a dare.”

“No. You told me the part everyone saw.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I folded another towel.

“It means there is usually a difference between what happens and why it happens.”

“Daniel, stop speaking in riddles.”

“Then stop giving me partial answers.”

She stared at me.

I waited.

For one second, I thought she might tell me everything.

Instead, she said, “I had coffee with Ethan once.”

I kept folding.

“Once?”

“Twice.”

I looked up.

She swallowed.

“Maybe three times.”

There it was.

Not the truth.

A negotiation with the truth.

“Why?” I asked.

“He was easy to talk to.”

“And I’m not?”

“You always want to solve everything.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She crossed her arms.

“I wanted to feel noticed.”

I nodded slowly.

“That is an answer.”

Her expression softened, as if she thought the conversation was finally moving in a direction she could control.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“You told another man you wanted to make me jealous.”

Her face went white.

I had not shown her my phone.

I had not mentioned screenshots.

I had simply said one sentence.

“How do you know that?” she whispered.

I placed the towel on the stack.

“Is it true?”

She did not answer.

“That is the only question that matters right now.”

Lauren looked toward the hallway as if someone might rescue her from her own kitchen.

Finally, she said, “I said some stupid things.”

“To him?”

“Yes.”

“For six weeks?”

Her eyes snapped back to mine.

Now she knew I knew more.

“Did you go through my phone?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I’m still waiting for you to tell me what I know.”

“That’s manipulative.”

“No,” I said. “Manipulative is setting up a public jealousy test without telling the person being tested.”

Lauren flinched.

The room became very quiet.

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“Then explain.”

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Then she said the sentence that ended something inside me.

“I just wanted to know if you still cared enough to fight for me.”

I stared at her.

“You could have asked.”

“I have asked.”

“No. You complained that I’m calm. You complained that I work too much. You complained that I don’t get jealous when someone looks at you. That is not the same as asking whether I care.”

Tears appeared in her eyes.

“I made a mistake.”

“Yes.”

“Nothing happened with Ethan.”

“That depends on what you mean by nothing.”

“We didn’t sleep together.”

“I didn’t ask if you did.”

She looked genuinely confused.

That told me how narrowly she had defined betrayal in her own mind.

I picked up the towels and carried them toward the hallway.

Behind me, Lauren said, “Are you leaving me?”

I stopped.

The countdown on my phone had nine days left.

“I haven’t decided what I’m doing,” I said.

That was the truth.

For the first time since the party, she looked afraid.

Two nights later, Ethan made his first mistake.

He called Lauren while we were eating dinner.

Her phone was faceup beside her plate.

His name appeared on the screen.

Not Ethan.

Emily.

I looked at it.

Lauren looked at it.

Neither of us moved.

The call stopped.

Then started again.

Emily.

I took another bite of chicken.

Lauren reached over and silenced the phone.

“Who is Emily?” I asked.

She closed her eyes.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You already know.”

“Yes.”

She pushed her plate away.

“I changed his name because I knew you’d misunderstand.”

I almost smiled at the logic.

“You hid his name so I wouldn’t think you were hiding something?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

She had no answer.

The phone buzzed with a text.

Lauren did not touch it.

A second text came.

Then a third.

Finally, she turned the phone over.

“I haven’t answered him since Tuesday.”

I knew that was true.

Rachel’s tablet showed Ethan becoming increasingly irritated.

Ethan: You okay?

Ethan: Did he find out?

Ethan: Lauren?

Ethan: Don’t make this weird.

Ethan: I thought you were stronger than this.

By Thursday, his tone changed.

Ethan: You know he’s controlling you, right?

That one fascinated me.

I had not told Lauren who she could see.

I had not demanded her phone.

I had not even asked her to block him.

I simply stopped competing.

And somehow, to Ethan, that was control.

Rachel noticed it too.

He’s nervous, she texted.

Why?

Because Lauren stopped responding and he doesn’t know why.

Then she sent something else.

I think he’s planning to invite her to our engagement dinner.

I stared at the message.

Why would he do that?

Rachel replied, Because he thinks it would be funny.

A minute later, she sent a screenshot.

Ethan had messaged one of his friends.

Might bring pool girl next Friday. Imagine Rachel serving wine to her without knowing.

The friend replied, You’re insane.

Ethan answered, That’s why you love me.

I read it twice.

Then I sent Rachel one sentence.

Do whatever you need to do. I won’t interfere.

Her reply came quickly.

Actually, I need one thing from you.

What?

Bring Lauren.

I did not respond for almost ten minutes.

The idea felt wrong at first.

I did not want a public spectacle.

I did not want Lauren ambushed in a room full of strangers.

And I definitely did not want to become part of Ethan’s game by trying to beat him at humiliation.

So I called Rachel.

“If this is about embarrassing them, I’m out,” I said.

“It isn’t.”

“Then why bring Lauren?”

“Because Ethan is going to lie to both of us until he has nowhere left to lie.”

“That sounds like a confrontation.”

“It is.”

“I don’t want a crowd.”

“There won’t be one.”

Rachel explained that she had already canceled the formal engagement dinner with their families. Ethan did not know yet. She had told the restaurant they were reducing the reservation to four people.

Four.

Rachel.

Ethan.

Lauren.

Me.

“I want one table,” Rachel said. “No parents. No friends. No phones recording. No audience. Just four adults and the truth.”

That was different.

“Does Ethan know I’m coming?”

“No.”

“Does Lauren know you exist?”

“Not unless he told her.”

I already knew he had not.

I looked toward the living room where Lauren sat watching television with the volume low.

The countdown showed seven days.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

Rachel answered quietly.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

The next morning, Lauren made the decision for me.

She came into the bedroom while I was getting ready for work and held out her phone.

“I blocked Ethan.”

I looked at the screen.

His contact was gone.

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

I buttoned my cuff.

“Did you block him because you think it fixes what happened?”

“No.”

“Did you block him because I asked you to?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Lauren lowered the phone.

“Because I finally realized he enjoyed what happened at the pool more than I did.”

That was the first thing she had said all week that sounded fully honest.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

“What do you mean?”

She looked embarrassed.

“He kept texting about your face when I insulted you.”

My jaw tightened.

“He said it was funny.”

I said nothing.

“He asked if I wanted to do something similar again.”

“What?”

“Go to a bar with him. Let him put his arm around me. Take a picture. Send it to you.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him no.”

“When?”

“Sunday.”

That matched the tablet.

Lauren sat beside me, leaving several inches between us.

“I thought he was helping me prove something,” she said. “Now I think he just liked making you look stupid.”

I looked at her.

“He wasn’t helping you do anything. He was using you.”

“I know.”

“No. You know part of it.”

She turned toward me.

“What does that mean?”

For the first time, I considered showing her everything.

The group chat.

The wager.

The screenshots.

Rachel.

The engagement.

I almost did.

Then Lauren said, “There’s something I need to tell you first.”

I waited.

She took a breath.

“I met him before the coffee shop.”

My stomach tightened.

“How long before?”

“A month.”

“Where?”

“At Brooke’s birthday dinner.”

Brooke was one of Lauren’s coworkers.

I remembered that dinner because Lauren came home unusually cheerful and told me someone at the restaurant had complimented her dress.

I had smiled and said, “They had good taste.”

Apparently, that someone had been Ethan.

“He asked for my number,” Lauren said.

“And you gave it to him.”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him you were married?”

“Yes.”

“Did that matter to him?”

“No.”

“Did it matter to you?”

Lauren looked down.

“Yes. Just not enough.”

That answer hurt more than an excuse would have.

I stood up.

She caught my wrist, then immediately let go.

“I’m sorry.”

“I believe you’re sorry.”

“Does that mean anything?”

“It means I believe you’re sorry.”

Her eyes filled again.

“What happens now?”

I thought about Rachel’s invitation.

Then I said, “Friday night, I want you to come to dinner with me.”

Lauren blinked.

“Where?”

“Downtown.”

“Why?”

“Because there is something you need to see.”

She studied my face.

“Is this about Ethan?”

“Yes.”

She went pale.

“What did you find?”

“Enough.”

The countdown showed six days.

Lauren did not ask again.

Friday arrived with low clouds over Columbus and the kind of humid August air that makes the sidewalks look tired.

All week, Lauren had been quieter than I had ever known her.

She stopped trying to justify the pool.

She stopped telling me I was overreacting.

She even stopped wearing her wedding ring for two days, not as a threat, but because she said she felt dishonest wearing it while we were deciding what remained of us.

I noticed she put it back on Friday afternoon.

I did not comment.

At 6:42 p.m., we drove downtown.

Lauren kept asking where we were going.

I told her the restaurant name only after we parked.

She froze.

“I know this place.”

“How?”

She looked at me.

“Ethan mentioned it.”

Of course he had.

The private room was upstairs.

A hostess led us through a narrow hallway lined with framed black-and-white photographs of old Columbus streets.

Lauren walked half a step behind me.

At the last door, she whispered, “Daniel, please tell me what this is.”

I turned to her.

“The truth.”

Then I opened the door.

Rachel was already seated at the table.

Ethan was standing beside the window with a glass of sparkling water in his hand.

For one perfect second, nobody moved.

Ethan saw me first.

His smile disappeared.

Then he saw Lauren.

The glass lowered slowly from his mouth.

Lauren looked at Rachel.

Then at Ethan.

Then back at Rachel.

Rachel stood.

“Hi, Lauren,” she said.

Lauren’s voice was barely audible.

“Who are you?”

Rachel looked directly at Ethan.

“I’m the woman he asked to marry.”

Lauren did not react immediately.

Her face simply emptied.

Then she turned toward Ethan.

“You’re engaged?”

Ethan recovered faster than I expected.

“Rachel, what is this?”

Rachel smiled without warmth.

“That is an interesting first question.”

He looked at me.

“You set this up?”

“No.”

“You’ve been talking to her?”

“Yes.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened.

Lauren took one step backward.

“You told me you were single.”

“I never said that.”

Lauren stared at him.

“You said you weren’t tied down.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Rachel laughed once.

A short, stunned sound.

“Thank you,” she said. “That actually saved me from asking whether you were going to lie.”

Ethan put his glass down.

Rachel did not raise her voice. She simply slid one page across the table.

Lauren looked down and saw her own photograph above Ethan’s wager.

One thousand if she lets you pick her up.

Her fingers stopped on the edge of the paper.

“What is this?” she whispered.

Ethan glanced at me, then at Rachel. “It was a joke.”

Lauren kept reading.

She already wants to prove she can still get attention. I’m just giving her the stage.

The color left her face.

“You bet on me?”

“It wasn’t serious.”

“You shared my messages with people?”

Ethan pushed back his chair. “Everybody needs to calm down.”

Rachel placed three more screenshots beside the first. Different women. Different relationships. The same kind of wager beneath every name.

Lauren stared at them as if the room had tilted.

Rachel’s voice stayed steady. “You weren’t the first person he used for this.”

Ethan’s expression hardened. “Rachel, enough.”

“No,” she said. “Enough was months ago.”

She removed her engagement ring and placed it beside his glass.

The tiny click of metal against wood made Ethan go completely still.

He looked at me. “You think you won?”

I shook my head. “This was never about winning.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because two weeks ago you thought my marriage was entertainment.”

Lauren looked at me, tears gathering in her eyes.

I continued. “I knew about the wager before you came home from the pool. I knew Rachel existed. I knew you had been talking to Ethan. I waited because I wanted to see whether you would tell me the truth without being forced.”

Lauren covered her mouth.

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“For two weeks?”

“Yes.”

Ethan gave a bitter laugh. “So you tested her too.”

“No. I didn’t create the situation. I stopped rescuing people from choices they had already made.”

For once, Ethan had no answer.

Then his phone lit up on the table.

He looked down.

And his face changed.

Not anger.

Fear.

Rachel saw it too.

“What is that?” she asked.

Ethan grabbed the phone, but Lauren was closer. She caught one line on the screen before he turned it over.

Her chair scraped backward.

“Daniel,” she whispered.

I looked at her.

She was staring at Ethan as if the wager no longer mattered.

“What did you see?”

Lauren did not answer me.

Instead, she asked Ethan one question.

“Why is his name on your phone?”

My stomach tightened.

“Whose name?” I asked.

Nobody answered.

Then my own phone buzzed.

A new message from Rachel’s unknown number appeared beneath the countdown notification that had just reached zero.

There’s one more person in that group chat. Someone you know.

I looked up at Ethan.

His confidence was gone.

Lauren was crying.

And before Rachel could show me the final screenshot, Ethan stood and locked the private-room door.

That was when the real countdown finally began again.