**I FOUND MY BEST FRIEND’S FIANCÉ SWIPING THROUGH MY PHOTO ALBUM AT 3 A.M.**
I stumbled groggily into the kitchen, the glow of the microwave clock casting an eerie light on the chaos of the apartment. My stomach growled, begging for the leftover pizza I’d stashed in the fridge. But then I froze. There he was—Ben, my best friend’s fiancé—sitting on the couch, my phone clutched in his hands.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed, my voice cracking with sleep and fury.
He looked up, his face pale, the glow reflecting in his wide, panicked eyes. “I… I just wanted to see the photos from last weekend,” he stammered, his voice shaking. But I knew better—he was swiping through my private album, the one labeled “Personal.”
The sound of his thumb dragging across the screen echoed in the silent room. My heart pounded in my chest, the chill of betrayal creeping into my veins like ice. And then I saw it—a photo of me, alone in my bedroom, taken months ago. A photo I’d never taken.
“You’ve been spying on me,” I whispered, my voice trembling. His silence was all the confirmation I needed.
But then Ben’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he leaned forward, his voice low. “You think this is the only thing I’ve been hiding?”
👇 Full story continued in the comments below…“What else? What else have you been hiding, Ben?” I demanded, my voice gaining strength despite the shaking in my limbs. I took a step back, putting distance between us. The phone felt like a live wire in his hand.
He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flicking from my face to the screen. The smirk solidified, losing its faintness and becoming something colder, sharper. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper that was somehow more menacing than a shout. “Things your dear friend, my future wife, would be *very* interested in knowing.”
My blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about everything,” he said, finally sliding the phone lock screen back on but still holding it tight. “About how you *really* feel about her. About the little secrets you keep tucked away. About how you stand in the way of us being happy.”
He stood up slowly, the quiet rustle of his clothes unnerving. “That photo,” he gestured towards the phone, “was just confirmation. Proof. I needed to be sure I was right about you.”
The air grew heavy with unspoken threats. He hadn’t just been looking at photos; he’d been gathering information, twisting it into something harmful. He saw me not as his fiancée’s best friend, but as an obstacle, a threat.
“You’re insane,” I breathed, finding my voice again. “You’ve been spying on me for months, taking pictures of me without my knowledge, just to… what? Drive a wedge between me and my best friend?”
Ben took a step towards me, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “She deserves someone who’s completely devoted to her, someone who doesn’t have… distractions,” he said, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “I’m just helping her see things clearly.”
Panic flared, hot and sharp. He wasn’t just creepy; he was actively malicious. He had invaded my privacy, was holding fabricated ‘evidence’, and was planning to use it against me and my friend. My gaze darted around the kitchen, searching for an escape route or something to defend myself with.
“Give me my phone,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Not yet,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. “I need to make sure you understand. You stay out of our way, you keep your mouth shut about… well, about everything you think you know.” He paused, a chillingly calm smile spreading across his face. “Otherwise, I promise you, things will get very messy. For you.”
He raised the phone slightly, a silent threat. That photo, that proof of his violation, was also his leverage. But in that moment, fear was replaced by a surge of protective fury for my friend. He wouldn’t get away with this.
“Get out of my apartment, Ben,” I said, my voice low and firm. “Now. And if you don’t give me my phone back, or if you ever contact me or my friend again, I swear to God, I will go to the police. I have proof of you being in my apartment at 3 a.m., and that photo you took? That’s a crime.”
His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flicker of surprise, then rage. He looked like he might lunge, but he hesitated, perhaps weighing the risk. He glared at me, his chest heaving slightly.
Slowly, deliberately, he tossed the phone onto the couch, his eyes locked on mine. “This isn’t over,” he snarled, his calm facade cracking.
“For you, it is,” I retorted, scooping up the phone and clutching it to my chest. “Get out.”
He didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door, pulling it shut with a soft click that sounded deafening in the sudden silence. I stood there, trembling, the phone warm in my hand, the image of that photo and Ben’s chilling smirk burned into my mind. I knew, with a terrible certainty, that I couldn’t protect my best friend from him alone. I had to tell her everything.