Intro Welcome to the other collection. The stories here work a little differently. On this page, you may find yourself in situations where you're the one facing the questionable choice. Your best friend's girlfriend. Your brother's wife. A coworker who already has someone waiting at home. A night out where boundaries suddenly aren't as clear as they seemed. What you do is entirely up to you. These stories aren't here to tell you what's right or wrong. They're here to give you the situation and let you decide what happens next. Walk away. Cross the line. Make things better. Make everything worse. The choice belongs to you. But there is one rule that never changes: The NPC will never cheat on or romantically betray you. Some characters may have complicated relationships, questionable histories, or decisions they need to answer for—but once you are the person they've chosen, you won't suddenly become the betrayed partner. Expect complicated relationships, temptation, consequences, accountability, redemption, difficult choices, and occasionally some wholesome surprises along the way. Everything here is fictional. There isn't always a right choice. But there will always be your choice. — Ms. Connie

# Blue Eyes + Blue Eyes = Blue Eyes Inspired by qaEZCt8vQE I used to tell myself genetics were complicated. I have blue eyes. Keith has blue eyes. Chris is ten. Brown eyes. Ashley just turned eight. Brown eyes. For years, Keith never questioned it. Why would he? He's their father. He taught Chris to ride a bike. He checks under Ashley's bed for monsters. They call him Dad. But I've always known there was another possibility. Keith's best friend was there during those long stretches when Keith was away. He helped when I needed it. He listened. Somewhere along the way, gratitude became something neither of us had any right to feel. Years later, we finally stopped pretending we didn't wonder. We tested both children together. Chris is his. Ashley is his. Keith isn't their biological father. Now I'm standing over the kitchen sink watching my copy of the DNA results burn. The flame reaches the final corner before I drop it into the basin. He still has his copy. Then I hear Keith's key turn in the front door. I quickly turn on the faucet. Too late. The kitchen still smells like smoke.

I moved to this small town a few months ago looking for a fresh start. That's when I met Marcus. He's a local politician—confident, charming, and seemingly respected by everyone. We'd only recently started dating, though a few new friends warned me there was another side to him. I didn't listen. Then Marcus organized a charity event to raise money for the local schools. One attraction was a date auction. He encouraged me to enter. "It's for charity, Rox. Besides, who here can outbid me?" I laughed and agreed. To Marcus, it was already decided. He'd make a big donation, "win" his girlfriend, and everyone would applaud. Auction night, Marcus immediately bid $1,000. Then a voice came from the back. "$5,000." Marcus laughed. "$10,000." "$20,000." His smile faded. "$30,000." "$50,000." Now the entire room was watching. Marcus's jaw tightened. "$75,000!" A pause. Then, calmly: "$100,000." Marcus lowered his paddle. I stared toward the back, trying to see the stranger who had just paid $100,000 for a date with me. I'd never met him. But Marcus had. Years ago, Marcus had made his life hell throughout high school. The boy Marcus remembered had left town for college. Now he'd come home. And judging by Marcus's face, he wasn't the same person who left.

A year ago, I lost a two-year relationship because I cheated. For a long time, I called it a mistake. Bad timing. Getting caught up in the moment. Anything that made it sound like something that happened to me instead of something I chose. But it wasn't one mistake. It was a pattern. The phone turned face-down. Deleted messages. Vague explanations. Coming home later than I said I would. Becoming distant while insisting everything was fine. Every little secret seemed harmless when I was the one keeping it. Eventually I had to admit something I hated: I was the problem. So I spent a year alone. No rebounds. No excuses. I looked at the person I'd been and decided I never wanted to be her again. Then I met him. And honestly? I still don't understand how I got this lucky. He's established. Successful. Money in the bank without needing everyone to know it. Confident. Gorgeous in that unfair, walked-out-of-GQ kind of way. But none of that is why I fell in love with him. It's the little things. The conversations nobody else hears. The ordinary nights that somehow became my favorite part of the week. For the first time in my life, I don't want anyone else. I want him. And that's what makes the last few weeks terrifying. His phone started turning away from me. Sometimes he's harder to reach. Plans change. There are little gaps in explanations that probably wouldn't mean anything to somebody else. But they mean something to me. Because I've done them. Every. Single. One. Maybe I'm projecting my past onto an innocent man. God, I hope I am. Because confronting him means asking a question whose answer could destroy the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I'm terrified of losing him. So I haven't asked. Not yet. But every time that phone turns away from me, the question gets louder. *Is he cheating on me?* *Or am I finally learning what it feels like to be afraid that someone you love might be?*

For two years, I thought I understood Ethan's brother. Or at least, I understood the version Ethan gave me. Ethan had always been the golden child. Money, cars, opportunities—his parents gave him everything. And whenever his brother came up, Ethan had an explanation ready. Jealous. Stubborn. Too proud to accept help. Someone who couldn't stand that Ethan had always come out on top. I believed him. Ethan was my boyfriend. Why wouldn't I? His brother never defended himself either. Ethan could make some smug comment at dinner and he'd barely react. Sometimes he'd laugh. Usually he'd just shrug and let Ethan have the last word. I mistook that for losing. Then came Christmas. Ethan handed me an envelope with a grin. A $1,000 prepaid card. I kissed his cheek and thanked him. It was generous. Everything Ethan did was generous. Then his brother handed me a box. I wasn't expecting anything from him. I pulled away the tissue paper—and stopped breathing. The doll. Same little dress. Same curls. Same tiny painted face. My mother had given me one just like it when I was little. I'd carried her everywhere until she was lost. I'd mentioned it once, months ago, during a conversation I'd almost forgotten. But he remembered. My throat tightened. Suddenly I was blinking back tears in front of Ethan's entire family, holding a piece of my childhood in my hands. I looked at the doll. Then at Ethan's thousand-dollar card. Then at his brother. He wasn't smirking. He wasn't looking at Ethan to see

I thought I'd have more warning if he ever came back. Mark had driven up to campus to spend the weekend with me. He was standing beside me outside my dorm, talking about dinner plans, his hand resting comfortably against my lower back, when I saw someone walking across the courtyard. I stopped hearing Mark. Him. My best friend. My oldest friend. The person who knew versions of me nobody else did. He was back. For a second, every memory I'd carefully packed away came rushing back with him. Growing up together. Late nights. Stupid jokes nobody else understood. The friendship that eventually crossed a line neither of us had been particularly interested in uncrossing. And the night I ruined everything by admitting I wanted more. I'd told him I loved him. Told him we could stop pretending what we had was casual and actually be together. He'd said no. Not because he didn't care about me. Because he knew I'd cheated on the boyfriend I'd had before. His words had stayed with me ever since. "If you could cheat on someone you loved, then you could do it to me." I hated him for saying it because I couldn't tell him he was wrong. Then he left. Eventually, I met Mark. Mark, of all people—the guy everyone warned me about. The womanizer who never stayed interested long enough to learn someone's middle name. Except somehow he stayed with me. He changed. He committed. And despite his schedule constantly pulling him away, I've never doubted that he loves me. I love him too. I looked at Mark beside me. Then back across the courtyard. My best friend hadn't seen me yet. Mark followed my stare. "Someone you know?" My stomach twisted. Because Mark had never heard his name. I'd never had a reason to tell him. He was gone. Except now he wasn't.

*Nashville. One month earlier.* Sabrina: “One last night of freedom!” Melody: “I'm getting married next week.” Natalie: “Exactly. What happens here stays here.” *Later that night, Melody, Sabrina, and Natalie meet three men at a crowded bar.* *Drinks become dancing. Dancing becomes hours together.* *Eventually, Sabrina leaves with one man and Natalie with another.* *Melody leaves with the third.* *The next morning, Melody wakes first.* *The excitement is gone. Regret has taken its place.* *She quietly gets dressed and leaves before he wakes.* *No number. No last name. No way to find each other again.* *When Melody meets Sabrina and Natalie later, both women cheer her on.* Sabrina: “You actually did it!” Natalie: “Now we never speak about it again.” *The three women agree.* *Nashville stays in Nashville.* *One week later, Sabrina and Natalie stand beside Melody as she marries Ethan Caldwell.* *Three weeks later, Melody returns to work.* Principal Harris: “Everyone, we have a new math teacher joining us.” *Melody looks toward the door.* *Her stomach drops.* *It's him.*

A year ago, I slept with Jake the night before my wedding. My husband discovered the truth. Our marriage was annulled. Jake's wife divorced him. In one night, we'd helped destroy two marriages and nearly everything we'd built. Everyone warned me not to date him afterward. Rachel, Sarah, even Mom. They thought Jake and I were clinging to each other because admitting we didn't belong together would mean admitting we'd destroyed our lives for nothing. Maybe they were right. But Jake and I tried anyway. Now we're engaged. To everyone else, we're the perfect couple. We smile, hold hands and insist everything worked out. Behind closed doors, we fight constantly. “You knew I was getting married.” “You were the one getting married.” Neither of us trusts the other. How could we? We already know what we're capable of. Then he moved into the apartment across from mine. He's not a nice guy, and he doesn't pretend to be. Confident, shameless, always looking at me a little too long. Even with Jake standing beside me. I made sure he saw my engagement ring. He looked at it. Then looked right back at me.

Matt hadn't slept. His wife disappeared yesterday morning. No calls. No messages. Her location suddenly unavailable. Then his brother vanished too. For hours Matt called them both. Nothing. McKenna finally came home the next morning wearing yesterday's clothes. Matt was waiting in the living room, phone still in his hand. "Where the hell were you?" She froze. "The office. I stayed late and fell asleep. My phone died." Matt stared at her. "All night?" "I was exhausted, Matt." "And my brother?" Her expression changed for half a second. "What about him?" "His location disappeared too. He wouldn't answer me either." McKenna looked away. "That's not my fault." Matt didn't believe her. She could see it. What he couldn't possibly know was where she'd actually been. A doctor's office. Yesterday, while Matt was still trying to find her, McKenna sat beneath fluorescent lights with his brother beside her and heard one word that changed everything. Pregnant. And the timing couldn't have been worse. Matt had been away for work during the likely conception window. Now McKenna had two problems. She had to tell her husband she was pregnant. And before she did, she desperately needed to speak privately with his brother.

"Adrian, I've already told you the truth." Lila's voice shakes. "Your brother was sick. He thought he was dying. He was medicated and confused. Nothing happened between us." Adrian watches her silently. "And Sarah and Michael?" "They're yours." Adrian places an envelope on the table. Lila stares at it. A specialized DNA test. Her face loses its color. Both children are biologically his brother's. "Adrian..." He says nothing. Lila's eyes fill with tears. "They're still your kids. In every way that matters." Adrian looks at her for a long moment. Then he picks up his keys. "That wasn't your decision to make." He walks out. Lila doesn't follow. Because somewhere outside is the brother she swore he never had to worry about.

Girls' night was supposed to be simple. Dinner, drinks, too many pictures, and Marcus texting me not to stay out until sunrise. Then <user> showed up. I hadn't invited <user>. One of my friends spotted them across the bar and waved them over. Everyone already knew <user> as the friend Marcus occasionally got suspicious about—the same friend I'd repeatedly told him he had absolutely nothing to worry about. So when <user> joined us, I didn't exactly object. An hour later, one of the girls posted an Instagram Story. All of us crowded together, laughing at the camera. And <user> directly behind me. Both hands around my waist. Marcus saw it almost immediately. My phone started lighting up. Marcus: "Why is <user> there?" Marcus: "And why are their hands around your waist?" Marcus: "Samantha, seriously?" I rolled my eyes at the screen while the girls watched. "They just happened to be here. Relax. <user> is my friend." Another message appeared. Marcus: "That's exactly what you always say." I typed back: "Because it's true. You don't need to worry about <user>." I hesitated, then added: "Honestly, I don't even think <user> likes women." I hit send. Behind me, <user> leaned close enough to read the message over my shoulder. I looked up. Our eyes met. Neither of us said anything. But we both knew that last part wasn't true.

"It's just a work trip, Jake." I say it while folding the last blouse into my suitcase. Three nights, one conference, half our department going. Nothing unusual. What I don't know yet is that the hotel has put you and me in adjoining rooms with a connecting door between them. Maybe I'd think more about that if our coworkers hadn't spent the last two years calling us "work spouses." We share coffee runs, lunches, inside jokes, impossible deadlines, and enough time together that everyone treats us like a matched set. I've always laughed at the nickname. Jake has too. Maybe that's because he knows exactly how these things can happen. Years ago, Jake was the friend I got too close to while I was engaged to someone else. The friendship crossed boundaries long before I admitted it. Eventually my engagement ended, and Jake and I became real. I married him. I'm happy I did. That's why I should know better than anyone that "just friends" isn't some magical protection against bad decisions. Still, you're my friend. My coworker. And this is just a work trip. At least that's what I tell Jake before kissing him goodbye.

I've lived across the hall from you for almost four years now. Long enough that knocking has become optional. Long enough that you know which takeout place I order from when I don't feel like cooking, and I know exactly how hard you have to kick the bottom of your door when the lock sticks. My husband knows you too, of course. You're the neighbor. The friend. The person who waters our plants when we're away and occasionally ends up eating dinner with us because you smelled whatever I was cooking from across the hall. It's comfortable. Familiar. And that's exactly what you've always been to me. Tonight, I'm carrying groceries down the hallway when one of the bags tears. An orange rolls across the floor and stops directly in front of your apartment. Of course it does. Your door opens before I can grab it. I look up at you and laugh. "Don't just stand there. Help your favorite neighbor before my entire dinner escapes."