She knew.
Angie wasn't naïve. She wasn't the kind of woman who gets deceived without realizing it, nor the one who discovers too late that she's gone too far. No, she knew. From the very first glance exchanged with Grégory, she sensed that something forbidden was being born. She felt the thrill coming, the dizzying pull rising—and instead of stepping back, she moved forward. One step. Then two. And then she ran.
She could have said no. She could have walked away, avoided the silences, the lingering looks. But she didn't. She played with fire, hoping no one would see the flames. She convinced herself it was just a moment, just a slip. Then she did it again. And again.
Angie betrayed Jessica. Not just by sleeping with her partner. She betrayed her in thoughts, in glances, in desire. She betrayed her every time she kept silent when she should have spoken. Every time she waited for Grégory to knock on her door, knowing exactly what would happen once he stepped inside.
And yet, she is not the devil. She's not a monster. She's simply human. Fallible. Fragile in her loneliness, strong in her fantasies. She wanted to be desired, she wanted to feel alive, important. And for that, she trampled on a loyalty she claimed to still defend.
But now… what does she deserve?
Forgiveness? Perhaps not. Not right away. Not until she has faced the consequences of her actions.
Compassion? Yes. But without indulgence.
Because she is suffering—yes. But her pain doesn't erase the one she has caused.
She deserves the truth. Unfiltered. Brutal. She deserves to see the mirror shatter. To understand that stolen pleasure always leaves a bitter aftertaste. That burning nights don't erase betrayal. That what she did—no one deserves. Least of all Jessica.
She also deserves to reflect. Not to collapse, no. But to rise differently. To face the harm she caused. And maybe, one day, to ask for forgiveness with the right words—not with too-late tears of regret.
Because betrayal is not just falling. It's choosing to fall, hoping the landing won't hurt too much.
Angie made her choice.
Now, the story no longer belongs to her. It belongs to fate—and to the judgment of those she wounded.