Sisters, Secrets and The Stalker

Chapter Four - The Alibi

Tiana’s POV

B: Hey Tia. Didn't expect to see you on here. You looked stunning when you dropped Mari off last week. Fancy keeping a secret?

I stared at the glowing screen, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A cold, sharp prickle danced across the back of my neck.

It couldn't be true. Ben was the most devoted husband on the planet. He had loved Mari since they were seven years old. But the photo was right there – a cropped image of him in the navy jumper from last month. The audacity was sickening. He was actively seeking an affair, and he was targeting me.

My thumb hovered over the screenshot button. I was going to ruin his life. I was going to send it straight to the group chat and –

Buzzzzz.

Another notification dropped down from the top of the screen.

LoveBomb: New Message from Greg.

I blinked, the anger momentarily derailed by confusion. I tapped the alert, half-expecting another anatomical nightmare, but it was a block of text.

Greg: Dear Tiana. I am extremely sorry for being so vulgar and sending you that disgusting photo. I had no idea who you were, having never met you in person. Not that that excuses my behaviour. I hope in time you can forgive me.

I sat up straight, the chair springs creaking beneath me.

I had no idea who you were.

How did he know my name was Tiana? My profile explicitly said "TiaRose98". I never used my full name online.

My brain scrambled to connect the dots. How could this random guy know my real name? And then it clicked. Ben’s best friend was named Greg – the obnoxious lead developer who was practically part of Mari and Ben's furniture. If this Greg suddenly knew exactly who I was, despite never having met me in person, it meant someone had recognised my profile photo and told him. Someone who was currently standing right next to him. Someone like Ben.

But if Ben was at home dealing with Greg and the kids... who the hell was messaging me from the 'B' profile?

"What on earth is going on?" I whispered.

Was Ben truly stupid enough to message me while his best friend was standing over his shoulder? Or was the 'B' profile a fake? A sickening thought crept in. A stalker using Ben's face to get my attention.

I checked the time. 10:30 a.m. My taxi was due in ten minutes, and Marissa’s glamorous selfie was already taunting me in the group chat. I didn't have time to fall down a rabbit hole of paranoia. I needed to see Mari face-to-face and find out exactly what her husband was doing.

I leaped off the chair, sprinting down the hall to the spare room. I ripped through the hangers until my hand landed on the black glitter cowl-neck dress. It was sleeveless and sleek, shimmering under the bedroom lights. I yanked it on, shoved my feet into black kitten heels, and hooked in my gold drop earrings.

I raced out the door, throwing my makeup into a velvet clutch, and slammed the front door shut just as the taxi pulled up to the kerb.

"Fandangos?" the driver asked cheerfully.

"That's the one. And please, step on it," I replied, unscrewing my mascara wand. Applying makeup in a moving vehicle was essentially Russian Roulette for my corneas, but by the time we pulled up outside the restaurant, I was fully armed with gold-tinted lips and wild curls.

The smell of sizzling fajitas and fresh coriander hit me before I even pushed through the double doors. Fandangos was a riot of colour – bright orange walls, hand-painted tiles, and the low hum of a Spanish guitar.

I made my way to the maitre d' stand. A balding man with a thick moustache looked up from the reservation book.

"Señora," he smiled, greeting me with an accent that hovered somewhere between Speedy Gonzales and a vampiric count. "A hot date, no?"

I forced a polite laugh, my stomach twisting with anxiety. "I'm here to meet my sister. Marissa Bardeau?"

"Ah, si. She is seated in the Bay View Alcove. Follow me."

I followed him through the maze of crowded tables, the black glitter of my dress catching the sunlight. As we approached the alcove, I spotted Mari’s fiery red hair. She looked radiant, sipping water and scrolling through her phone.

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the conversation ahead. I had to tell her about the messages – both of them – and pray that our family wouldn't shatter before the starters arrived.