The days following Yesha’s departure were a blur of tension and uncertainty. Roched and Suno, once close friends, now found themselves at odds, their rivalry over Yesha driving a wedge between them.
One evening, unable to bear the silence any longer, Suno sought out Roched at their usual hangout—a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of town. He found Roched nursing a drink, his expression unreadable.
“We need to talk,” Suno said, sliding into the seat across from him.
Roched raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from his glass. “About what? How you plan to steal Yesha away?”
Suno sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t a game, Roched. We both care about her.”
A bitter laugh escaped Roched’s lips. “Care? Is that what you call it?”
Suno’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Roched leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “It means you’re not the saint you pretend to be. You’ve been hiding things, Suno.”
Suno’s heart raced. “What are you talking about?”
Reaching into his jacket, Roched pulled out a folded piece of paper and tossed it onto the table. “Recognize this?”
Suno unfolded the paper, his blood running cold as he read the contents. “Where did you get this?”
Roched smirked. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Yesha deserves to know the truth.”
Suno’s grip tightened on the paper. “You don’t understand—”
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Roched interrupted, his voice cold. “You’re not as innocent as you claim. And when Yesha finds out…”
Suno’s mind raced, desperation clawing at him. “Please, Roched. Don’t do this.”
Roched’s eyes hardened. “It’s too late for that.”
As Suno watched, Roched stood and walked away, leaving him alone with the damning evidence.
The walls were closing in, and Suno knew he had to act fast.