When Chloe ordered pizza while her fiancé was out of town, she expected a quiet night alone, not a message that would turn her life upside down. Little did she know, the delivery would save her from a disastrous marriage. Living with Lucas felt like being stuck in a familiar routine.
Our small apartment, with its soft blankets and mismatched pillows, was our cozy spot—or so I thought. I’m Chloe, and for the past three years, Lucas and I have enjoyed simple moments together. Our favorite was ordering pizza from the same local shop on our relaxed evenings.
It was our thing. Lucas would flip through movie options while I called our go-to pizzeria. Evan, the delivery guy, knew us well.
His visits were regular, always with a friendly “Hey, how’s it going?” that rang through our tiny hallway. Tonight, though, it was just me. Lucas was away on a work trip, and the silence felt heavy.
I ordered my usual—pepperoni with extra cheese. When the doorbell rang, Evan was there, but something seemed off. His smile was forced, and his hands shook slightly as he handed me the pizza box.
“Hey, Chloe. Lucas not here tonight?” Evan asked, his voice a bit unsteady. “Just me tonight,” I replied, trying to sound upbeat.
Evan nodded and turned to leave—faster than usual, it seemed. As I closed the door, his odd behavior stuck with me. Was he okay?
I brushed it off and carried the warm box to the kitchen. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce filled the air, usually a comforting hug. But when I opened the box, my heart stopped.
Written on the inside of the lid in black marker was a message: “He’s not who you think. Check your doorbell camera.”
The pizza lost all appeal as a chill ran through me. My hands shook as I set the box down, the apartment’s warm vibe now swallowed by an eerie quiet.
What would I find on that camera? My fingers fumbled with the phone app for our doorbell camera. The message had sent a shiver down my spine, and every second before the app loaded felt endless.
I scrolled through the camera’s history, my breath catching with each day I went back. Then, I saw it. Lucas, my Lucas, welcoming a woman at our door.
She was laughing, handing him a bottle of wine. My stomach dropped. I kept scrolling.
Another day, another woman, this one with a stack of DVDs. Every time I was gone, Lucas had company. Different women, each visit caught clearly by the camera he’d set up, of all things, for our safety.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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