Chapter 3: The Phone's Betrayal
The first thing she registered was the light. A pale, sickly glow bleeding from the phone screen on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. Jennie blinked against it, her eyes gritty and swollen from sleep, her body still humming with the aftershocks of everything they'd done hours before. Leonid was a warm weight beside her, one arm draped across her waist, his breath slow and even against the back of her neck.
She should have gone back to sleep. She should have closed her eyes and burrowed deeper into his heat and let the morning come on its own terms.
But the phone buzzed again.
A notification. A soft, insistent vibration that cut through the quiet like a blade.
Jennie's heart stuttered. Her hand moved before her brain caught up, reaching across the nightstand, her fingers closing around the cold glass of his phone. She pulled it toward her, squinting against the brightness, her thumb hovering over the screen.
Café: Reminder—Leonid, your shift starts at 10 AM. Don't be late! See you soon.
The message was innocuous enough. A simple reminder from his part-time job, the coffee shop where he spent his weekends steaming milk and charming customers with that quiet, devastating smile. But something in her chest tightened anyway, a familiar, corrosive feeling curling through her veins like acid.
See you soon.
She scrolled up. The conversation history was mundane—shift schedules, a question about swapping shifts, a generic "thanks!" from whoever managed the front counter. Nothing incriminating. Nothing that should have made her pulse race or her vision narrow.
But she couldn't stop.
Her thumb moved on its own, tapping into his call log. A handful of missed calls from unknown numbers, she noted. A few from her, the timestamps stretching late into the night. She tapped into his messages next, scrolling past her own name (saved, she noticed with a pang, as my love with a heart emoji—a detail that softened something in her chest before hardening again) and into the other conversations.
A contact named Hana. The name made her stomach lurch. She knew Hana. She worked at the café with Leonid. She had that soft, sweet voice that made Jennie want to claw someone's eyes out. The message preview read: "You forgot your jacket again! I hung it in the back. Come grab it before your shift, okay? ^^"
Jennie's thumb hovered over the message, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her breathing sounded loud in her own ears, too sharp in the quiet room. The sheets bunched beneath her free hand as she gripped them, her knuckles white.
She didn't open it. Not yet. Instead, she dove deeper—into his photos. Dozens of pictures of her, most of them candid, snapped without her knowledge. Her asleep on his pillow. Her laughing at something off-screen. Her mid-argument, mouth open, hands gesturing wildly. Her at the Han River, silhouetted against a burning orange sunset. Her in that champagne-colored camisole from last night, her hair messy, her cheeks pink.
But she kept swiping, past her own face, searching for something else. Anyone else.
A photo of the café's interior. A blurry shot of a latte and a croissant. A meme he'd probably meant to send to someone else.
And then—a photo of a girl.
Not her.
The girl in the photo was pretty in that soft, approachable way. Way too eager to please. She was smiling at the camera, a frosty iced drink in her hand, her eyes crinkled. And there was Leonid in the background, mid-laugh, looking at her the way he was supposed to look at Jennie.
The phone slipped in her grip. She caught it just before it clattered to the floor, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She zoomed in on the photo, her fingers shaking. It was a group photo, maybe three or four people crowded around a table. But all she could see was the way his eyes were fixed on that girl.
She heard him stir before she felt it. A shift in the mattress, a deep inhale, and then his voice, rough with sleep: "Jen?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes were glued to the screen, her thumb frozen over the image of another girl looking at her boyfriend like he was something worth smiling at.
"Jennie, what are you—"
He reached for the phone, but she jerked it away, rolling off the bed and onto her feet. The floor was cold against her bare skin. She didn't care.
"Who is this?" Her voice came out high and tight, unfamiliar in her own ears. She held up the phone, shoving the screen toward his sleepy face. "Who the fuck is this?"
Leonid blinked, confusion drawing his brows together. He rubbed his eyes, squinting at the photo. "What are you talking about? That's a picture from... I don't know, some work thing. Hana's birthday or something."
"Hana." Jennie spat the name like it was poison. "So you're going to Hana's birthday parties now? Taking pictures with her? Looking at her like that?"
"Like what?" He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. His chest was bare, littered with the fading marks of her nails from the night before. "Jennie, you're being—"
"Don't you dare tell me I'm being crazy." Her voice cracked, trembling at the edges. "Don't you fucking dare. You think I didn't see the way you smiled at her when you said her name? Hana. Hana hung up your jacket. Hana sent you a message with a cute little ^^ face. Hana exists in your phone, in your life, and I didn't even know about her."
"She's a coworker. She's just a fucking coworker, Jennie. I've told you about her before."
"You've told me about a girl named Hana who you spend forty hours a week with, who you laugh with, who you let hang up your jacket?" Jennie shook the phone at him, her vision blurring with tears she refused to let fall. "No. No, you never told me that."
Leonid dragged a hand through his hair, exhasperation and hurt warring on his face. He looked so tired. The kind of tired that had nothing to do with the hours of sleep he'd lost to her. "I didn't think I needed to give you a detailed breakdown of every single person I interact with at work. I'm not doing anything wrong."
"Oh, so this is my fault? I didn't give you enough information? That's the problem?"
"That's not what I said—"
"What are you hiding, Leonid?" Her voice dropped, a wounded, dangerous whisper. "What's in here that you don't want me to see?"
He stared at her. His jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes—something she hadn't seen before. Not anger. Not frustration.
Hurt.
Her chest seized.
"Give me the phone," he said, his voice quiet and even.
"Make me."
"Jennie." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing. He was taller than her, broader, but he didn't tower. He didn't loom. He just stood there, watching her with those dark, brown eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Give me my phone."
Her chin jutted out. "Not until you explain."
"There's nothing to explain." He took a step toward her, his voice still soft but fraying at the edges. "You're looking for something that isn't there. You're digging through my private shit because you don't trust me. And you know what, Jennie? It hurts."
"Don't make me the bad guy for wanting to know the truth—"
"The truth is I love you." He said it simply, starkly, the words landing like blows. "The truth is I've loved you since we were four years old and you shoved me off the swings because I looked at another girl too long. The truth is I spent every penny of my paycheck last month buying you that stupid necklace you wanted, the one with the little gold heart, because you mentioned it once and I wanted to see you smile. The truth is I don't care about Hana or anyone else. I care about you. Only you. But you're so busy looking for something to be afraid of that you can't see what's right in front of you."
Jennie's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again, but no sound came out.
"I have nothing to hide." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His fingers closed around the phone, and she let him take it—too stunned to resist. "But that's not the point, is it? The point is you went through my phone while I was sleeping because you don't trust me. And that..." He exhaled, a rough, broken sound. "That fucking hurts, Jennie. I don't know how else to say it."
The tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over, hot and silent, tracking down her cheeks. She hated them. Hated how weak they made her feel, how they betrayed the cracks in her armor.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I—I just—" She pressed her palm against her chest, where her heart was still racing, still thumping with that irrational, all-consuming fear. "When I saw that message from her, from Hana, I just—I felt like the ground fell out from under me. Like you were slipping away and I couldn't stop it."
Leonid's expression softened. He set the phone down on the nightstand and closed the distance, pulling her into his arms. She crumpled against him, her face buried in the warmth of his neck, her tears soaking into his skin.
"I'm not slipping away," he murmured, his hand cradling the back of her head. "I'm right here. I've always been right here."
"I know." Her voice was muffled, thick with tears. "I know, but sometimes I can't—sometimes my brain tells me things that aren't true and I can't make it stop."
He held her tighter. She felt his chest rise and fall with a slow, steadying breath. The anger was bleeding out of him, replaced by something softer, something that made her feel even worse.
"I don't want you to go through my phone," he said quietly. "I want you to ask me. If you're feeling scared, if you're feeling jealous, just ask me. And I'll tell you. I'll always tell you."
She pulled back, her face blotchy and tear-streaked. "Even if you're mad at me?"
"Especially if I'm mad at you." A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Because I'm mad at you right now, and I still love you enough to burn the world down for you. So yeah. I'll tell you."
She laughed, a wet, broken sound that was half sob, half relief. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. "I love you," she said, her voice raw. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."
"I know." He leaned into her touch. "I love you too. Even when you're insane."
"I'm not insane." She sniffled. "I'm just... very passionately committed to you."
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
"Shut up." She shoved his chest, but she was smiling, small and fragile but real. "You're the worst boyfriend ever. I was trying to be romantic."
He caught her hand before it could fall, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, baby."
She rolled her eyes, but warmth was spreading through her chest, melting the frozen knot of fear that had taken root there minutes before. She looked at him—his messy curls, his exhausted eyes, the fading scratch marks on his back that she'd left the night before—and felt a surge of love so fierce it made her dizzy.
"I'm sorry I went through your phone," she said, forcing the words out. "It was wrong. I shouldn't have done that."
"No, you shouldn't have." He pulled her against him again, his chin resting on the top of her head. "But I forgive you."
"You always forgive me."
"Because I'm whipped." His chest rumbled with a low laugh. "But don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to maintain."
She laughed, clinging to him. The morning light was growing stronger now, bleeding through the cheap blinds and painting the room in shades of gold. Somewhere outside, a car honked. A bird sang. The world continued spinning, oblivious to the small drama that had just unfolded in this cramped dorm room.
"Promise me something," she whispered against his chest.
"Anything."
"Promise you'll tell me if you ever feel like you're slipping away. If you ever feel like you want to leave." Her voice cracked. "Promise you won't just... disappear on me."
Leonid was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "I promise, Jennie. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."
She closed her eyes, letting his arms hold her up.
"Good," she said. "Because I'd hunt you to the ends of the earth and drag you back."
"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "That's why I love you."
They stood there in the quiet morning, tangled together, suspended in a fragile truce. She knew it wouldn't last. It never did. The jealousy would creep back in, the fear, the desperate clawing need to possess every piece of him. She was a broken thing in that way, wired wrong from the start.
But right now, in this moment, she was safe.
And that was enough.