Sixty hearts blue 9

Roselle stared at her phone, her hands trembling as silent tears slipped down her face. Each drop felt like a crack in her heart, splitting her apart. Stephen had promised her—sworn—that no one would come close to him. Yet, another girl had just answered his phone, claiming to be having lunch with him.

The sky above blurred in her vision, the soft blue and wisps of white mocking her. Her pulse pounded wildly at the thought of Stephen's attention drifting elsewhere. To someone else.

Her friends sat frozen, wide-eyed, exchanging uncertain glances. The phone had been on speaker. They'd all heard the girl's voice—cool, certain, staking her claim.

The thought Roselle had been too afraid to entertain now clawed its way to the surface.

Stephen was cheating on her.

A whimper slipped from her lips as her breath hitched, her eyes burning red.

"Don't cry," Arianna whispered, her freckled hand resting on Roselle's arm. The words were soft, full of sympathy, but they felt hollow. Meaningless.

"How could he?" Justina's voice was sharp, her scarlet hair as fiery as her disbelief.

"All boys are the same," Viviana muttered, her tone edged with spite. She hated seeing Roselle like this—crushed, humiliated—by someone who didn't deserve her. A minute ago, she had been glowing, talking about him like he hung the stars. Now, she was breaking.

Justina clenched her fists, fury bubbling inside her. She wanted to snatch the phone, call Stephen herself, and rip into him for what he'd done. For the way he had wrecked her friend. But all she could do was sit there, helpless.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her fingers brushing away Roselle's tears. "He doesn't deserve you. You're too beautiful to waste a second more on him."

She remembered how Roselle had turned down everyone for Stephen—the director's son, the most sought-after guy on campus—because she had been faithful. And this is how he repaid her? It made her sick.

"It could be a misunderstanding," Viviana hesitated, voice uncertain. But the way the others snapped their heads toward her made her shrink back. "I mean, maybe—"

"It's not a misunderstanding," Arianna cut in. "We all heard her. Some girl answered his phone and said they were having lunch. He gave her his phone." Her voice sliced through whatever desperate hope Roselle might've been clinging to.

Roselle shot up from the bench. Tears blurred her vision as she bolted, ran.

She didn't stop until she was locked in her room, shoving off her shoes before collapsing onto the bed. The sobs hit hard, wrecking her from the inside out. The walls seemed to close in, her chest tightening until she thought she might suffocate.

Then, her phone rang.

Her breath hitched. She didn't want to look. Didn't need to. She already knew who it was.

With blurry eyes, she glanced at the screen.

Stephen.

A fresh wave of anger surged through her. How dare he?

Without thinking, she grabbed the phone and hurled it against the wall. The screen shattered on impact, pieces scattering across the floor. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He was supposed to be hers.

Roselle curled into herself, her sobs muffled by the pillow.

"How could you, Stephen?" she whispered, voice broken. "How could you do this to the love of your life?"

•

Stephen frowned as he patted his pockets. No phone. His stomach clenched. Where was it?

His mind immediately went to Roselle. What if she called? He had promised her—sworn—to always answer. He couldn't break that promise.

He washed his hands, then caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked worn out, dark circles under his eyes from the late-night conversation he'd had with her. But even through the exhaustion, warmth filled his chest. Roselle. Her laughter, the way she could pull him out of his worst days. She was everything.

He needed to hear her voice. Now.

Moving quickly back to the table, he scanned for Michael. "Where is he?" His voice was clipped, his patience razor-thin.

Lisa brightened at his attention. She hadn't expected him to talk to her. "Outside, taking a call," she said, setting her phone down beside her empty glass.

Stephen barely acknowledged her. He reached for his phone—there it was, under his plate. Relief flickered through him as he grabbed it, but the feeling evaporated when he saw the screen. No missed calls.

He dialed Roselle. One ring. Two. Three. Voicemail.

He called again. Nothing.

His grip on the phone tightened. Roselle never ignored his calls.

Lisa watched him, her pulse quickening. She had deleted Roselle's missed calls before he returned, but now a gnawing unease settled in her chest. What if Roselle told him the truth?

Stephen exhaled sharply. "She's not answering," he muttered as Michael returned. His gut twisted. Something was wrong.

Michael clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, man. She's probably in class. Give it a couple hours."

Stephen nodded, but his mind rejected the logic. It didn't feel right. Roselle always answered.

Lisa shifted in her seat. She wished she had left things alone. But it was too late now.

"You know," she said, forcing her voice to sound casual, "your girlfriend not picking up could mean something else."

Stephen's eyes snapped to her, sharp and piercing. The weight of his stare made her chest tighten. She swallowed hard.

Michael frowned. "What are you trying to say?"

Lisa hesitated. Say nothing. Let it go. But deep down, she knew this was her chance. If she brushed it off now, she might never get another opportunity to plant doubt.

"Maybe…" She shrugged, feigning indifference. "She's with someone else. Who knows?"

Silence dropped over the table like a heavy stone.

Stephen's expression darkened. The scrape of his chair against the floor made Lisa flinch. His eyes burned—not with fleeting anger, but with something colder, something lethal.

"What did you just say?" His voice was low. Dangerous.

Lisa's stomach twisted. She had pushed too far.

"Stephen, I was just—"

"Stay the hell out of my business." His words were razor-sharp, cutting through her defenses like glass. Lisa recoiled, her breath hitching. She had never seen this side of him. She never wanted to again.

Michael exhaled sharply. "Lisa, do you even hear yourself? He's in love with her. You don't get to throw accusations like that." His disappointment was thick, unshakable. "You should think before you speak. What you just said… could break him."

Stephen didn't wait to hear another word. He was already moving, shoving his chair back and storming out.

Lisa's chest tightened as Michael turned to her, his expression unreadable.

"We're done here. Go home."

The finality in his voice made her stomach drop.

She sat there, frozen. This wasn't what she wanted. She only wanted Stephen to see her. But now, she had driven him further away.

Her vision blurred as she slowly stood. Around her, people whispered, stealing glances in her direction.

Lisa forced herself to walk, but her legs felt heavy, her own words suffocating her.

What have I done?