Man in the Mirror

CHAPTER 2: THE SOUND OF TRUTH

The rain hadn’t stopped. By the time Stephen reached the apartment, his shirt clung to him, water dripping from his hair onto the wooden floor.  The place smelled of lilac perfume and cold silence, the kind that comes after laughter has died.

Alina was standing by the mirror, slipping off her earrings. Her dress shimmered under the dim light, sequins like tiny shards of armor. “You walked out,” she said without turning. “In the middle of my birthday.”

Stephen shut the door softly. “I didn’t realize I was still part of the show.”

“Oh, don’t start with the dramatics.” She tossed her earrings onto the dresser. “You embarrassed me.”

He stared at her reflection. “I embarrassed you?”

“Yes. You just, storm out like some victim. Everyone was trying to have fun.”

“Fun?” He stepped closer. “You called me broke in front of your family.”

“I was joking, Stephen!”

“You don’t joke,” he said quietly. “You stab.”

She spun around then, eyes flashing. “You’re always so sensitive! You can’t take a joke, you can’t take a loss, you can’t even take responsibility! You think being nice makes you noble, newsflash, it makes you pathetic!”

He took a breath, every word cutting deeper than it should have. “I worked every day for that investment. That scam took everything.”

“You should’ve known better,” she snapped. “Damian told you that deal was risky. You didn’t listen.”

His gaze lifted. “Damian told me…?”

The pause that followed was long enough to feel dangerous. She folded her arms. “Don’t twist my words.”

“Where were you last night?” he asked suddenly.

Alina blinked. “What?”

“You said you were at your mother’s, helping her with the catering. She said she hadn’t seen you.”

Her expression didn’t change, but something behind her eyes flickered. “You called my mother?”

“I wanted to thank her,” he said, voice steady. “She said you left town with Patrick and Damian for some business dinner.”

Alina’s jaw tightened. “Why are you checking up on me?”

“Because nothing adds up anymore.”

He stepped closer. “You don’t look at me when you talk. You don’t touch me unless someone’s watching. You laugh at me with your family. And now you’re defending the same man who scammed me?”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Then say it,” he said, eyes never leaving hers. “Tell me there’s nothing between you and Damian.”

The silence that followed wasn’t silence, it was confession.

She looked away. “Say it, Alina.”

Her lips parted, trembling. “Stephen, I”

“Say it.”

“It was a mistake!” she burst out. “It just… happened, okay? It meant nothing!”

Stephen froze. The words hit him like a collision, no impact, just noise, metal folding in slow motion. He swallowed. “When?”

She didn’t answer. “When?” he said again, sharper.

Her shoulders shook. “Months ago. Before the deal. He said he could help us… that if I convinced you to trust him, he’d” She covered her mouth, tears forming. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

He turned away, staring at the rain sliding down the windowpane. His reflection looked like a ghost’s, blurred, hollow, half there.

“So that’s why,” he said softly. “That’s how he knew exactly where to strike.”

“Stephen”

“You sold me,” he whispered. “For money. For status.”

“I didn’t mean to”

“You didn’t mean to?” His voice rose, breaking its calm for the first time. “You stood there tonight, laughing at me like I was a stranger, because you are one.”

“Stop yelling at me like you’re some saint!” she shouted back. “You think working with your hands makes you righteous? You’re small, Stephen! Always dreaming big, doing nothing!”

He turned, eyes burning with something darker than anger. “Doing nothing?”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small velvet box, the ring he’d saved up for, to replace her worn engagement ring after his business took off. He’d planned to give it to her tonight.

He placed it on the dresser. “You were right about one thing, Alina,” he said. “I am small. But even small things can burn.”

She stared at the box, breath uneven. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer. He walked to the door. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Somewhere quiet,” he said. “Before I forget who I am.”

She grabbed his arm. “Stephen, please, you don’t understand, Damian said he could help us both, that Patrick”

He turned sharply. “Patrick?”

The look in her eyes gave it away before she spoke.

“He… he introduced us.”

The world tilted again, colder this time. “So Patrick knew,” Stephen said slowly. “Your brother knew.”

“It wasn’t like that”

“Stop,” he cut in. “Don’t. Every word out of your mouth is another lie.”

He pulled away. Her nails left faint scratches on his wrist, little white scars in the making. “Where will you go?” she asked, voice trembling.

He paused at the door. “Anywhere that isn’t here.”

“And then what? You’ll leave me? After everything?”

He looked over his shoulder, rain and streetlight framing him like the edge of a fading dream. “Alina,” he said, “you already did.”

He stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind him with a soft, final click. Outside, the city felt alive in a cruel way, neon lights flickering, tires hissing through puddles.

Stephen walked until the buildings blurred. He stopped beneath an old streetlamp and sank onto a bench, soaked through, shaking but not from cold. His phone buzzed again. A new message.

Unknown Number: Heard what happened at the party. We should talk. I can help you get back on your feet. – D.C.

Damian Cross. Stephen stared at the message until the letters swam. Help. The same word Alina had used. Help like a trap wrapped in gold.

He typed back two words: “Meet tomorrow.” Then deleted them. Then typed again: “Sure.”

As he hit send, thunder rolled above the skyline, deep and slow. Across town, inside Damian’s penthouse, a shadow moved past the window, a man on the phone, smiling faintly. “He took the bait,” Damian said.

“Told you he would,” Patrick’s voice replied on the other end.

“Now,” Damian said, pouring himself a drink, “let’s make sure he stays broke long enough to crawl.”

They laughed, the kind of laughter Stephen used to hear at parties, rich, careless, cruel.

Back on the street, Stephen stared at the ring box still in his hand. He opened it. The diamond caught the streetlight once, then he let it fall into the gutter, swallowed by rain.

The sound it made was small. But it echoed. Somewhere between thunder and memory, a man was dying, and another was just beginning to wake.