He Chose Her, I Chose Me
The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the apartment wasn’t the smell of Logan’s cologne or the hum of the heater.
It was the suitcase.
Black. Glossy. Sitting in the middle of the hallway like it belonged there.
For a moment, I just stood there, still holding the grocery bag in my hand, my mind trying to piece together why it was there. Logan and I didn’t have guests. We barely had each other these days.
The plastic handle dug into my palm. I was still processing when Logan stepped out of the bedroom, his sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy like he’d been moving things around. His smile flickered when he saw me—quick, polite, not warm.
“You’re back early,” he said, taking the bag from me before I could answer.
I glanced again at the suitcase, my voice cautious. “Who’s here?”
“Oh, that.” He rubbed the back of his neck like it was nothing. “Eva’s staying with us for a while. You know… my best friend from college.”
I had heard the name before. Once or twice. Always in passing. Always followed by a smile in his voice that he didn’t have for me anymore.
“Staying here?” I repeated.
“Yeah. She’s having some trouble with her apartment. Just for a couple of weeks.” He was already heading toward the kitchen. “You’ll like her. She’s great.”
No pause. No asking if it was okay.
A door creaked open down the hall. A woman stepped out, and I instantly understood why Logan thought I’d “like her.”
She was striking—dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders, wearing a sweatshirt that looked suspiciously like one of his. Her eyes lit up when they landed on him, and then shifted to me.
“You must be Ariella,” she said. Her voice was smooth, warm… maybe a little too smooth.
I forced a small smile. “And you’re Eva.”
“That’s me.” She stepped closer, her presence somehow filling the narrow hallway. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I really appreciate it.”
It sounded genuine, but there was something in the way she said it—practiced, like she’d said it before.
Logan’s voice broke the pause. “Why don’t you two get to know each other? I’ll make dinner.”
Eva’s eyes lingered on him a moment too long. I noticed. I wasn’t sure if he did.
“Sure,” I said lightly, even though I already knew I didn’t feel like talking.
We ended up in the living room.
The air between us was awkward at first. She sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while I placed the groceries on the counter.
“So,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Logan’s told me a little about you. You’re a… what was it? An editor?”
“Copy editor,” I corrected.
Her smile didn’t falter. “Right. That must be nice. Working from home and all.”
I nodded, but didn’t add that it also meant I had more time to notice when things felt off in my own home.
She leaned back, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen where Logan was chopping vegetables. “He’s always been like this, you know. Taking care of people. Back in college, he used to cook for the whole group when we stayed up late studying.”
I didn’t ask who “we” included.
Dinner was… odd.
Logan laughed more in those thirty minutes than he had with me in the past week. Eva had a story for everything, and every time she spoke, he looked at her like she was the only one in the room.
When I mentioned something from my day, his attention flicked to me for a heartbeat, then right back to her.
I ate slowly, listening more than talking, my mind cataloguing every glance, every small shift in tone.
Later, after we’d finished eating, I carried the plates into the kitchen. That’s when I heard it—faint, but clear.
A whisper.
Low. Muffled. From the direction of the guest room.
“…she doesn’t suspect anything.”
I froze, my fingers tightening around the edge of the plate.
A second voice—Logan’s. “…keep it that way.”
The blood in my ears was so loud, I almost didn’t hear the rest.
I stepped closer, heart pounding, but the conversation had gone quiet.
I forced myself to rinse the dishes like nothing happened. When I walked back into the living room, Eva was there alone, scrolling through her phone again. Logan appeared moments later, casual, almost too casual.
But there was a flicker in his eyes—guilt, or maybe warning.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
From the bedroom, I could hear faint footsteps in the hallway, the soft click of a door. Once, I thought I heard a laugh—low, intimate—then silence.
I turned to look at Logan lying next to me, his back to me, breathing even. I wondered if he was really asleep.
The next morning, I made coffee early, partly because I couldn’t stay in bed, partly because I wanted to see how they acted when they didn’t know I was watching.
Eva came into the kitchen wearing leggings and an oversized shirt—again, one of Logan’s. She poured herself coffee without asking, moving around the kitchen like she’d done it a hundred times.
Logan walked in a few minutes later, smiling at her first. Then at me, as if I was just part of the furniture.
“Morning,” he said, taking a sip from the mug she’d just handed him.
I stared at the exchange, my own coffee cooling in my hands.
By the time I left for work, my mind was set on one thing—I needed to know what was really going on.
If Eva was here because she needed a place to stay, fine. But if she was here for something else… I wasn’t going to sit back and wait for her to take what was mine.
That night, when Logan went to take a shower, I passed by the guest room. The door was ajar. On the bed sat a small leather notebook.
I don’t know what made me step inside. Curiosity, maybe. Or the quiet voice in my head telling me that no one was as perfect as they pretended to be.
I opened it to the first page.
It wasn’t a journal. It was a list.
Names. Dates. Short, cryptic notes beside each one.
And at the bottom of the page, my name.
I didn’t know what kind of game Eva was playing, or how long Logan had been part of it. But I knew one thing—whatever “guest” she was pretending to be… she was planning something.
