LIAR.

The elevator doors slid open, unveiling the penthouse floor. Black heels stepped purposefully into the rotunda of the penthouse hotel residence, pausing only for a moment before clicking decisively across the polished marble. Moving through the kitchen and around the island, they stopped before the double doors leading to the parlour. With a sharp push, the doors flew open, the handles colliding against the walls with a reverberating bang.

She stood in the doorway, her silver eyes blazing as they swept across the transformed space. Her voice cut through the stillness, sharp and incredulous, like a blade meeting resistance. “He turned my parlour into an office.” Her gaze locked onto him—shirtless, hunched over a desk in the corner, noise-cancelling headphones clamped over his head, as if the world outside barely existed.

Her lips pressed into a hard line as fury contorted her expression. She marched across the room, her movements taut with barely restrained rage. She ripped the headphones from his head and flung them onto the desk with a loud clatter. “Tyler,” she hissed, her voice low and charged, like the growl of distant thunder.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, spinning around to face her. He leapt to his feet, his expression flippant, almost amused, as though entirely unaware of the storm brewing before him. It was his usual indifference, that maddening oblivion that set her teeth on edge.

“Oh no, you don’t.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, forcing him back into the chair. Towering over him, she swung her hand with precision, the sharp crack of her palm against his cheek filling the room. He recoiled, his hand instinctively flying to his face.

“Are you insane?” he barked, his emerald eyes narrowing, a mix of confusion and irritation.

Her voice sharpened further, laced with biting contempt. She stepped closer, her silver eyes ablaze with accusation. “You fucked her, didn’t you?” she demanded, the words heavy with disbelief, her annoyance simmering beneath the surface. How could he be this clueless, this dismissive of the gravity of her anger?

“What the hell are you talking about?” he shot back, confusion plain in his voice.

Without hesitation, her hand flew again. This time, the slap rang louder, shaking the tension in the room. He caught her wrist mid-swing, his jaw tight and his voice low. “Josie, I swear—”

“Swear what?” she spat, yanking her hand free. Her words dared him to keep lying. Her anger surged as she backed him into the centre of the room. “You need to calm the fuck down, Josie,” he said, his voice measured, but the warning in his tone was clear.

Her defiance wavered momentarily under his piercing gaze, but she pressed on. “You turned my parlour into an office. You disrespected my space. And now, you lie to my face?”

He exhaled sharply, stepping closer, his emerald eyes locked onto hers. “I didn’t touch her. Why can’t you believe me?”

Her hand pressed firmly against his chest, keeping him at bay. “Because you’re a liar,” she retorted, her voice steady and cutting.

He smirked faintly, shaking his head as he turned to leave. “You’re crazy,” he muttered. Her shoe sailed past his shoulder, slamming into the wall with a resounding thud. He froze mid-stride, turning back with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

Her second shoe followed, striking him squarely between the shoulder blades. “I asked you a question, Tyler,” she snarled, her words deliberate, each syllable like a dagger. “Did. You. Fuck. Her?”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Don’t lie to me!” she screamed, as she moved closer. Her rage boiled over she swung her handbag at him striking him repeatedly. “She’s my friend, you bastard!”

He finally seized the bag, yanking it from her grip and tossing it onto the couch. “Stop it!” he snapped, pinning her wrists above her head. His voice was dripping with sarcasm, his eyes blazing. “If I’m fucking you, it’s fine. But if I’m fucking her, it’s not?”

Her lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. “Anyone but her,” she murmured, the words laced with quiet desperation.

They stood locked in a silent battle, her back pressed against the glass balcony door. He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her skin. “Let me ask you this,” he said, his tone dangerously soft. “Is she your friend? Or your lover?”

Her hand flew up once more, but he caught it, his lips curving into a faint, almost amused smile. “Lover, it is,” he concluded, the words landing like a blow.

Her anger flared anew, but before she could retaliate, she pulled him into a kiss. It was fierce and desperate, a clash of emotion and need. His hands found her waist, lifting her onto the desk, their movements fevered and unrelenting.

The amber light of the setting sun poured into the room, casting long shadows as clothing hit the floor. Their passion reached a crescendo, only to be interrupted by the soft chime of the elevator.

The clicking of heels shattered their trance like glass striking a marble floor. A bright, smiling figure strode into the parlour, her expression freezing mid-step as her blue eyes took in the scene. "Claire," Tyler breathed, but the name barely left his lips before her smile collapsed into a mask of shock. Her mouth parted in disbelief as her gaze darted between the two.

"What the actual fuck!" Claire yelled, her voice slicing through the air, sharp and unrelenting. The words hung heavy, freezing Josie in place.

Josie’s silver eyes widened, darting to Tyler, who looked as though he’d been struck by lightning. Her face flushed crimson as she scrambled to adjust her dress, her movements clumsy under the weight of the moment. Tyler remained frozen, his shirtless chest rising and falling as his emerald eyes locked onto Claire, his mouth working soundlessly.

Claire’s voice broke the silence. Her lip quivering as she spoke. “Tyler,” she said, her voice faltering before dropping into something raw and wounded. “What is this? What… “