The Dreaded Text: The Midnight Sentence

You wait anxiously.

Finally, a text arrives, cutting through the silence of the night.

It's not a sentence—it's three lines, and they shatter the last of your resistance:

DRE: I took the job so I wouldn't ruin us. I couldn't be near you without touching you.

I fly in at 8 AM. Be ready.

The message is not a request; it's a command. 

He's coming home ready to face the consequences of both his actions and his words.

 You spend the rest of the night pacing, realizing that the gentle, safe friend is about to be replaced by something primal and intense.

When he walks through your door the next morning, he doesn't greet you. 

He doesn't say "congratulations" or "I'm sorry."

He simply locks the door, throws his suitcase aside, and strides toward you, his eyes dark with undeniable desire.

"The time for playing friends is over, Lana. Tell me you mean it."

What do you do?

CHOOSE YOUR PATH: