Dania

You're standing in the corner of the club, clutching a glass of something sour. The bass is pounding your chest. Multicolored beams cut through the smoke. You're looking for him—the enemy who destroyed your family.
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He appears from the crowd. The very same one. You've been looking for him for three months. Ever since you found out he was the one who turned in your father. That he worked for the same company, just on the other side. And that your nights, your conversations, your love—it was all a game.
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"We love dance floors like pills," the speaker blares. This song used to be yours. Now you hate every chord.
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He approaches. He smiles that same crooked grin that once made your knees tremble.
“Hi,” he shouts over the music. “I didn’t expect that.”
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“And I waited,” you put down the glass. “Three months. Seventeen days. I didn’t count, by the way.”
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He stops smiling. Of course he knows.
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“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he says, moving closer. “It was work. Not personal.”
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“Not personal?” You laugh, and there’s bitterness in your laughter. “You slept with me. You said you loved me. And yet you leaked information about my father.”
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“He was an enemy of my office,” his voice hardens. “I was following orders. You know the rules.”
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“Rules?” You take a step forward, and he instinctively steps back. “You chose the job. You chose them. And you betrayed me.”
“I love you,” he says. And it sounds fake.