Sweet Lies
By Olivia Salter
Word Count: 954
When I saw him, the word evil whispered in the back of my mind. But lonely hearts have selective hearing, and mine turned the whisper into a serenade.
***
The coffee shop smelled like burnt dreams and stale hope, but it was warm, and that was enough for me. It was another gray Tuesday, the kind that clung to your spirit like wet clothes.
I was fumbling with a packet of sugar when I heard his voice. Smooth. Confident. Just a hint of arrogance.
"You know, that much sugar probably cancels out the coffee."
I turned, ready to brush him off, but his smile stopped me. It was lopsided, like a door slightly ajar, inviting me in.
"Caramel macchiato?" he asked, gesturing to my cup. "You seem like the complicated type."
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you always analyze strangers’ drinks, or am I just lucky?"
"Let’s call it fate," he said, extending a hand. "Caleb."
Something about him unsettled me, but the loneliness in my chest overruled the quiet warning in my mind.
***
Caleb was the kind of man who made you feel seen, even in a crowded room. He was attentive in ways that felt like a balm on a fresh wound: remembering my favorite author, sending late-night texts just to ask if I’d eaten.
For weeks, I floated on the warmth of his attention. But every now and then, a shadow crossed my mind. His charm was effortless—too effortless. Like he’d perfected it through repetition.
The first crack appeared on a Friday night. We were curled up on his couch when his phone buzzed. A text lit up the screen:
Lisa: I miss you, are you coming over tonight?
"Who’s Lisa?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Just an old friend," he said, flipping the phone facedown. "Nothing to worry about."
But worry was a weed, and it rooted itself deep in my mind.
***
The signs piled up like snowflakes in a storm, subtle but suffocating. He started canceling plans with vague excuses. His phone lived in his pocket, buzzing quietly like a trapped insect.
Then I found the box.
It was hidden in a drawer I opened while looking for a lighter. Inside were fragments of another life: love letters, concert tickets, a silver bracelet engraved with Forever, Lisa.
When Caleb returned from the store, I was sitting on the couch, the bracelet dangling from my fingers.
"You and Lisa seem...close," I said, keeping my tone even.
He froze, the grocery bag slipping slightly in his grip. "You went through my stuff?"
"I found your stuff," I said, holding up the bracelet. "Looks like Lisa thought ‘forever’ was more than a suggestion."
He exhaled sharply, setting the bag on the counter. "It’s complicated."
"Isn’t it always?"
***
I didn’t wait for Caleb’s excuses to unravel. Instead, I found Lisa on social media. Her profile was easy to track, her smile too familiar. ???
I messaged her, and her reply came quickly: We need to talk.
We met at a diner the next day, its peeling linoleum floor matching the tiredness in her eyes. Her hands trembled slightly as she stirred her coffee.
"You’re not the first," she said, finally meeting my gaze. "And if you stay, you won’t be the last."
She told me about the charm, the promises, the way Caleb always knew exactly what to say. How he’d made her feel like she was everything until she realized he was the sun, and everyone else was just orbiting.
"I used to think I could fix him," she said, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "But Caleb doesn’t want fixing. He wants devotion."
Her words hit like a cold wind, chilling the fragile hope I’d clung to.
***
That night, Caleb showed up at my door with his trademark smile and a bottle of wine. "Hey, babe. Thought we could have a quiet night in."
I stepped aside, letting him in. "We need to talk."
His smile faded. "You okay?"
"I talked to Lisa," I said, watching his face carefully. His jaw tightened, but he quickly masked it with a laugh.
"She’s crazy," he said, setting the wine on the counter. "I told you, it’s over with her. She’s just jealous."
"Jealous of what? The lies? The manipulation? Or the shoebox of mementos you forgot to hide?"
He stepped closer, his voice softening. "You’re overreacting. You always do this. It’s one of the things I love about you, though—how passionate you are."
I took a step back, shaking my head. "Don’t. Don’t make this about me. This is about you and the way you use people."
"Come on," he said, his smile gone now, replaced by something darker. "You’re going to throw this all away because of some bitter ex?"
"No," I said, my voice steady. "I’m throwing it away because I finally see who you are."
***
That night, I went through the remnants of our relationship—the notes, the flowers, the bracelet he’d clasped around my wrist on our second date. I hesitated over the bracelet, the weight of it heavy in my hand. For a moment, I thought about keeping it, a reminder of what I’d survived.
But then I threw it into the trash.
The next morning, I messaged Lisa one last time: Thank you for reminding me I deserve better.
Her reply came quickly: We all do.
For the first time in months, my chest felt light.
***
Love built on lies will always crumble, but reclaiming your power is the first step toward building something real.
Evil doesn’t always wear horns. Sometimes, it wears a smile and whispers sweet lies—until you
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