The Chess Master's Final Deadly Move

three years faking our relationship, even secretly filming us, all to get revenge for a lie he

wreckage of his prized antique chess se

healing, finally safe. Then, one morning, my ex shattered my apartment door, holding a black rose, his eyes

pte

le murmur he reserved for me, but sharp, venomous, outlining my public humi

, he did. His brilliance was undeniable, his intellect a sharp, gleaming blade. Girls clustered around him like moths to a flame, drawn by his aloof mystique, his cold, perfect fe

his publi

forever. For three years, I' d been his secret. His passionate, hidden love. I believed every word. Every touch.

s careful, always cautious. He said it was because he wanted to protect what we had, to keep our love pure and untainted by the judgment of others. I, naive and deeply in love, believed him.

my face in his hands, his thumbs caressing my cheekbones, and tell me I was the most beautiful thing he' d ever seen. His eyes

ondra," he'd said, his voice smooth as silk. "We'll need all our energy for the convocation. And then, we'll be free. No more secrets." He

r my final critique, my portfolio clutched tight, my mind buzzing with anticipation for our future. I heard voices from an open window, his voice, unmis

ved for me. It was cold, clinical, like he was dissecting a problem. "T

hitched.

The other voice, a woman' s, sou

eme? You think my beloved Krissy, fighting for her life because Alond

a nightmare from three years ago. My brother, Ethan, had received a heart transplant

on," the woman said, he

tor. He pulled strings, got his son a heart, while Krissy, my K

ind. What was he talking about? My father was

nvocation?" the woman pressed,

timate moments' onto the big screen. For everyone to see. Her parents, her friends, the entire university. They'

or "artistic expression," for "capturing the raw beauty of our love." He' d said it was our se

n its axis. All the tender touches, the whispered endearments, the shared dreams-they were all meticulously crafted lies. Designed to

the sudden silence of my mind. My legs felt like jelly. I couldn' t breathe. I had

hield. He had approached me in the campus gallery, his presence a cool shadow in the sunlit room. "Your use of color is

f my league. But he kept coming back, offering critiques, then conversations, then late-night study sessions that turned into whispered confessions and stolen

l, something deep, something hidden from the world. And I, so eager to be chosen, so desperate for

with mine. "And I give you structure. We're a perfect balance." He' d talked about leaving New York for Boston, about our art and his chess, our little worl

ow could Alden believe such a monstrous lie? My brother, Ethan, had been so sick. Th

r. My mother, Helen, looked up from her painting. "Alondr

Mom, Dad... I need to leave. I

his brow furrowed with concern.

s. "It's... it's Alden. He... he betrayed me. Our relationship. Everything wa

their warmth a painful contrast to the icy betrayal that had just consumed m

Beaux-Arts flickering in my mind. "I want to go to a

right. We'll make it happen. You don't have

den. "Missing you already, Alondra. Just a few more days, and the

eyboard. I wouldn' t give him the satisfaction of a response, of my pain. A new resolve hardened in my chest. He wanted humiliation? He wa

arted planning my escape, not just from New York, but fro