Chapter 1
You’ve been dating your boyfriend for seven months, and everything felt like a dream come true. He was older—just your type—and had a way with words that left you weak in the knees. Unlike guys your age, he had it all: a job, a car, and a sense of direction that matched your high standards.
But lately, that dream was starting to crack.
He’d been coming home late, always glued to his phone, offering vague excuses about work stress. At first, you didn’t want to overthink it. Everyone has bad weeks, right? But as a profiler, you couldn’t ignore the patterns. He wasn’t just stressed. He was hiding something.
You told yourself you wouldn’t be that girlfriend—the one who snoops through messages or accuses without proof. But doubt had a way of gnawing at you, growing louder with every late-night text he hurried to hide.
Desperate for answers, you found yourself outside Penelope Garcia’s office.
Her world was a stark contrast to the horrors the BAU faced daily. Bright colors, fuzzy pens, and an army of stuffed animals filled her space with warmth. It was your refuge after long, dark days, and today, you hoped she’d lend her light to your dilemma.
“Hey, Garcia,” you said, stepping inside.
“Y/N! How’s it going, love?” she greeted, spinning her chair around with a bright smile.
“Alright…” you hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “Actually, I need a favor.”
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Anything for you, sugar plum! Spill the tea.”
You took a breath. “I think my boyfriend’s cheating on me.”
She gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
“Are you serious?”
You nodded, guilt and frustration twisting in your gut.
“Yes… but I don’t know for sure. That’s the problem. Listen, you’re amazing at what you do, and I hate to ask for something so personal. But I have to know.”
Penelope’s wide-eyed concern softened into determination.
“Of course, sweet pea. Where do we start?”
“His text messages… and maybe his social media. He’s on Instagram and Pinterest.”
She spun her chair to her keyboard, her fingers flying over the keys like a concert pianist. You watched in awe as screens filled with lines of code and login prompts. Less than ten seconds later, Penelope leaned back with a triumphant smile, her colorful nails tapping on the edge of the desk.
“Well, he did delete a few things. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
You pulled a chair closer to the screen, your breath hitching as your eyes scanned the messages. Your heart plummeted. Suggestive texts. Logs filled with inappropriate photos without showing their faces. You gripped the edge of the desk, your stomach twisting in knots.
With trembling fingers, you reached for the mouse and scrolled further, every line of text confirming what you already suspected. He’d been acting off for weeks, and now the truth was staring you in the face.
The messages revealed where he met her—his new co-worker. The flirtation had started innocently enough but quickly escalated into something more. Your chest tightened as you read their exchanges, each word a dagger to your heart.
“She doesn’t have to know.”
“Let’s keep it a secret.”
You bit your lip hard, fighting back tears as the finality of it hit you. He wasn’t just unfaithful—he was intentional, calculated, willing to betray you without hesitation.
This wasn’t the man you thought you knew. The proof was right there, glaring at you, and with it came the cruel realization: he didn’t value you the way you valued him.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Garcia whispered, her voice thick with emotion as tears welled in her eyes. She reached out as if to comfort you, her empathy shining through. Garcia was always like that—a flower blooming in a field of inhumanity. It was one of the things you loved most about her.
You swallowed hard, blinking back your own tears as you scrolled further. Then you saw her.
The woman in the pictures made your chest ache with a sharp, almost physical pain. She was stunning—blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, a perfect smile. The kind of beauty that turned heads effortlessly.
Typical.
Your gaze flickered to the reflection of your own hazel eyes in the darkened screen, framed by your brunette hair. A cruel voice in the back of your mind whispered that you couldn’t compare. You knew better than to go down that road, but the questions clawed at you anyway. What does she have that I don’t? Why wasn’t I enough?
The answer hit you with the force of a wrecking ball.
The next message spelled it out in painful detail: how much he admired her personality, her talent, her looks. Every word chipped away at your sense of self.
You couldn’t stop the spiral now. Was it really her, or was it you?
You stared at the screen, the betrayal sinking in like a knife twisting in your chest. The man of your dreams—the one who once made you feel invincible—had willingly destroyed everything you thought you had.
It was like something inside you died.
Your chest tightened as your mind spiraled, conjuring images of what they might be doing now. A motel? His car? The thought made your stomach churn. You reached for one of Garcia’s colorful trinkets, fiddling with it as if the motion could ground you, but the dread only grew heavier.
“Are you okay?” Garcia’s voice was soft, her hand gentle as it rested on your arm.
You sniffled, nodding even though it was a lie.
“I’ll be back,” you managed, your voice cracking as you pushed back your chair.
Without waiting for a response, you hurried to the ladies’ bathroom, the tears finally spilling over as you shut the stall door behind you.
You took a shaky breath, though it came out in uneven shudders.
Tears spilled relentlessly down your cheeks as the scene replayed in your mind, over and over, like a cruel loop you couldn’t escape. The messages. The pictures. Her face.
Your boyfriend—no, the man you thought you knew—was seeing someone else.
He must’ve gotten bored of you. That was the only explanation, wasn’t it? She was everything you weren’t: blonde, dazzling, confident. The kind of woman who lit up a room just by walking into it.
You clung to the memories of everything you’d done to prove your love. The thoughtful gestures, the unwavering support, the loyalty you gave without hesitation. You had given him your whole heart, your whole world, and yet…
It still wasn’t enough.
You heard the creak of the bathroom door opening, followed by a familiar voice.
“Hey… are you okay?”
It was Emily. Her tone was soft, cautious, like she already knew the answer.
You didn’t bother hiding your tears or pretending to be fine.
“No,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
There was a pause, then a gentle offer.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You hesitated, taking a few deep, shaky breaths to steady yourself. Then, with trembling hands, you unlocked the stall door and stepped aside, letting her in.
“Oh… what happened?” Emily’s voice was soft, full of concern, as she gently stepped closer.
Your voice cracked as you tried to explain, the words tumbling out between shuddering breaths. You told her everything—the messages, the photos, and the crushing realization that the man you loved wasn’t who you thought he was.
Tears streamed down your face as you wiped at them with trembling hands, your throat tightening with every word. Emily didn’t say anything, just pulled you closer, offering silent comfort.
You let your head rest against her shoulder, your hand awkwardly supporting it as you leaned into her. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you from falling apart entirely.
“I’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have used the work computer for something so personal. I just feel so—”
Emily gently pulled back, her hands on your shoulders as she looked you directly in the eyes.
“Hey, hey, no. Don’t feel sorry. If anyone should be sorry, it’s him. Your boyfriend—who, by the way, I’m really hoping will soon be your ex.”
You managed a weak nod, your voice cracking. “But… I love him.”
Emily’s expression softened, her voice low and steady.
“I know. Of course you do. You invested so much of your time and feelings into him. It’s only natural to feel that way.”
You nodded again, the tears continuing to flow freely down your face. Without hesitation, Emily pulled you into another hug, her arms wrapping around you firmly but gently.
In her embrace, you felt an unexpected sense of safety—a warmth that reminded you of being a child, nestled against your mother’s shoulder, the one place in the world where nothing could hurt you.
For a moment, the pain didn’t feel so overwhelming.
Emily offered a small smile as she pulled back from the hug.
“How about we go to lunch?” she suggested gently. “Just to talk. Get your mind off things.”
You hesitated for a moment, but the kindness in her eyes was enough to convince you.
“Okay,” you whispered, nodding.
Lunch with Emily helped, if only for a little while. Talking through your feelings with her gave you a moment to breathe, but the weight of everything still lingered.
Later, when you returned home, you knew what you had to do.
Confronting him was harder than you imagined. The moment you mentioned the messages, his face hardened, defenses up immediately. What began as a tense discussion quickly escalated into a full-blown argument. Words were hurled back and forth—accusations, denials, and anger filling the air like a storm you couldn’t escape.
Finally, your voice cracked as you shouted the last thing you had to say, your heart breaking with every word. Then, without another look, you grabbed your things and stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind you.
The night air was cool against your tear-streaked face as you walked away, unsure of where you were going—only knowing you couldn’t stay.
You let the wind guide you as you kept walking, unsure of where to go. A bar? A hotel? A friend’s house? Each option felt distant, unappealing. Family wasn’t an option either—your parents were in Nashville, and the rest of your family lived all the way in Italy.
Your feet ached as you spotted a bus stop a few feet ahead. Just as you were about to settle there for a moment’s rest, the sound of a car slowing down beside you made your heart race.
Adrenaline surged through you as you thought of worst-case scenarios. A lone woman walking in the dark, carrying personal belongings—it was a recipe for disaster. As an FBI agent, you’d seen enough cases to know how these stories often ended. Your mind raced, mentally praying that your name wouldn’t end up on the bulletin board while your friends worked to solve your case.
“Y/N?”
The voice startled you, but it was familiar.
You turned toward the car as the window rolled down, and relief washed over you like a wave.
“Emily?”
She nodded, her eyes scanning your face with concern.
“Get in,” she urged softly. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
You opened the back door of Emily’s car, carefully placing your bags inside before sliding into the passenger seat. The faint smell of her vanilla air freshener was oddly comforting, a small reminder of familiarity in the chaos of the night.
Emily glanced at you, her brow furrowing as she took in your tear-streaked face.
“You okay?” she asked gently, though the answer was already written all over you.
You let out a shaky breath, your voice heavy with exhaustion.
“I dumped him,” you admitted, your words raw. “As expected, he denied everything. Then we argued. It got… ugly.”
Emily nodded slowly, her hands resting on the steering wheel as she gave you space to continue if you wanted.
“Good,” she said softly after a moment. “Not that it got ugly—but that you stood up for yourself.”
You nodded, wiping at your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing.
“Where would you like to go?” Emily asked softly, her tone calm and patient.
“Honestly? Anywhere is fine,” you replied, your voice still shaky.
She glanced at you, then asked, “Are you hungry?”
You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak.
Emily didn’t press further. She simply started the car, letting the quiet hum of the engine fill the space between you. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable, a moment to gather yourself.
After a short drive, she pulled into the parking lot of a cozy restaurant, the warm glow of the sign reading Nonna’s Trattoria. The sight stirred something inside you—a bittersweet pang of familiarity.
You looked at her, touched by the gesture. “Nonna’s?”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “Thought it’d be nice. You could use a little taste of home.”
“Thank you. Really,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “You’ve been so thoughtful to me.”
Emily smiled warmly, her eyes filled with reassurance.
“Always.” She gestured toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”
You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you both stepped out of the car and into the inviting glow of the restaurant.
The host greeted you with a cheerful smile. “Welcome to Nonna’s! Table for two?”
“Yes, please,” you replied, your voice steadying for the first time in hours.
As you followed the host to your table, the comforting aroma of garlic, basil, and freshly baked bread began to ease the weight in your chest, if only just a little.
As you sat down, you couldn’t help but notice some familiar faces among the staff, including one of the elderly waitresses who always greeted you warmly when you visited. Her presence brought a small wave of comfort, a reminder of simpler, happier times.
When she came to take your order, you smiled and spoke in Italian, letting the words roll off your tongue naturally.
“Un’acqua per lei e un aperitivo per me. Grazie.”
The waitress’s face lit up, her warm smile deepening the lines around her eyes. “Che bello sentirlo,” she replied, jotting down your order.
Emily watched with a soft smile, her admiration clear. “I’ll never get over how effortlessly you do that.”
You chuckled lightly, the sound surprising even yourself. “It’s second nature, I guess.”
“I actually speak Italian, too,” Emily said with a small grin. “Though it’s pretty limited. Parlo anche francese, spagnolo, arabo, e russo. But my Russian? Let’s just say it needs some work.”
You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Che poliglotta! And your Italian sounds great. Parli bene italiano.”
“Grazie.” Emily smiled, leaning back slightly. “So, tell me more about yourself.”
You hesitated for a moment, then began. “Well, I grew up in Nashville, so I have a soft spot for country music... but I also love heavy metal.”
Emily’s eyes lit up. “So do I!”
“Really?” you asked, sitting up straighter, excitement bubbling in your chest.
“Yes!” she laughed. “I’m sorry—go ahead.”
You smiled, thrilled to discover another shared interest. “So, even though I’m from Nashville, my parents are from Italy. They immigrated here a few years before I was born. When I was little, I went to live with the rest of my family in Italy for a few years to really experience the culture.”
“That’s amazing,” Emily said, clearly intrigued.
“I loved it there,” you continued, your voice softening with nostalgia. “Last time I visited was last summer, to see la mia famiglia. I miss them already.”
“I’m sure you do,” Emily said, her tone understanding. “I miss my family too. The BAU can be so demanding. Abito da sola e amo la mia indipendenza, but… I’ve been thinking about getting a cat. I want company.”
Your eyes lit up, a genuine smile breaking through the weight of the day. “Oh my gosh, I love cats too! They’re the cutest things ever.”
Emily chuckled. “Looks like we keep finding things in common.”
When the waitress returned, you ordered your meal in Italian, your accent flawless. “Penne alla vodka vegana, per favore.”
Emily followed with her own order, glancing at you with a playful smile as she spoke. “Polenta, grazie.”
The waitress nodded with approval. “You two speak beautifully,” she said, before heading off with your orders.
Emily leaned back, a twinkle in her eye. “Okay, so cats, music, and languages. What else do we have in common?”
“I do recall you complaining about dairy,” Emily said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you lactose intolerant?”
You nodded with a small smile. “Yep. It’s not a big deal, though—I can handle most things as long as they don’t involve cow’s milk.”
Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “What is it about cow’s milk, anyway? Why not cashew milk or almond milk? They’re so much better.”
You chuckled, shrugging. “Beats me. People are obsessed with it, though. Maybe it’s a comfort thing?”
Emily smirked. “Or maybe they just haven’t discovered the joys of oat milk yet.”
You laughed, grateful for the lighthearted moment amidst the emotional weight of the day.
After finishing your meal, a heavy silence settled between you. You looked down at your plate for a moment, then lifted your gaze to Emily, your expression softening.
“Emily, I really appreciate you taking me out tonight. I had a great time. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Emily smiled, but her eyes held a sincerity that matched yours. “Anytime, really. You know that. Would you like to crash at my place tonight?”
Your eyes widened in surprise, and you hesitated. “No, I wouldn’t want to impose…”
Emily waved off your concern with a soft laugh. “Hey, it’s no trouble at all. It’s better than walking around all night or paying for a hotel. You need somewhere safe to rest, and you’re always welcome with me.”
You smiled, your heart feeling a little lighter despite the weight of the day.
“Thank you, really,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.
Despite the worst heartbreak of your life, a quiet sense of gratitude filled you. In the midst of all the chaos, you were thankful to have a friend like Emily—someone who didn’t hesitate to be there when you needed it most.