TWICE A MATE ONCE A LUNA by PENCILS

 SUSAN BROOKS' POV

Today was meant to be unforgettable.

I woke up early—too early. The sun had barely started to rise, casting soft golden streaks through my worn-out curtains. My limbs ached with exhaustion, but I pushed past it. I had something more important to focus on.

It was Jackson’s birthday.

The man I loved. The man who made me believe in forever.

Despite juggling late-night shifts and my stepmother’s endless chores, I stayed up to bake his favorite chocolate cake. I poured every ounce of affection into it, added strawberries and whipped cream the way he liked, and wrapped the small gifts I had been saving for months to buy. I gifted him a watch that he had once admired. His favorite cologne.

And a handwritten note that took me an hour to write because my fingers wouldn’t stop shaking:

To the man who makes my heart feel safe. Happy birthday, love.

I smiled, hugging the card to my chest.

Then I picked up my phone and called him.

No response.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

I frowned but stayed calm. Maybe he was still sleeping. Or maybe his phone died. I texted instead:

"Happy birthday, my dearest. Can I come see you today? I want to celebrate with you."

Ten minutes. No reply.

I stared at the screen until my chest felt tight. Something was wrong. I could feel it.

However, I refrained from hastily drawing conclusions. I refused to be the insecure girlfriend.

So I made a decision. I’d surprise him. After all, he loved surprises—especially mine. Right?

With the cake box in hand, I headed to his apartment. My heart fluttered with nervous anticipation. But when I knocked, there was no answer.

That’s when I noticed the door was… unlocked.

My smile faded.

“Jackson?” I called softly, stepping inside.

Silence.

Then my eyes caught something on the floor. A woman's dress and a pair of boxers were scattered like an afterthought. It was a woman's dress. The woman was wearing a pair of boxers. Then—my breath caught—

There was a red lace bra on display.

Matching panties.

My fingers clenched around the cake box until the edges caved. My heart pounded fiercely.

And then I heard it.

Moaning.

Soft, rhythmic. From upstairs.

I stood frozen. My soul already knew. But my body moved—slow, heavy steps toward the truth.

Each creaking stair felt like a scream in my ears.

I pushed open the bedroom door.

There they were.

Jackson Cornwell. Naked. He was entwined with a person who should never have crossed that boundary.

Chloe.

My stepsister.

She arched her back, her voice a twisted melody. “Yes, baby… just like that…”

I stood at the door, paralyzed.

Then my voice burst out—raw, shaking, loud enough to crack the heavens.

“You are such a jerk!”

They froze.

Jackson’s head snapped toward me, face drained of color. “Susan?! What the hell—you weren’t supposed to be here!”

Chloe didn’t even flinch. She turned to me with a slow, satisfied smirk.