I set a trap for my best friend and took her boyfriend, and I told myself it wasn’t betrayal—it was balance. Like I was correcting a scale that had been tilted against me for years.
My name is Chloe Bennett. I’m the friend people call “funny” when they don’t know what else to say, the one who shows up with wine, remembers birthdays, and pretends jealousy is just sarcasm. My best friend Ava Reynolds was everything I wasn’t: effortlessly adored, always chosen first, the kind of woman strangers compliment in line at Starbucks.
Her boyfriend was Noah Pierce—steady, loyal, the guy who carried her purse at concerts without acting like it was a sacrifice. And the first time I met him, I knew he was dangerous to me for a simple reason:
He listened.
Not just to Ava. To me.
It started harmless. Double dates with my on-again, off-again situationship. Group hikes. Game nights. Ava would drift into the kitchen, and Noah would stay behind and ask, “So how are you, really?” like my jokes weren’t the whole story.
Then came the night Ava forgot my birthday. She swore it was an accident, blamed work, blamed stress. But she still posted a photo of herself and Noah at some rooftop bar with the caption: “My whole world.”
I stared at the screen and felt something inside me harden.
A week later, Ava and Noah had their first serious fight in front of me. It was about boundaries—Ava scrolling through Noah’s phone, Noah asking for privacy. Ava snapped, “If you have nothing to hide, why are you acting guilty?”
Noah’s voice stayed calm, but his eyes looked tired. “I’m not guilty. I’m exhausted.”
Ava stormed out to “cool off,” leaving Noah in my living room with his jacket still on and his hands clenched like he was holding himself together by force.
“She always does this,” I said softly, as if I was comforting him. “She pushes until you break, then calls it proof.”
Noah looked up at me. “Does she do that to you?”
I should’ve defended Ava. I should’ve told him she was stressed, that love gets messy.
Instead I said, “Sometimes.”
That one word was a door.
After that, Noah started texting me. Little things. “Is she okay?” “Did I overreact?” I answered like the loyal friend, always on Ava’s side—at least on the surface.
But in private, I began building a story where Ava was the problem and I was the calm, understanding alternative.
Then I made the move that changed everything: I created a screenshot—one fake message thread—just believable enough to ignite Ava’s worst insecurity.
I didn’t send it to Noah.
I sent it to Ava.
“Chloe… what is this?” she texted immediately.
My fingers hovered over the screen, heart pounding—not with fear, but with excitement.
Because if Ava panicked, she’d do what she always did.
She’d explode.
And Noah would finally see her the way I wanted him to.
That night, Ava showed up at my apartment unannounced.
And she wasn’t alone.
Noah was right behind her.
Part 2
Ava barged in first, eyes wild, phone in her hand like a weapon. “Tell me this is fake,” she demanded. “Tell me you didn’t send this.”
Noah shut the door behind them, face tight with confusion. “What’s going on?”
I forced my voice to shake, the way Ava’s always did when she wanted sympathy. “Ava, calm down,” I said, taking a careful step back. “You’re scaring me.”
Her jaw clenched. “Don’t do that. Don’t play the innocent thing. Explain.”
She shoved her phone toward Noah. On the screen was my “screenshot”: a message thread that made it look like Noah had been flirting with another woman—nothing explicit, just suggestive enough to sting. I’d chosen the right slang. The right time stamps. The right amount of ambiguity. The kind of fake that feels true because it aligns with fear.
Noah frowned, scrolling. “I never sent this.”
Ava’s voice rose. “Then why does it look real? Why does it sound like you?”
Noah looked at me, searching my face. “Chloe, did you send her this?”
I widened my eyes. “I got it from a friend,” I lied smoothly. “I didn’t want to bring it up, but I thought she deserved to know.”
Ava’s hands shook. “Which friend?”
I hesitated just long enough to look conflicted. “Ava, please. Don’t make me—”
“That’s not an answer!” she shouted. “You’re enjoying this!”
Noah stepped between us. “Ava, stop. You’re yelling at Chloe when I’m the one being accused.”
Ava laughed, sharp and broken. “Oh my God. You’re defending her.”
Noah’s voice stayed low. “Because you’re not listening. You’re spiraling.”
Spiraling. That word was gasoline. Ava hated being labeled emotional, irrational—especially by a man.
“So now I’m crazy,” she snapped. “You’re so calm, Noah. So perfect. And Chloe’s so ‘safe.’”
I pressed a hand to my chest as if wounded. “Ava, I’m your best friend.”
“No,” she said, pointing at me. “You’re a snake.”
Noah’s eyes flicked to mine—uncertain. And I knew I had to seal it.
I reached for my laptop on the coffee table and opened a folder I’d prepared: screenshots of real things—Ava complaining about Noah in our texts, Ava calling him “sensitive,” Ava saying, “Sometimes I feel like I’m dating a therapist.” All true. All private. All never meant for Noah’s eyes.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” I whispered, turning the screen toward him. “But you deserve to know how she talks about you.”
Ava lunged for the laptop. “Chloe! Are you out of your mind?”
Noah read silently. His face changed with every line—not anger at first, but hurt. The kind of hurt that makes someone go quiet.
Ava’s voice cracked. “Those were vents. Everyone vents. You’re taking it out of context.”
Noah looked at her. “So you don’t respect me.”
“I do!” Ava cried. “I love you.”
He exhaled, hollow. “Love isn’t this.”
Ava turned to me, eyes filling with tears and rage. “You did this. You set me up.”
I tilted my head, keeping my voice soft. “I didn’t make you say any of it.”
Ava’s breath hitched as she realized the trap: the fake screenshot had brought her here, but the real screenshots would keep her from being believed.
Noah stepped back from Ava like she was heat. “I need space,” he said. “I can’t do this right now.”
Ava grabbed his sleeve. “Please don’t leave with her. Please.”
Noah paused… then looked at me.
“Chloe,” he said quietly, “can we talk outside?”
And Ava’s face collapsed, because she knew what that meant.
Part 3
Outside my apartment, the hallway lights hummed like they were watching too.
Noah leaned against the wall, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t even know what’s real anymore,” he said. “But I know how I feel when I’m with her—like I’m constantly on trial.”
I nodded, acting careful. “She’s scared,” I said. “Fear makes people do ugly things.”
Noah looked at me. “And you?” he asked. “Why are you in the middle of this?”
Because I put myself there. Because I wanted to be.
But I let my eyes water, just enough to look honest. “Because I care about both of you,” I said. “And watching her hurt you… it’s been killing me.”
Ava’s door flew open behind us. “Stop,” she choked. “Stop talking like I’m not here.”
Noah turned. “Ava, go home.”
She shook her head, tears spilling now. “Chloe made it up. The screenshot—she made it up. She’s been trying to get between us for months.”
Noah’s brows knit. “Chloe, is that true?”
The moment hung there—the point where the whole thing could collapse if I made the wrong sound.
I took a slow breath and chose the most devastating truth-adjacent answer. “I didn’t fake anything,” I said quietly. “And you know why she thinks I did? Because she can’t imagine anyone seeing her clearly and still choosing her.”
Ava flinched like I’d hit her.
Noah’s jaw tightened. “Ava… did you go through my phone again?”
Ava’s mouth opened. “That’s not—”
“Did you?” he repeated, sharper.
She swallowed. “I… I was trying to feel safe.”
Noah closed his eyes for a second. “You don’t trust me.”
Ava stepped forward, voice breaking. “I do trust you. I just—Chloe is lying.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over my messages with Ava. With one tap, I could’ve shown Noah the truth: that I’d been nurturing his resentment, praising his calm, feeding his doubts. I could’ve shown him the time I wrote, “You deserve better than constant suspicion.”
Instead, I did something worse than lying.
I deleted the thread in front of him.
Ava stared, horrified. “You—”
Noah watched the screen. “What did you just do?”
I lifted my eyes, calm. “I removed myself,” I said. “I don’t want to be a wedge.”
Ava let out a strangled laugh. “You’re insane.”
Noah’s shoulders slumped as if the fight drained out of him. “Ava, I can’t do this tonight.” He turned away from her and faced me. “Chloe… can you drive me to my brother’s? I don’t want to be alone.”
Ava’s knees nearly buckled. “Noah, please. Please don’t go with her.”
Noah didn’t touch Ava. He didn’t comfort her. He just walked past her and toward the stairs, and I followed—quiet, composed, the friend who “helped.”
In the car, Noah stared out the window, voice flat. “I thought she was my person.”
I kept my hands steady on the wheel. “Sometimes,” I said softly, “your person isn’t who you thought.”
When I dropped him off, he squeezed my hand a little too long. Not love. Not yet. But possibility.
Back home, I sat on my bed and finally let myself smile—not because I’d won a man, but because I’d proven something about power.
And then my phone buzzed.
A message from Ava: “I have proof. If you don’t tell him the truth, I will.”
So tell me—if you were Noah, would you believe the calm friend who “protected” you… or the girlfriend who melted down at the worst possible moment? And if you were Ava, would you expose me even if it blew up your own reputation too? Drop your honest take—because I already know this one is going to split people.
