Sunday Short: Cheat

Mira always thought cheating was something that happened in quiet places — dark motels, hidden conversations, secret weekends away. Not in a bright, crowded city like hers, where every window held a witness and every building hummed with life.

But the city had its own shadows.

And one of them was watching her.

It began the night she traced her boyfriend Adrian’s location and found him at an address she didn’t recognize. A high-rise on the edge of downtown, the kind built from steel and secrets. At first she told herself it was a mistake — maybe a client dinner, maybe a late meeting.

But curiosity dug into her like a hook.

She went there.

The lobby was quiet, unnervingly so. No guard, no receptionist. Just a long hallway of mirrors reflecting versions of herself she didn’t like — angry, insecure, betrayed. The elevator dinged open on its own.

She stepped inside.

Adrian’s location showed the 18th floor.

When the doors slid open, she expected to hear voices, footsteps, laughter. Something. Instead, the entire floor was silent. Empty, except for a long corridor lit by flickering lights.

She followed his dot on her phone until it led her to the last unit on the right.

Unit 18–08.

The door was already open.

Inside, the apartment was spotless, but wrong. Everything was symmetrical — two identical couches, two identical lamps, two mugs on the table placed at the same angle. Even the shoes by the door were arranged in mirrored pairs.

Her phone vibrated.

Location updated. Adrian is here.

She swallowed and walked deeper into the apartment.

That was when she saw him.

Sitting on the couch, back turned toward her.

“Adrian?” she whispered.

He didn’t move.

She stepped closer. “Adrian, who lives here? Why are you—”

He finally turned.

And she froze.

It was him. Same face, same eyes, same tired half-smile he always gave when he was caught doing something questionable.

But it wasn’t him.

Because her real Adrian was standing in the kitchen.

“Babe?”

Her chest tightened. Two Adrians. Same clothes. Same posture. Same startled expression.

“Mira?” they both said in unison.

She backed away so fast she hit the wall.

The one on the couch stood up first. Slow. Precise. The one in the kitchen mirrored him step for step, like reflections that had slipped out of the glass.

“Mira,” they said again — perfectly synchronized.

She ran.

But the door she came through was gone.

The hallway replaced itself with another room: another perfect mirror-apartment, everything duplicated, everything symmetrical. Her breathing echoed back at her, doubled, like two lungs gasping in her chest.

Her phone buzzed again.

Location updated. Adrian is here. Adrian is here. Adrian is here.

Endless pings until her screen froze.

Then turned black.

Behind her, the Adrians whispered in perfect harmony:

“Why are you cheating on us?”

Neighbors reported screams coming from Unit 18–08 that night.

But there was no Unit 18–08.

The building only went up to 17 floors.

And Adrian… the real Adrian… received a message from Mira hours later.

Just a single photo.

Of her sitting on the couch in that strange mirrored apartment.

Smiling.

Next to someone who looked exactly like him.

But wasn’t him.