The Confession

Alison lay awake in her apartment, staring at the ceiling, the weight of her indecision gnawing at her. The events of the past few weeks had unraveled her carefully constructed facade, and she knew she couldn't keep up the charade much longer. She was drowning in lies, guilt eating away at her every moment she spent with Henry.

Her phone buzzed again, a reminder of her handler's persistent demands.

**"We need the data now, Emma. Deliver or be replaced."**

She threw the phone across the room, her frustration mounting. This wasn't just business anymore. It wasn't supposed to be personal, but it had become everything she'd feared—complicated, emotional, messy. Alison had never expected to actually care for Henry, let alone fall for him.

That was why, the next morning, she made a decision. She couldn't keep lying to him, not anymore. She had to confess. It was the only way to free herself from the web of deceit she had spun around them both.