The Login Alert Hides a Lie

When my phone screen suddenly lit up, I was lying on the study room carpet, sorting through samples of the wedding invitations. It was a push notification from the video app, telling me my account logged in on a new device. I casually tapped it, planning to remove the unfamiliar device, but my fingers froze when I saw the login location. Blue Bay International Community—five whole kilometers away from where I live now. I remember that neighborhood. Last month, I passed by with my best friend while we were looking at wedding suites. It's a brand-new development, just recently handed over, with tight security and ridiculously high maintenance fees. Carol and I bought our bridal suite in the old city center, near both our parents' homes. So why would he be at Blue Bay International? Just as a question popped into my mind, I heard keys unlocking the door in the living room. Carol Clark came back, carrying a faint scent of tobacco and the cold air from outside. "How's the organizing going?" He walked over and ruffled my hair, his tone as natural as always. I handed him my cell phone, trying to keep my voice steady: "Why is your video account logged in at Blue Bay International?" Carol's hand paused for a moment before he took the phone to look at it, his face calm and untroubled. "Oh, maybe it was Emma who logged in." He handed the cell phone back to me, then bent down to pick up a wedding invitation sample. "I lent her the account. She just moved there and said she couldn't watch the shows without a membership." Emma is his cousin. I've met her a few times; she's pretty easygoing. She did mention moving to a new place before. But even if it was just lending the account, why didn't he tell me beforehand? "When did she move to Blue Bay International?" I asked, pressing him for details. "Just last week, I think. Her parents bought her the bridal suite there and had it renovated ahead of time, so she moved in." Carol Clark said casually, putting the invitation back on the table, "Don't worry about these little things. We have to try on the wedding dress tomorrow, so get some rest early." His tone was so natural—so natural it made me wonder if I was just overthinking. But that tiny unease in my chest slowly climbed like vines. I didn't press any further, only nodded, watching him turn and walk to the bathroom, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the cell phone. Lying in bed that night, I tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. My mind kept replaying Carol Clark's words—and that strange login location. The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt. I quietly took Carol's cell phone and nudged him. His voice was hoarse, just waking up: "What's wrong, Janice?" "I still feel a little uneasy. Could you ask Emma to take a call?" I tried to keep my voice from sounding too obvious. He was silent for a moment, then called Emma. Soon her voice came through, a little sleepy: "Sister-in-law? What's up?" "Nothing much, just saw the account logged in on your side. Wanted to check if it was you, in case it got hacked." I gripped the blanket, my palms a little sweaty. "Yes, it's me. My brother lent me the account. I just moved here, and the internet isn't set up yet, so I'm using his to watch some shows." Emma's voice sounded normal, with a hint of complaint: "The internet in this complex is really bad. Someone has to come fix it tomorrow." After hanging up, I stared at the ceiling for a long time. It seemed like I was really just overthinking it. Carol and Emma's explanations both made sense. But that inexplicable unease inside me didn't lessen at all. Instead, it felt like a stone sinking deeper underwater, growing heavier and heavier. I turned around and looked at Carol Clark's sleeping profile; his brows were slightly furrowed—I wondered what dream he was having. We've been together for three years, and we're getting married next month. I should trust him. I kept telling myself that over and over, but the seed of doubt had already quietly started to sprout.