ONE OF THEM IS LYING

They were five — David, Ruth, Martin, Sarah, and Chuck. A circle so tight-knit it felt like family. From treehouse battles in middle school to rooftop parties in high school, their friendship had survived everything. Until it didn’t.

The day started like any other. September sun, school stress, and the promise of something fun after. Their secret spot — an abandoned house just outside town — had always been their escape. No parents. No rules. Just music, drinks, and inside jokes that no one else would understand.

Chuck was the loudest that night. Laughing. Dancing. Talking wild dreams about life after high school. Sarah was curled up next to him, smiling like she had a secret. Martin and Ruth argued over music, while David watched from the corner, quiet, thoughtful — like he was somewhere else entirely.

They drank too much. Said things they wouldn’t remember. Or maybe things they’d try to forget.The next morning, light crept through the broken windows of the hideout. The party was over. Hangovers bloomed behind tired eyes. They moved slowly, groaning, shuffling around like ghosts. David stood up first, rubbing his temples and heading toward the bathroom.

That’s when the scream tore through the silence.

Ruth’s voice. High. Sharp. Real.

They rushed in.

Chuck lay on the floor, face pale, blood soaking through his shirt. A knife was lodged in his chest. Lifeless. Cold. Still.

Everything after that blurred.

Police. Sirens. Yellow tape draped across the house like a warning they were too late to hear. Questions. Too many questions. Where were you last night? Did you see anything? Did anyone leave the room? Did he have enemies?

The detectives spoke softly, but their eyes were sharp. Watching every blink. Every breath.

The autopsy confirmed it wasn’t suicide. No hesitation wounds. No defensive marks. Just one clean, deadly strike. Murder. No forced entry. No strangers. Just the five of them.

One dead. Four suspects.

Shock turned to silence. Silence turned to doubt.

One of us did this.

That thought infected everything. Their bond shattered into suspicion. Ruth stopped replying to messages. Martin changed seats in class. Sarah stopped showing up altogether. David — David stayed quiet.

Chuck’s funeral was held two weeks later. The four stood apart like strangers, dressed in black, saying goodbye to a friend they no longer recognized. Or maybe a friend who’d seen something they didn’t want him to see.

The case went cold. Not enough evidence. No confession. Just shadows.

But Chuck’s cousin — Simon — had questions of his own. A straight-A student with a sharp mind and a thirst for truth. He wasn’t buying what the police were selling. He started digging, quietly. Interviewing, observing, pressing buttons no one else dared to press.

He had one mission: *Find out who killed Chuck.*

And as he moved closer to the truth, the secrets buried inside this group began to unravel — jealousy, betrayal, hidden love, shame.

Because someone in that room held the knife.

And the truth?

The truth was going to destroy everything.

ONE OF US IS LYING 2

Simon sat at the edge of Chuck’s old bed, the room frozen in time. Posters on the wall, guitar resting by the window, notebooks still open on the desk. A life interrupted. He inhaled sharply and flipped through a torn spiral notebook. Lyrics. Random thoughts. But then… something else.

A name circled in red ink: Sarah. And beneath it, scribbled, She’s not who they think she is.”

Simon closed the book. His mind raced. It was time to start with the first suspect.

David.

He found him at the park, slouched on a bench, hoodie up, eyes hollow.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Simon said, standing in front of him.

David looked up. “Because I don’t have anything to say.”

“You were the last to see Chuck alive.”

David tensed. “You don’t know that.”

“But you went to the bathroom. Everyone else was half-passed out. It adds up.”

David chuckled bitterly. “You think I stabbed my best friend? For what?”

“Jealousy,” Simon said flatly. “You liked Sarah. Chuck had her.”

David stood. “So did Martin at one point. Maybe ask him.”

“I will. But you had the motive. You’ve been in love with her since freshman year.”

David’s hands curled into fists. “That wasn’t love. I just thought… if I had what he had, maybe I’d matter more.”

There it was. A flash of something real.

“Where were you when Chuck died?”

“I told the cops. Bathroom. Maybe five minutes.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “That’s more than enough time.”

David stepped closer. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Then who did?”

David’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know. But Sarah wasn’t herself lately. Quiet. Scared. And Chuck… he was saying things he shouldn't.”

“Like what?”

David hesitated. “He said he knew something about her. Something that would ruin everything.”

Simon felt the puzzle tighten. “What about Martin?”

David scoffed. “Martin’s just confused. Always has been. He’d do anything for Chuck… but Chuck never gave him the time of day.”

Simon turned to leave, then paused. “One more thing. The knife… it came from the kitchen. Only one set of prints. Smudged. But the handle had oil. Someone washed it first.”

David blinked. “I didn’t touch it.”

“That’s the problem,” Simon muttered. “None of you did. And yet, someone did.”

That night, Simon reviewed the timeline. Everyone had a motive. David — jealousy. Martin — unrequited love. Ruth — always in the background, watching her friendships crack. And Sarah… the mystery.

He played the voicemail again. The one Chuck left the night before he died.

“I know the truth, bro. About Sarah. I don’t know what to do with it… but she needs help. Not judgment. Promise me that.”

Simon leaned back. Chuck knew something. Maybe everything.

And it got him killed.

But who was protecting what?

As rain tapped against the window, Simon whispered the question again to the empty room:

“Who’s lying?”