I lied about my age and spent three months in a purely digital, voice-only relationship with a man six years older than me. Over the phone, his voice was a masterclass in gentle restraint. But when the hours bled into the middle of the night, it would drop into a gravelly, resonant register, trembling just a fraction when he called me “baby”. But I lost my nerve. The day I decided to break it off, I blocked and deleted him across every platform. I didn’t even leave him a single word of explanation. Months later, the ancient radiator in my apartment practically exploded, turning my bedroom into a swamp. My roommate, Piper, took one look at the mess and told me to pack a bag—we were crashing at her older brother’s condo for a few days. The moment the front door swung open, I found myself staring into a pair of impossibly cold, dark eyes. He was leaning against the entryway wall, wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Long, architectural fingers loosely held an unlit cigarette. His face was striking. Pale skin, a sharp, aristocratic brow, and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass. He was too devastatingly handsome to feel real. And entirely, brutally cold. He dragged his gaze over me, didn’t say a single word, and turned to walk up the stairs. Piper leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Don’t mind him. My brother’s just like that.” “Ever since his ex dumped him out of nowhere, he looks at everyone like they’re a tax audit.” “Plus, he absolutely loathes women who throw themselves at him. Just keep your distance and you’ll be fine.” 1 I nodded. “What does it have to do with me anyway?” I thought. That was, until dinner. Piper took a call from their mother, and casually yelled over her shoulder— “Hey, Declan! Mom wants us home for dinner tomorrow.” The fork slipped through my fingers. It hit the edge of my ceramic plate with a sharp, echoing “clink”. Declan. I had heard that name a thousand times. In voice notes sent at two in the morning. In those low, breathy murmurs that used to make my face burn and my lungs forget how to work. It was the first thing he said every time he initiated a call: “It’s Declan. Tell me you missed me today.” I froze, completely paralyzed. Across the dining table, the man lifted his eyes at the sound of my dropped fork. Those dark eyes swept over me, utterly devoid of warmth. Like he was looking at a ghost. Or worse—a stranger. Beside me, Piper was still rambling. “Oh, by the way, Quinn, my brother’s full name is Declan Prescott. It’s just the two of us kids in the family, so just make sure you don’t mess up the names when you meet my parents.” My lips parted, but my throat refused to form a single, coherent syllable. Declan Prescott. My internet ex-boyfriend. The man I had mercilessly ghosted and blocked eight months ago. And he was currently sitting exactly six feet across from me, chewing his dinner with the blank expression of a sociopath. I was dead. Absolutely, unequivocally dead. 2 I couldn’t have written a worse script for my life if I tried. Accidentally dating my roommate’s older brother online was one level of hell. Having to move into his apartment eight months after I broke his heart was the basement of that hell. That night, I lay awake in the guest bedroom, staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning until the sheets were a tangled mess. All I could see was Declan’s face. —And the memory of his voice. Truthfully, in those three months of talking, we hadn’t even exchanged photos. He had said there was no rush, that he would wait until I was ready to meet in person. But his voice had been an unfair advantage. Deep, crisp, with that slight, raspy edge at the end of his sentences. When he talked about his day, he sounded like a late-night radio host. When he whispered those… “other” things… I pulled the duvet over my head, groaning into the dark. “Stop thinking about it.” Back then, the username I used was “Clementine,” and I had deliberately pitched my voice a little lower, a little smoother. I told him I was twenty-two, freshly graduated, and working my first corporate job. In reality, I was nineteen. A college sophomore. I had built a house of cards, and when the wind finally picked up, I terrified myself so badly that I just ran. I tried to soothe my racing heart: “There’s no way he knows.” He only knew my fake, lowered voice. He didn’t know my face, my real name, or even what city I actually lived in. As long as I acted normal, I would survive this. Early the next morning, the jarring sound of the doorbell woke me. In the room next door, Piper was still snoring softly. Resigned, I dragged myself out of bed and padded downstairs to open the door. A delivery driver in a uniform stood on the porch, holding two massive brown paper bags from a high-end bakery. “Order for Mr. Prescott.” I took the bags, muttered a quick thank you, and shut the door. As I turned around, the sound of footsteps on the hardwood stairs made my breath hitch. Declan was walking down, wearing grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. His hair was slightly rumpled, and there was a heavy, sleep-tousled lethargy in his eyes. It made him look far less like the unapproachable ice king from last night and entirely too much like… “Stop. Don’t look at him.” “Your delivery.” I set the bags on the kitchen island and immediately pivoted to escape back upstairs. “Hold on.” His voice stopped me dead in my tracks. My spine locked. “The mugs are in the top cabinet. You’re too short. I’ll get them.” Declan walked right past me, the faint scent of cedarwood and clean laundry trailing behind him. He effortlessly swung open the high cabinet door, pulled down two ceramic mugs, and held one out to me. “Th… thanks.” He didn’t look at me again. He just sat down on a barstool and began unrolling the tops of the bakery bags. I stood there clutching the empty mug to my chest for an embarrassingly long time before I remembered I was supposed to be getting water. My heart was hammering against my ribs. It was the most mundane sentence in the world. But the moment the timbre of his voice hit the air, I couldn’t stop it from overlapping with those late-night whispers etched into my memory. —”Clementine, tell me you missed me today.” —”Be a good girl. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in your dreams.” I practically choked on a huge gulp of freezing water. This wouldn’t work. If this kept up, I was going to give myself away. 3 Piper finally dragged herself downstairs. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest, but her eyes lit up the second she saw the spread on the island. “Declan, what’s with the charity? You never order breakfast.” Declan was scrolling through his phone, not even bothering to look up. “Fridge was empty. Didn’t feel like cooking.” Piper rolled her eyes, pulled up a stool next to me, and started devouring a croissant. Halfway through, she paused and leaned into my space. “Quinn, why is your face so red?” “The heat’s up too high.” I ducked my head and aggressively stirred my oatmeal. Piper shrugged it off, her ADHD brain seamlessly pivoting to a new topic. “Oh, right. Mom said I have to bring you home for dinner this weekend. She’s been dying to meet you.” “She wants to personally thank you for tutoring me through finals every semester.” My spoon hit the bottom of the bowl. Back to the Prescott family home. Didn’t that mean even more forced proximity with Declan? “She really doesn’t have to do that…” “Don’t be silly, my mom is an incredible cook,” Piper said, hooking her arm through mine. “It’s a date.” Across the island, Declan set his phone face down on the marble. He looked at me, his expression as unreadable as ever. “What school do you go to?” The sudden question nearly made me inhale my oatmeal. “Uh, same as Piper. UChicago. English Lit.” “What year?” “Sophomore.” He gave a slow nod and didn’t press further. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that the way he was looking at me had shifted. There was a sudden weight to his gaze. Maybe it was just the paranoia talking. After breakfast, Piper dragged me out to the city for some shopping. The moment we stepped out of the condo, I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for hours. I was finally safe from the suffocating orbit of Declan Prescott. But halfway through the boutiques on Michigan Avenue, Piper casually dropped a bomb. “Did you know my brother actually had an online relationship once?” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the handles of a clothing rack. “Oh… really?” “Yeah, it was absolutely wild,” Piper said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve seen him. In real life, he’s basically a walking freezer.” “But when he was talking to this girl? He was obsessed. Clingy, even. He’d be on the phone with her until three or four in the morning.” “And then, one day, the bitch just vanished. Didn’t even leave a goodbye text.” Piper stopped walking and looked at me. “Take a guess how my brother reacted.” I didn’t want to guess. I couldn’t. “He looked for her. For two straight months. Scoured every single app, every forum, every platform.” “He found absolutely nothing.” “Ever since then, his temper has been garbage, and he barely has the patience to speak to anyone.” I fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. He had looked for me. For two whole months. While I had scorched the earth, deleted every account, and hidden myself away like a pathetic coward. “Why are you being so quiet?” Piper nudged my shoulder. “Nothing… just thinking your brother went through a lot.” “Yeah, it was brutal.” Piper sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could track that girl down and scream at her.” “If you’re going to dump someone, at least have the decency to give them a reason, you know?” I forced the corners of my mouth up, but it wasn’t a smile. 4 Saturday. The Prescott Estate. Mrs. Prescott—Elaine—was a force of nature. The moment I walked through the door, she grabbed both my hands and refused to let go. “So you’re the lovely Quinn who’s been saving Piper’s GPA? Look at you, you’re absolutely darling.” “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Prescott.” “Sit, sit! Make yourself at home, please.” Elaine practically pushed me onto the plush velvet sofa, hovering over me with tea and a barrage of warm questions. The living room was massive, decorated in moody, understated earth tones. I hadn’t been sitting for more than ten minutes when the sound of a key turning in the front door echoed through the foyer. Declan walked in. He was wearing a navy blue knit sweater and dark trousers. He looked immaculate, sharp, like he had just stepped out of a luxury editorial spread. “Declan, you’re back! Come here,” his mother waved him over. He swapped his shoes for house slippers and walked into the living room. When he saw me on the sofa, his steps faltered for a fraction of a second. Then, acting as if nothing was amiss, he sat down in the armchair directly across from me. “Mom.” “Yes, hi,” Elaine beamed, then turned to me. “Quinn, this is my son, Declan. I assume you two have crossed paths at the apartment?” “Yes.” I gave a tight nod. I was doing everything in my power to look normal. “Declan, Quinn has been a godsend to your sister. Be nice to her.” Declan looked at me. “Right.” One word. That was it. Elaine shook her head in fond exasperation and lowered her voice toward me. “My boy is brilliant at everything except talking. Don’t take it personally.” “Oh, I won’t.” Lunch was an extravagant affair. Elaine was an incredible cook. I focused entirely on my plate, using my food as an excuse to completely avoid eye contact with Declan. But halfway through the meal, Elaine casually steered the conversation into a minefield. “Declan, did you end up meeting with the St. James girl like I asked?” Declan didn’t even pause in slicing his steak. “I did.” “And?” “Felt nothing.” Elaine put her fork down. “Enlighten me, then. What exactly do you need to feel “something”?” “Mom. Let’s just eat.” “I am worrying about your future. You’re twenty-five. Your cousins are already buying houses and having babies, and you…” “Mom.” Declan’s voice dropped an octave, a quiet warning. “I’m waiting for someone.” The entire dining room went dead silent. Piper sat there with mashed potatoes in her mouth, her eyes practically bulging out of her skull. “Wait, you finally thawed out? Who is she?” Declan didn’t answer. He simply picked up his water glass and took a slow sip. His expression was as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather. “What do you mean you’re waiting for someone? Then bring her home so I can meet her!” Elaine demanded, not ready to yield. “It’s not the right time.” Five words, and he effectively shut his mother down completely. Under the table, Piper kicked my shin and shot me a look that clearly said: “See? Told you he was impossible.” I managed a strained smile, but inside, my stomach was in freefall. Waiting for someone. He said he was waiting for someone. He couldn’t possibly mean… he was still hung up on the girl who vanished into thin air? 5 After lunch. Elaine insisted on dragging Piper into the kitchen to help with the dishes, claiming it was “mother-daughter bonding time.” That left me and Declan alone in the living room. Separated by a single, glass coffee table. The silence was so heavy my palms began to sweat. I pulled out my phone and aggressively pretended to read my emails. I couldn’t comprehend a single word on the screen. In my peripheral vision, Declan was looking at his phone too. His thumb was sliding lazily across the screen. The suffocating quiet lasted for about three minutes. “Quinn.” He spoke suddenly. I snapped my head up. Declan wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were still fixed on his screen. “How old are you?” “Nineteen.” He paused. “Nineteen,” he repeated softly, as if verifying a piece of data. Then he set his phone down on the glass table and finally turned to look at me. I couldn’t read the emotion in those dark eyes. It wasn’t his usual coldness. Nor was it an interrogation. It felt more like… he was taking me apart to see how my pieces fit. “Why?” I asked, bracing myself. “Nothing.” He looked away. “You have a very distinct voice.” A loud ringing started in my ears. “What?” “It’s recognizable,” he said. He stood up, grabbing his empty water glass, and started walking toward the kitchen. As he passed the sofa, his footsteps slowed to a halt right beside me. I looked up at him. He looked down at me. He was close enough that I could smell the sharp, clean notes of cedarwood and bergamot on his skin. A few seconds ticked by. He didn’t say another word. He just kept walking. I sat frozen on the sofa, trying to remember how to breathe. My phone lit up. A text from Piper. “Did my brother terrorize you? I swear he was staring at the back of your head the entire time I was in the kitchen.” “No,” I typed back. “He’s probably just intimidated by how pretty you are lol. He says he’s waiting for someone, but his eyes were definitely wandering.” I flipped my phone face down on my lap. I was doomed. He said my voice was distinct. Did he… figure it out? “Impossible,” I told myself. When we talked, I had specifically pitched my voice lower and breathier. I didn’t sound like that when I talked normally. It was impossible. I tried to convince myself. “Probably.” 6 After that day, I made it my mission to eliminate any chance of being alone with Declan. Unfortunately, Piper possessed zero situational awareness. She constantly thrust me into his orbit. “Declan, Quinn doesn’t know how to format this citation, can you show her?” “Declan, Quinn needs to go to the library, drop her off on your way?” “Declan, it’s Quinn’s birthday today—” “Piper!” I slapped a hand over her mouth. “My birthday is in December!” Piper just giggled and pried my hand away. “Close enough.” Declan stepped out of his home office, giving us a flat look. “Loud,” he muttered. Then he shut the door in our faces. Piper stuck her tongue out at the closed wood. “Ignore him. He’s stressed about a merger.” I let out a shaky breath of relief. But later that night, when I snuck down to the kitchen for a glass of water, I ran straight into him. He was leaning against the marble counter, a lowball glass in his hand. The ambient light from the range hood cast deep shadows across his face, sharpening his cheekbones. He saw me, but he didn’t move. Bracing myself, I walked over to the fridge to use the water dispenser. There was less than a foot of space between us. “Are you afraid of me?” The water was running into my glass. I almost didn’t hear him. “What?” “Ever since the day you moved in, if I’m in a room, you walk the other way.” He turned his head to look at me. The dim light caught the edge of his eyelashes, casting a shadow over his cheek. “I’m asking you why you’re afraid of me.” My heart was beating so fast it physically hurt. I gripped my glass tight, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I’m not afraid of you.” “We just don’t know each other very well. I didn’t want to intrude on your space.” He stared at me for a few agonizing seconds. Then he let out a soft “Hmph.” But he didn’t break eye contact. “Well, starting now, you can stop hiding.” “I don’t bite.” With that, he picked up his glass and walked out of the kitchen. Leaving me standing there alone in the dark, the water dispenser overflowing over my hand before I finally remembered to pull my glass away. 7 Piper spent the entire following morning complaining to me. “Quinn, do you think I should set my brother up on a blind date?” “Didn’t he say he was waiting for someone?” “Yeah, but he’s not actually “doing” anything about it!” Piper groaned, resting her head on the kitchen island. “What if the girl he’s waiting for already forgot he exists?” That sentence felt like a knife to the stomach. “Maybe… maybe she had a good reason,” I offered weakly. “What kind of reason makes you drop off the face of the earth? Without even a text?” Piper scoffed. “She’s just toxic.” I didn’t have a defense. “But my brother is the weird one here. She’s been gone for nearly a year, and he’s still waiting.” “Did you know he kept all their chat logs?” My lungs seized. “What?” “I saw it once by accident. His notes app is full of voice memos that he used software to transcribe into text.” Piper leaned in, dropping her voice like she was sharing state secrets. “The craziest part is he made a dedicated, locked folder for them. What was it called…” She scrunched her nose, thinking. “It was just one word. “Clementine”.” The water in my glass sloshed over the rim, spilling across the counter. “Oh crap, are you okay?” Piper scrambled for some paper towels. “I’m fine. Slipped.” Clementine. He kept a folder named “Clementine”. That was the name I gave him. I closed my eyes. Something heavy and suffocating lodged itself in my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was crushing guilt or something else entirely. That afternoon. I sat alone on the balcony, staring blankly at the Chicago skyline. I pulled up the App Store and found the old voice app I had deleted. I stared at it for a long time, then hit download. When I tried to log in, a cold system prompt popped up: “This account has been permanently deleted and cannot be recovered.” Exactly as I expected. I had scrubbed every trace of myself from existence. And he had meticulously saved every word I ever said to him. At dinner, Declan came home. He seemed to be in a foul mood. He was radiating a distinct “do not approach” aura that even Piper had the sense to respect. She kept her mouth shut the entire meal. I didn’t even dare to look in his direction. But halfway through dinner— “Ahem.” Declan set his fork down. He spoke to Piper, but his eyes were fixed entirely on me. “I’m flying out to New York tomorrow for a week. You two take care of yourselves.” “Got it,” Piper mumbled. I let out an internal sigh of relief. A week away meant I had a seven-day grace period. Seven days of not feeling like I was walking on a tightrope. But as he pushed his chair back to leave the table, I could have sworn— As he walked past the back of my chair, his footsteps slowed for a fraction of a second. And then I heard it. A single word, spoken so quietly it was almost a breath. “Clem.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I whipped my head around. But there was no one behind me. Declan was already walking up the stairs. I must have imagined it. I had to have imagined it. 8 The week Declan was in New York. I lived like a sloth, completely free of psychological torment, eating and sleeping in his apartment without a care in the world. Piper was thrilled, too, dragging me into endless movie marathons and gaming sessions. But a tiny corner of my mind kept drifting back to that word he whispered before he left. “Clem.” Was it an auditory hallucination? Or did he really say it? If he said it— Did that mean he knew? But if he knew, why didn’t he just confront me? Given his personality, he wasn’t the type to swallow his anger and play games. On the fourth day. I was curled up on the sofa reading a textbook when my phone screen lit up. A text from an unsaved number. “Don’t forget to water the plants on the balcony.” I hesitated, then typed: “Who is this?” He replied instantly. “Declan. Got your number from Piper.” I stared at the screen for a full ten seconds. Why would he ask Piper for my number? And why was he texting me directly about the plants instead of his sister? I tentatively typed back: “Okay. I’ll do it now.” I threw the phone to the other end of the couch, assuming that was the end of it. Ten minutes later, the screen lit up again. “Did you eat?” Three words. The most agonizingly normal three words in the English language. But I couldn’t stop my mind from pulling me back to the past. When we were talking online, his first message to me every single day was always those three words: “Did you eat?” A coincidence. It had to be a coincidence. I typed back: “Yes.” Five minutes passed. “Good girl.” I slammed my phone face down on the cushions. My cheeks were burning so hot I felt like I was running a fever. “Good girl.” He used to call me that. Every time I obediently reported what I was doing or what I had for lunch, he would reply with “good girl”. And then follow it up with: “I missed you.” “Stop thinking about it.” I shoved my phone deep beneath the sofa cushions. After that day, Declan texted me exactly once a day. They were always brief. “It’s cold there today. Wear a coat.” “There are snacks in the pantry. Don’t starve.” “Go to sleep early.” None of them were longer than ten words. It felt like a very restrained, perfectly calibrated level of concern. If I didn’t know who he was… If I didn’t know that he and “that man” were the same person… I would just assume he was being a polite older brother checking in on his sister’s friend. But I knew. Which meant every single text made me feel like I was sitting on a bed of nails. The seventh day. The night before he was scheduled to fly back. His last text came through at 1:00 AM. “Flying back tomorrow.” I replied: “Okay.” A long time passed. About twenty minutes later. Another text. “There’s something I need to ask you in person.” My heart contracted painfully. I typed: “About what?” I sent it, and then I lay awake for the rest of the night. He never replied. 9 The morning Declan returned, I dawdled in my bedroom for hours. I was too terrified to go downstairs. Until Piper came upstairs and started banging on my door. “Quinn! My brother brought back a ton of food from New York, get down here and eat!” I took a deep, shuddering breath. Fine. It was just a conversation. It wasn’t like he could murder me in his living room. When I walked downstairs, the coffee table was covered in boxes. Declan was sitting on the sofa, pulling a small package out of a boutique shopping bag. At the sound of my footsteps, he looked up. His eyes locked onto me with pinpoint accuracy. The moment our eyes met, the corner of his mouth twitched just a fraction. “I’m back.” He said it to me. Not to Piper. “Yeah… welcome back,” I croaked, my voice painfully dry. I sat down next to Piper, intentionally leaving as much distance between him and me as possible. Piper was happily digging through the souvenirs. “Oh my god, these are so good! Quinn, you have to try this—” “That box is for her.” Declan interrupted smoothly. He pulled a small, elegant white box from the bottom of the bag and slid it across the glass coffee table toward me. I froze. Piper looked even more shocked than I did. “Declan? Since when do you buy gifts for my friends?” Declan didn’t even blink. “Saw it on the way to the airport. Grabbed it.” I stared down at the little white box. It had the gold-foil logo of an artisanal bakery in SoHo. “Clementine Tartlets.” My heart completely skipped a beat. Clementine tartlets. It was a completely random detail I had mentioned to him once—that my absolute favorite dessert in the world was my grandmother’s clementine tartlets. I only mentioned it once. Late one night, during a three-hour phone call. Just once. I slowly lifted my head and looked at Declan. He was looking back at me. His eyes were perfectly calm, but there was the faintest shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.
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