1 I have always been a ghost in my own life. Severe social anxiety does that to you; it turns the world into a series of obstacles to be avoided. My only sanctuary was the digital world—online, I could be anyone. I could be brave. I could fall in love. The day I was finally “reclaimed” by the Henderson family—the billionaire dynasty I had been separated from at birth—was supposed to be my grand entrance. Instead, it felt like a funeral. Toby, the “fake” son who had lived my life for twenty-five years, stood in the marble foyer of their Hamptons estate, sobbing as he offered to give back his inheritance, his status, and even his engagement. I stepped back, waving my hands frantically. “No, really. It’s fine. Keep the engagement. I… I already have a girlfriend.” The moment the words left my mouth, glowing lines of text began to drift across my vision, like a translucent social media feed hovering in the air. [LOL, look at the ‘villainous’ biological son acting all noble. He’s rejecting it now, but wait until he sees the female lead. He’ll regret it instantly.] [The female lead only has eyes for Toby. In the original plot, Miles tries to stalk her with their old chat logs to prove their ‘connection.’] [Toby eventually gets driven to a breakdown by Miles’s harassment, and the female lead hates Miles so much she has him committed to a psych ward.] A joke. I’m so socially paralyzed I can barely order a latte without rehearsing in my head for twenty minutes. Why on earth would I harass a stranger? Then, the heavy oak doors creaked open. Footsteps echoed on the limestone floor. Toby, his eyes red-rimmed, ran toward the newcomer. “Seraphina! This is Miles… the brother I told you about. The one who was supposed to be your fiancé.” I turned, and the world stopped. Standing there was a face I knew better than my own. It was Seraphina Quinn—the woman I had been “e-dating” for six years. My girlfriend. For a split second, I saw a flicker of raw panic in Seraphina’s eyes. She recognized me. But she was a professional—a CEO of a major media empire. She crushed the emotion instantly, replacing it with a mask of polite, icy distance. She extended a hand, the gold on her wrist catching the light. “Hello, Mr. Henderson. I’m Seraphina Quinn, Toby’s fiancée.” She didn’t wait for my response. She turned slightly, reaching out to ruffle Toby’s hair with a gesture that was both tender and possessive. Her voice was steady, a sharp contrast to the chaos in my chest. “Toby, don’t talk nonsense. The engagement was settled between us a long time ago. You’re the only man I’m marrying.” The floating “Feed” in my vision went nuclear: [Here we go! The villain is about to pull out his phone and scream about their secret relationship!] [I bet five bucks he starts crying in ten seconds.] I gripped the hem of my jacket, my fingertips numb. I looked at Seraphina. I didn’t scream. I didn’t pull out my phone. I just forced a small, tight smile. My voice was quiet, but it didn’t shake. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Quinn.” The Feed froze for a few seconds. [Wait… that’s it? He’s not making a scene?] [He’s playing hard to get. It’s an old trick. He’s saving the big guns for later.] Seraphina looked stunned. For a heartbeat, there was a flash of warning—and something like curiosity—in her gaze. Toby tilted his head, looking innocent and vulnerable. “But Miles… don’t you want the engagement back? It was yours by right.” My eyes drifted to Seraphina’s sleeve. She was wearing a pair of vintage cufflinks—a third-anniversary gift I had sent her. She had told me back then that she’d wear them to every important event. I looked away, my voice flat. “No. I don’t.” The Feed flickered again. [Fake! He’s totally faking it! He’s going to corner her in private and beg.] My “mother,” Mrs. Henderson, stepped in to break the tension, her smile bright and artificial as she grabbed my arm. “Enough of this. Let’s not stand around. Dinner is served.” At the table, the air was thick with the smell of roasted lamb and unspoken resentment. Mrs. Henderson put a serving on Toby’s plate before turning to me with a saccharine glint in her eyes. “So, Miles, you mentioned a girlfriend. What does she do? You should bring her by sometime so your father and I can meet her.” Every eye at the table pinned me down. Seraphina’s grip on her fork was so tight her knuckles were white. I glanced at her, then looked back at my plate. “We met online. But… we’re breaking up.” The Feed exploded. [See! There it is! The passive-aggressive drama begins!] “Oh?” Mrs. Henderson paused. “Why would you break up if it’s been so long?” I chewed a piece of asparagus, swallowed, and said softly, “She got engaged to someone else.” The silence that followed was so heavy you could hear the hum of the air conditioning. Toby was the first to react, placing a shrimp cocktail in my bowl with a sunny, empathetic smile. “Don’t be sad, Miles. Here, try one of these. They’re my favorite.” Seraphina’s hand moved as if to stop him, but she pulled it back sharply. I stared at the pink, curled shrimp in my bowl. My stomach turned. “I’m allergic to shellfish,” I said. Toby’s face went pale. His eyes filled with tears instantly. “Oh my god… I didn’t know. Miles, do you hate me that much? Are you just saying that because I gave it to you?” Mrs. Henderson’s face darkened. “Miles, your brother is trying to be kind. Don’t be a killjoy.” My “father,” a man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, slammed his fork down. “How bad can an allergy be? You probably just haven’t had them enough. Eat it. Don’t make Toby feel like a pariah in his own home.” They all stared at me as if I were the intruder, the cruel stranger disrupting their perfect family. Seraphina looked at me, her voice carrying a cold, authoritative weight. “Just have a little. It won’t kill you. There’s a doctor on call anyway.” I looked at the shrimp for two seconds. Then, I ate it. Within minutes, my throat began to tighten. An angry, red rash crawled up my neck, itching like fire. Toby let out a small “oh” and began to sob. “I didn’t know… I thought he was just being mean to me…” Mrs. Henderson immediately pulled Toby into her arms, shushing him while glaring at me. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to make him cry!” I touched the hives on my neck. My breath was coming in shallow hitches. “I told you,” I whispered. “You just didn’t believe me.” I stood up, not looking at any of them, and walked out of the room. I hadn’t been in my bedroom for thirty seconds before the door burst open. Seraphina stood there, her face a mask of frost. She kept her voice low, dangerous. “Keep your mouth shut, Miles. Don’t you dare mention a word about the past. What we had… it was just a digital distraction. A way to pass the time. You need to understand that. Only Toby is fit to be my husband. Only Toby fits in this world.” I looked at her. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. My face was a blank slate. “Seraphina,” I said quietly. “We’re done.” She froze, the rehearsed threat dying on her lips. I didn’t give her a chance to recover. I turned my back and closed the door. 2 I found my EpiPen and some antihistamines, washing them down with lukewarm water. The maddening itch on my neck slowly began to recede into a dull throb. I sat at the small desk and opened my laptop. The Discord icon was blinking incessantly. It was Nate Wilde, my only real friend and the guy who managed my literary career. His avatar was an orange cat eating a taco. Nate: “Bro!! The Booker Prize longlist nominations are opening! Is ‘Dark River’ finished? Are we going for another gold?” I typed back: “Winning the same award twice is redundant. ‘Dark River’ is for something bigger.” A knock at the door interrupted me. Toby pushed his way in, carrying a small plate of mango crepes. His eyes were still puffy. “Miles, I felt so bad about earlier. I made these for you as an apology.” His eyes darted to my screen. He froze. My Discord friend list was short—only two people. One was Nate. The other was Seraphina. Her profile picture was still the same photo of the Alps she’d used for six years. The plate hit the floor, mango filling splattering everywhere. Toby’s voice hit a shrill, piercing register that could be heard across the entire wing of the house. “How do you have Seraphina’s private contact?! Miles, if you love her that much, I’ll… I’ll step aside! But how could you stalk her like this?!” Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. My parents and Seraphina arrived in a chaotic blur. My father reached me first, his face a contorted mask of rage. Before I could speak, his palm cracked across my face. The blow sent my head snapping to the side. My cheek went numb instantly, and I tasted copper. “You pathetic, shameless snake!” my father bellowed. “Trying to steal your brother’s fiancée? You’re a disgrace to the Henderson name!” Seraphina stood at the back of the crowd, her eyes burning with fury. She clearly thought I had left the screen open on purpose to force her hand. She stepped forward and held out her hand, her voice clipped. “Give me the phone. And the laptop.” I didn’t move. She didn’t wait. She grabbed my phone off the desk, her thumb moving with practiced ease over the biometric scanner—I’d never changed her access. The phone clicked open. She navigated to the chat, found her own profile, and hit ‘Block’ and ‘Delete’ without a second thought. The Feed was losing its mind: [Holy crap! Look at how pale he is! This is it! He’s going to leak the cloud backups now!] I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. I looked at every single person in that room—my biological parents, the brother who had stolen my life, and the woman who had stolen my heart. My voice was soft, but it didn’t tremble. “Are you finished? I’d like to sleep now.” The Feed stalled. Toby’s sobbing hitched. My father’s next insult died in his throat. Seraphina stared at me for several long seconds, her expression unreadable, her lips twitching as if she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. One by one, they filed out. The door clicked shut. I was alone again. I opened Discord on my laptop. My friend list now had exactly one person: Nate. I stared at the empty space where she used to be. When I first met Seraphina, I was twenty-one, and my first pen name had just been nuked in a corporate buyout. I had started over from scratch, writing under the name “Afterlight.” I used to get thousands of messages a day. I ignored them all. Except hers. She had written: “Your prose reminds me of ‘Midnight Oil.’” She didn’t know I was Midnight Oil. Later, she told me she was the CEO of Quinn Media. She complained about how expensive Midnight Oil’s film rights were and asked if the stories on my new blog were for sale. That was how it started. Online, I was a different person. I was witty, flirtatious, and bold. Seraphina told me that after a twelve-hour day of boardroom battles, talking to me was the only thing that let her breathe. I loved being her sanctuary. Eventually, she bought the rights to one of my novellas and invited me to help with the screenplay. That was our first face-to-face meeting. I remember how she laughed at my beet-red ears. “You’re nothing like you are online,” she had whispered, leaning in close. “You’re so shy you can barely speak. It’s… adorable.” I was a shut-in, a textbook case of social anxiety, but with her, the world didn’t feel like it was collapsing. On my twenty-seventh birthday, she asked me to be hers. When I told Nate, he was blunt: “Miles, a woman in her position needs a husband who can work a room. You’re a guy who’s scared to open the door for the pizza delivery man. Can you really survive in her world?” I didn’t believe him. I took public speaking classes. I forced myself to attend small book signings. I practiced social graces in front of a mirror until I could mimic a confident man. I broke myself into pieces and glued them back together just so I could fit into the margins of her life. And she had traded me for a copy. Outside, I heard Toby’s laughter. I glanced out the window. Seraphina was walking him toward the garage, her hand on his cheek, likely taking him out to cheer him up. I turned back to my laptop and opened my email. A draft had been sitting there for six months: an application to the European Academy of Letters in Paris. I hit Send. The Feed flickered: [What is he typing? Is that… all in French and English?] [He’s definitely plotting something. Villains never give up this easily.] I ignored them. I opened the file for Dark River. There were only three chapters left. My fingers hit the keys, and I began to disappear into the only world that ever truly welcomed me.
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