At my sister’s wedding, I fell in love with her bridesmaid the second I saw her. I blew through three thousand dollars in a single month trying to win her over. When I finally asked her to be my girlfriend, she said yes. I thought I’d struck gold. I bragged about her to anyone who would listen. Then, I started my internship at my sister’s company. And I watched my sister—the most stubborn, iron-willed woman I knew—bow her head and hand her a folder with absolute deference. She walked over, coffee in hand, and arched an eyebrow at me. “Hey, intern. Your paycheck this month—should we deposit it into your account, or mine?” I froze. 01 On the day of my sister Lauren’s wedding, I was stationed by the entrance of the venue, handing out custom favor boxes to the guests. A sleek black town car pulled up to the curb. The door opened, and a girl stepped out of the back seat. She was wearing a lavender bridesmaid dress. Her hair was swept up in a loose twist, exposing the delicate line of her neck. As she gathered her skirt to step over the threshold, she looked back. Just a quick glance. But that was all it took. The favor box in my hand slipped and crashed to the floor. My mom, standing right next to me, smacked the back of my head. “Pick it up. Stop embarrassing us.” I knelt down to gather the scattered boxes, my chest hammering in a rhythm that felt entirely wrong. Before the ceremony started, I cornered Lauren in the bridal suite. “Who’s that bridesmaid?” Lauren was touching up her lipstick. She glanced at me through the vanity mirror. “Which one?” “The one in the lavender dress. Short hair, up-do.” “Maeve.” “What does she do?” Lauren capped her lipstick. There was a brief, deliberate pause. “She’s a colleague of mine.” “Does she have a boyfriend?” Lauren turned around to face me. I still remember her expression. It wasn’t the look a sister gives a younger brother. It was the look you give someone who has absolutely no idea what they’re getting themselves into. But she didn’t say any of that. She just muttered, “I don’t know. Ask her yourself.” During the ceremony and the reception, I barely looked at the altar or the head table. I was sitting in the third row, two tables away from the bridal party, my eyes locked on Maeve. She sat perfectly straight. She barely touched her food, occasionally lifting her glass for a polite sip. When the person next to her spoke, she offered a faint, elegant smile but didn’t lean into the conversation. My mom nudged my elbow. “Eat something.” “I’m not hungry.” “If you’re not hungry, why are your eyes glued to that table?” I ignored her. When it was time for toasts and table visits, I grabbed a glass of champagne and navigated my way across the crowded room, making a beeline for the bridesmaids’ table. I raised my glass. “Hey, ladies. I’m Luke, Lauren’s brother. Thanks so much for being here today.” The other bridesmaids smiled and clinked their glasses with mine. Maeve was the last to raise hers. She looked at me, holding her glass near her lips for a second. “Your sister looks beautiful today.” “She looks beautiful every day.” She let out a soft laugh, said nothing, and took a sip. My heart did a violent flutter. Near the end of the reception, I waited for her in the hallway. When Maeve finally walked out, she had changed into a crisp white shirt and black trousers, carrying her bridesmaid dress in a garment bag. I stepped into her path. “Can I get your Instagram?” She stopped, studying me. “How old are you?” “Twenty-two. Senior in college.” “I’m older than you.” “By how much?” “Guess.” “Twenty-four?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled out her phone, opened her Instagram QR code, and held it out. Once I scanned it, she tucked her phone away and stepped past me. As she brushed by, she said, “Make sure you DM me your name. I don’t keep random accounts.” I stood in the hallway, watching her walk away until she disappeared into the elevator. My phone buzzed. She had accepted my request. I sent my first message: I’m Luke, the guy who did the awkward toast earlier. Lauren’s brother. She replied with three words: Got it, Luke. I stared at those three words for five solid minutes. My mom walked up from behind. “Come on. Your dad had too much to drink. Help me carry him.” I slipped my phone into my pocket and went to help her. On the way to the car, my dad draped a heavy arm over my shoulder, his speech slurred. “Your sister is married now. You’re next, bud.” I smiled. “Working on it.” My dad blinked, and my mom stared at me in surprise. I didn’t offer any explanation. That night, lying in bed, I scrolled through her Instagram page over and over. She only had three posts. All landscapes—no selfies, no location tags. It was too clean, almost sterile for a girl her age. At the time, I thought, Man, she’s so cool. Looking back, it wasn’t about being cool. She was just someone who didn’t need to curate an online persona. Because her real-life persona was far too large to fit into a feed. It existed elsewhere. 02 After we connected, I sent her a “Good morning” text every single day. For the first three days, she ignored me. On the fourth day, she replied: Hey. On the fifth, I sent her a photo of my sad attempt at breakfast—two severely burnt fried eggs. I captioned it: See? I can’t even handle eggs, let alone someone like you. She replied with a single word: Ha. Just one syllable. But it made me jump out of bed with a grin. After that, I went all in. During the first week, I ordered a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to her office building. I had no idea what floor she worked on, so I just put her name on the card and told the florist to leave it at the reception desk. That evening, she messaged me: Got the flowers. I replied: Are they pretty? She said: They’re fine. Left them at reception. Everyone saw them. I teased: Even better. Now everyone knows someone is chasing you. It took her a long time to reply to that one. You’re bolder than you look. By the second week, I asked her out to dinner. It took three attempts before she finally agreed. She picked the spot—a quiet, upscale sushi restaurant inside a downtown shopping center. I showed up thirty minutes early, memorized the menu, and mentally prepared myself for the prices. When she arrived, she was wearing a tailored grey coat. She slipped off her scarf and draped it over the back of her chair with effortless grace. “Grey looks good on you,” I said, trying to sound casual. She picked up her menu. “Let’s order.” She didn’t talk much during dinner. She listened to me ramble, offering occasional nods or short comments. But her timing was always perfect. She never made me feel like she was tuning me out, yet she didn’t seem overly enthusiastic either. She kept me at an exact, calculated distance. When the bill came, I practically snatched it. Two hundred dollars. My monthly budget as a student was only six hundred. She watched me pay, making no move to stop me. As we walked out, she said, “You don’t need to choose places like this. It’s unnecessary.” “I’m chasing you,” I said. “Since when does a guy worry about the budget?” She paused under the streetlights outside the mall. She looked at me and smiled. It wasn’t the polite smile from the wedding. This one had a different edge to it—something quieter, more deliberate. I couldn’t quite place it. In the third week, I bought her a gift. A designer scarf I spent two days picking out online. It cost me a hundred and fifty dollars. She sent me a photo when she received it. The scarf was neatly folded on her desk. I noticed how incredibly sparse her desk was—just a sleek laptop and a simple mug. No photos, no knick-knacks, no personal touches. I messaged: Your desk is so empty. Let me buy you a little desk plant or a cute ornament. She replied: No need. I don’t like clutter. In the fourth week, I confessed. It was eight o’clock on a freezing Tuesday evening outside her office building. I knew she was working late, so I waited by the entrance for over two hours. I stood there, clutching a massive bouquet of red roses, shivering uncontrollably. When she finally walked through the glass doors, she froze. “Luke?” “Maeve, I really like you.” “How long have you been standing out here?” “It doesn’t matter. I just need an answer.” She looked at the roses, then up at my face. The wind whipped a strand of hair across her eyes, but she didn’t brush it away. “Okay,” she said. Just one word. It took me a solid two seconds to process it. “Did you say okay?” “Your hearing is fine, Luke.” “Seriously?” “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” I stood there, my mind erupting like a fireworks show. I handed her the flowers. She took them, leaning down to take a soft breath of their scent. Then she looked back up. “Come on. Walk me to my car.” As we walked side by side, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. And it wasn’t from the cold. From that day on, I told everyone. When my roommate, Kyle, asked what I was doing for the weekend, I told him I was spending it with my girlfriend. When my mom called, I proudly announced I was in a relationship. In the background, my dad shouted, “Bring her over for dinner!” When Lauren called to check in on me, I couldn’t wait to tell her. “I’m dating your colleague.” Silence stretched over the line for three full seconds. “Which colleague?” “Maeve. Your bridesmaid.” Another three seconds of absolute silence. “Are you serious, Luke?” “Of course I’m serious. I spent a whole month chasing her.” Lauren sighed. “Luke, listen to me.” “What?” “Do you actually know anything about her?” I laughed. “Lauren, come on. She’s your coworker—how could she be a mystery? She’s great. Sweet, elegant, down-to-earth.” Lauren didn’t reply right away. After a long pause, she said, “Fine. Do whatever you want.” I hung up and brushed it off. I figured it was just the classic overprotective sister act—feeling the need to vet anyone I brought into my life. When I went out with my friends, I pulled out my phone to show them her picture. “Holy crap, Luke. Where did you find her?” “Met her at Lauren’s wedding. Took me a month, but I won her over.” “She looks so classy. What does she do?” “Just a regular corporate job. She works with my sister.” “Lucky bastard.” I put my phone away, feeling an immense wave of pride wash over me. Since my senior year classes were light, I managed to see her at least three times a week. Over that first month, between dinners, flowers, and gifts, I blew through nearly three thousand dollars. It was almost everything I had saved from my summer job, but I didn’t care. I felt like I had somehow managed to punch way above my weight class. It gave me a swagger I’d never had before. 03 Shortly after we made things official, I suggested she meet my parents. She thought about it for a moment, then agreed. That weekend, I brought her home for Sunday dinner. My mom had started preparing two days in advance, cooking a massive spread and even putting out her best tablecloth. My dad dragged his finest button-down shirt out from the back of the closet and meticulously combed his hair. When Maeve arrived, she was carrying a beautifully packaged box of artisanal teas. She greeted my parents warmly the moment she stepped through the door. My mom immediately took her hands. “Oh, sweetheart, you are absolutely gorgeous.” “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Miller. You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.” “Oh, it’s no trouble at all! Eat as much as you like, make yourself right at home.” During dinner, Maeve was perfect. She accepted whatever food my mom offered, listened intently when my dad spoke, and smiled at all the right moments. She wasn’t overly eager to please, yet she wasn’t distant either. She balanced perfectly on the line of polite warmth. My dad, after a couple of beers, started asking questions. “So, Maeve, what do you do for work?” “I’m in corporate,” she said smoothly. “Mainly management-related stuff.” “Management is great. Stable career path.” “It has its moments. It keeps me busy.” My mom chimed in, “Do you work a lot of overtime?” “Sometimes.” “Well, make sure you take care of yourself.” Throughout the entire meal, Lauren barely said a word. She sat across from us, staring down at her plate, moving her fork around without actually eating much. I nudged her foot under the table. “Lauren, why so quiet?” She looked up at me, then glanced over at Maeve. Maeve happened to be looking right back at her. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second. Lauren immediately looked down, stuffing a roasted potato into her mouth. Maeve took a calm sip of water, her face completely expressionless. For a brief second, the air in the room felt thick and strange. But I brushed it off. After dinner, while my mom pulled Maeve into the living room to chat, I went into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Lauren slipped in right behind me. She shut the door quietly and lowered her voice. “Luke.” “What?” “Are you really planning on staying with her?” “Duh. I brought her home, didn’t I?” “Do you have any idea what her position is at the company?” I wiped down a plate. “You said she was your colleague, didn’t you?” Lauren stared at me. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but she hesitated and shut it. “What? Just say it.” “I can’t.” “What do you mean you can’t?” “I just can’t,” she whispered, stepping closer. “But I’ll tell you this much: the money you’ve been spending on her? To her, it’s pocket change. It means absolutely nothing.” I set the plate down. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing. I just want you to be prepared.” “Prepared for what?” Lauren looked at me, her eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears. “I’m just afraid you won’t be able to handle it when you find out.” I thought she was being completely ridiculous. “Are you just jealous that my girlfriend is prettier than anyone you’ve ever dated?” I shot back. Lauren choked on her words, looking at me as if I’d slapped her. She stared at me for five agonizing seconds, then turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Later that night, I walked Maeve down to her car. As we reached the street, she asked quietly, “Did Lauren say something to you?” “No, she’s just overcomplicating things like she always does.” “What did she say?” “It doesn’t matter. I know how to make my own judgments.” Maeve stopped and looked back at me. Under the dim streetlights, her expression was hard to read. “Luke, what would you do if you found out one day that I’m not who you think I am?” “What do you mean by that?” “Just what I said.” “You’re you. No matter what, I spent a month chasing you. It’s not like I can return you for a refund now.” She let out a soft laugh, but there was a weight to it. It wasn’t happy, nor was it sad. It felt like some form of quiet confirmation. “Okay. Remember that.” She got into her car and rolled down the window a crack. “You start your internship next month, right?” “Yeah, Lauren helped me get a spot at her company.” “Right. I know.” The window rolled up, and she pulled away. Standing on the curb, I felt a slight chill. Her last words—”I know”—felt a bit odd. How did she know about my internship? I hadn’t mentioned it to her yet. I pulled out my phone to text her, but deleted the draft before sending it. Whatever, I thought. Lauren probably mentioned it to her at work. They are colleagues, after all. I shoved my phone into my pocket and walked back inside. The night air was crisp, but my chest felt warm. I was already looking forward to next month, imagining how great it would be to see her every day, get lunch together, and walk out of the office hand-in-hand. I had no idea that the moment I stepped into that building, every single thing I thought I knew about her would be utterly shattered. 04 On my first day of the internship, I wore a brand-new white button-down. I adjusted my collar three times in front of the mirror. My mom called out from the living room, “Seriously? It’s just an internship, not a blind date.” “My girlfriend works there. I have to look respectable.” My mom chuckled but dropped it. Lauren left thirty minutes before me. As she was putting on her shoes at the front door, I walked out of my room. She looked up at me, her expression unusually tense. “When you get to the office today, keep your head down. Don’t wander around, and don’t say anything stupid.” “I’m not a kid, Lauren.” “I’m serious, Luke.” Her tone was off. It wasn’t the usual bossy nagging of an older sister. It was a plea, heavy and desperate. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” I shrugged it off. I arrived at the building at nine. It was a sleek, modern high-rise with glass walls, the lobby buzzing with people in sharp business suits. I checked in at reception, and an HR coordinator escorted me up to the twelfth floor. My internship was in the marketing department, and my cubicle was at the very end of the hall, right next to a window. My supervisor, Greg, was in his early thirties, wore glasses, and spoke at a rapid-fire pace. “Your sister is on the fifteenth floor in accounting,” Greg said. “Keep your visits to her to a minimum. We don’t want anyone whispering about favoritism.” “Got it, Greg.” “Just get settled today. We don’t have much for you yet, so just read through these training materials.” I sat down and flipped through the documents for half an hour, but my mind was miles away. I was wondering which floor Maeve was on. Since she was in management, she had to be in this building somewhere. I pulled out my phone and texted her: I’m here! What floor are you on? She didn’t reply. At ten-thirty, Greg asked me to go up to the fifteenth floor to grab a budget sheet from my sister. I took the elevator up. The accounting department was on the left side of the hall, the doors wide open. Lauren’s desk was near the back of the room. She was typing furiously. I walked over and tapped on her desk. “Hey. Greg sent me for the budget sheet.” Lauren looked up, her face pale. She grabbed a folder from her drawer and shoved it toward me. “Take it and go.” “What’s the rush?” “Just leave, Luke.” Her eyes kept darting toward the end of the hallway. Frowning, I turned to look. At the far end of the floor was a spacious corner office. The door was shut, and the blinds were drawn halfway. “Whose office is that?” Lauren shot up from her chair, grabbed my arm, and began pushing me toward the exit. “Stop looking. Go back to your desk.” “What are you doing? Stop pushing me.” “Luke, please,” she whispered, her voice visibly trembling. “Just go.” She pushed me all the way to the elevators, and when the doors slid open, she practically shoved me inside. “Don’t come looking for me at lunch. I’ll find you.” The elevator doors slid shut. I stood inside, clutching the folder, my mind reeling. That wasn’t just typical sisterly irritation. It was fear. What on earth was she so afraid of? Lunchtime came and went, but Lauren never showed up. I sat at my desk eating a takeout sandwich when my phone buzzed. It was a text from her: There’s an all-hands meeting at two. Just follow Greg and keep your mouth shut. I replied: What kind of meeting? No response. At two o’clock, Greg led me up to the eighteenth floor and into a massive conference room. There was a long mahogany table, a projector screen, and about twenty-five people already seated. I slipped into a chair in the back corner. Greg leaned over and whispered, “Quarterly review. Every department is here. Just listen and take notes.” “Who’s running it?” “The VP.” The meeting began. The first few departments took turns presenting their slides, reciting numbers and throwing up complicated charts. I understood about half of it, and my eyelids were already growing heavy. Then, the heavy double doors of the conference room swung open. A sudden, absolute silence fell over the room. A woman walked in, holding a Starbucks cup in one hand and a black leather folder in the other. She wore a crisp white blouse. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and her stride was measured, confident. The sharp click of her heels echoed against the hardwood floor, cutting through the silence. She walked straight to the head of the long table, set down her coffee, and flipped open her folder. I froze, paralyzed in my seat.
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