The school’s golden boy, Elias Hawthorne, cornered me in the hall and demanded to know why I’d skipped the final problem on the math test. “I was the only person in the entire school who could solve that proof,” he declared, his voice tight with superior certainty. “Just admit you couldn’t do it. Don’t lie.” His high-and-mighty tone was worth five thousand dollars in my bank account. Gavin Miller, my lab partner and personal tormentor, chimed in from behind him. “Yeah, right, Clarke. You’re an eyesore, and you’re delusional if you think you’re smart.” Another five thousand cleared. I had been building a comfortable life for myself, brick by brick, with their relentless contempt and casual cruelty. Relying on their daily scorn, I had accumulated a little over $1.48 million. I continued to play the part they had assigned me: the girl with the perpetually sallow skin, the ill-fitting glasses, the hunched posture, and the lying, bad-grades reputation. The charade was only scheduled to end when a famous pianist, Callum Rhodes, arrived at Northwood High for a competitive dance selection, demanding all female participants attend with zero makeup. Brielle Sutton, the reigning school beauty, snickered. “Rowan, don’t even bother showing up. You’ll scare Mr. Rhodes right back to the East Coast.” Only I knew how catastrophically wrong they were about to be. 1 I was sixteen when I discovered I could monetize malice. I had missed the first week of orientation due to an illness. When I finally returned, the rumors about me being the “ugly girl” had already spread like wildfire through the entire grade. Brielle Sutton and her acolytes were the primary source. “Rowan Clarke? I went to middle school with her,” Brielle had announced to anyone who would listen. “She wore a hat and a mask all the time. She was clearly afraid to show her face.” Her hangers-on had been quick to agree. “Right. Brielle is the school’s star. That troll only got into this high school because she got lucky, and now she’s still clinging to her coat-tails.” The stories evolved quickly. At first, they said I had a crush on the most popular guy in school. Then, for reasons unknown, the narrative shifted to me being obsessed with Brielle. By the end of my first day, without lifting a finger, I had received twenty thousand dollars. I calculated that the sum corresponded to four distinct acts of verbal abuse. Because of the entrenched bias established by Brielle and her friends, no one ever questioned that my appearance was a facade. I had used this strange, dark alchemy to work steadily for nine hundred and sixty-four days. The balance in my bank account was a number most people would never see in their lifetime. Every day I stared at it, and the hateful words became insignificant. To me, they weren’t insults; they were a program processing a transaction. I reorganized my life around this strange career. I woke up at four in the morning, two hours before everyone else. I spent ninety minutes on my studies, and the remaining half-hour on my makeup—the meticulously crafted ‘ugly girl’ look that would trigger the transfers. The money was essential. I had been counting every dollar for food and rent. The occasional insult couldn’t truly harm me. I had a high tolerance for psychological pressure, and I simply didn’t care what they thought. Besides, graduation was only three months away. My grades were locked, and their future lives would have zero intersection with mine. 2 Today, Gavin had brought in a new, hand-drawn “Ugly Girl Ranking,” and my grainy, bad-angle photo was at the top, marked with a heavy red X. “Congratulations, Rowan. You’re number one—again.” He spoke with an exaggerated, stage-whisper tone to the students in the front row. “She’s the resident clown, right? Makes sense she’d take the top spot.” Brielle heard this and laughed so hard her entire body shook. I looked at the photo, my mind elsewhere. The final mock exams before college applications had just wrapped up. The boys in the class, bored and restless, had created a “Female Student Rating Chart.” As it was passed around, I was consistently assigned the lowest score: a two. In their vernacular, a ‘two’ was shorthand for a “Hard Pass” or “Zero.” Gavin snatched the chart from someone and tossed it onto my desk. “Couldn’t be helped, Clarke. Your teeth stick out, your skin is like parchment, and you’re a genuinely bad person. I lost a bet, or I wouldn’t be stuck next to you.” The month before, I had been accused of cheating during the midterms. My test paper and Brielle’s were identical, down to the final punctuation. My seat was in front of hers, and my scores were generally higher. But Brielle had merely scrunched up her nose and squeezed out a few tears from eyes that bore a slight resemblance to the social media influencer ‘Rhodesia.’ The boys, all of whom struggled with math, immediately concluded that I had copied her. In the end, the math teacher had found proof—a complex question about the Greek letter Beta that only I had solved correctly. He used it to establish my innocence. Yet, after the incident, the negative rumors had only intensified. I went from being an unremarkable student to their confirmed “troll,” “zero,” and “freak.” The harassment became physical. Sometimes, I’d be locked in a bathroom stall, only for a bucket of foul water to be poured over my head. Other times, just walking past the advanced science hallway would incite a chorus of boos and fabricated gossip about me liking some oblivious, popular athlete. The boys at this age had a powerful, nasty talent for storytelling, and their words were getting crueler. Any other girl might have broken down. I remained perfectly calm. 3 My score on the first mock exam placed me second in the entire school. The student ahead of me was Elias Hawthorne. He was the school chairman’s son, an accomplished violinist who had already secured early acceptance to a prestigious music conservatory. However, he seemed determined not to follow that path, insisting on taking the general exams. Up until then, he had always been first. I no longer needed to work my part-time jobs, which gave me ample study time, allowing me to finally catch up and alternate with Elias for the top spot. I quickly checked the final results, confirmed my score was well above the requirement for my target university, and prepared to leave. My exact rank meant nothing. But after the bell rang, Elias came looking for me. “Rowan, the school’s golden boy wants to see you.” Brielle’s tone was thick with unconcealed jealousy. I met her gaze and walked out of the classroom, simultaneously receiving a “+$5,000” notification. In the hallway, Elias was leaning against the lockers. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and gold-rimmed glasses sat high on his nose. When he saw me, his brow immediately furrowed. “Clarke, why did you leave the final math problem blank?” I briefly recalled the problem. I’d solved it countless times before and saw no point in wasting the ink. I had a rule: if I’d solved the same complex problem twice, I wouldn’t do it again. I told him plainly: “I was too lazy to write it down.” His frown deepened, and he reached out, gripping my wrist firmly. “I think you’re a dishonest person, but you shouldn’t be a liar about academics,” he said, looking straight into my eyes. The gaze behind the lenses was sharp and intense. “I spent twenty minutes solving that problem. In the entire school, only I could do it.” He finalized his judgment: “You couldn’t solve it. Don’t make excuses.” Gavin had followed me out and immediately backed him up. “He’s right, Rowan. You’re just desperate to save face.” For a moment, I found myself speechless. It was then that Brielle rushed toward us, her face flushed with excitement. “The city’s official Ballet Company is here to scout!” 4 “The notice says it’s a direct, exceptional offer!” Brielle waved a flyer excitedly. “If you’re selected, you get a formal contract and a chance to perform with Callum Rhodes!” Callum Rhodes was Crestwood’s most famous young pianist. He had shot to fame early, performing in Vienna at seven and gaining international recognition by fourteen. After a celebrity television show appearance, he became a household name. By twenty, he was a recognized artist. His striking looks had garnered him a massive, fervent following, and his private life had been severely impacted. He eventually retreated to his hometown, Crestwood, rarely participating in public events. Brielle clutched the flyer, her face crimson. “That’s Callum Rhodes… If I can share a stage with him, even as a background dancer, I’ll do it!” Another girl tried to peek at the flyer, but Gavin slapped her hand away. “Look at yourself. This is an opportunity for Brielle, not you losers. You’ll never be on stage with Callum Rhodes. Keep dreaming.” Brielle lifted her chin, already certain of her success. “You guys can come to me for signed photos after I get in.” Gavin immediately licked his boots. “Brielle, don’t forget me when you’re famous.” It was then that Brielle seemed to finally notice me. “Oh, Rowan, you’re here, too.” She smiled, an air of false sweetness around her. “Do you want to go? The notice says all girls are required to attend. You can sign up with me.” Before I could answer, Gavin cut in. “Her? The dance company is looking for dancers, not… not whatever she is. Don’t embarrass our class, Clarke.” Brielle joined in the laughter. “Right, you need to know your limits. Rowan, maybe don’t go. What if Callum Rhodes is there? Don’t frighten him off.” I ignored them, pulled a new set of practice papers from my bag, and began working. It was Elias who spoke next. “Rowan, do you want to go?” “No.” I didn’t look up. “Why?” “I have to study.” 5 On the day of the dance audition, every girl in the school headed to the athletic field. Except for me. I was alone in an empty classroom, working on my exams. My seat was near the window, and I could see the field clearly. Brielle had applied heavy makeup, especially around her eyes, for which she’d paid a professional stylist three hundred dollars. All the other girls were equally dressed up, each hoping to seize the opportunity. I continued with my test paper. After the principal’s speech, Callum Rhodes made his entrance. He wore a crisp white tuxedo and had a strikingly cold demeanor, exactly as the rumors described. The first step of the selection process was announced: every girl was to be handed a makeup-removing wipe and instructed to remove all cosmetics immediately. Callum explained this was a requirement from the company director. Brielle’s face instantly paled. But she glanced at Callum, grabbed a wipe, and began scrubbing. “Wait a moment,” Callum suddenly said. “Are all the female students present?” The principal hesitated. “They should be.” Gavin, who was lurking nearby, piped up. “Yes, Principal, they’re all here! Brielle showed up bright and early!” Callum frowned. “No. One is missing.” The dean of students confirmed. “The prefect checked all the classrooms. No one was there.” Elias Hawthorne, who had been standing silently near the side, suddenly spoke up. “One person is definitely missing,” he said in an even, measured tone. “Someone who chose not to come.” 6 I finished the last problem and set my pen down. “Mr. Rhodes, she’s right here.” The dean of students entered, followed by the principal. He knocked on the door. “Rowan, still studying? Why would you skip the dance audition—it’s such an important chance?” As he spoke, he tried to casually place a hand on my shoulder. I subtly shifted away. “No need, Sir.” My voice was calm. “I know I won’t be selected, so I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time.” The dean’s hand froze mid-air, his expression slightly awkward, much like the last time he’d found me alone and asked if I wanted to “talk.” “Nonsense, child. You never know unless you try.” A cool, detached voice came from behind him. I looked up and saw Callum Rhodes. He looked exactly as I remembered: pale lips, long eyelashes, and an impenetrable air. My heart quickened slightly, and I offered him a small, challenging smile. “No need to trouble yourself.” I paused, using the special, historical term we shared. “Big Brother.” “Hm.” He actually responded. “Since you still acknowledge me as your brother, then come with me.” His tone allowed for no refusal. The principal and teachers present were stunned by our exchange but quickly masked their surprise. The principal’s eyes warmed considerably. “Ms. Clarke, let’s hurry up and get to the field.” I couldn’t refuse. I followed them back to the athletic field. The girls on the field had been waiting a long time and were whispering to one another. I heard Gavin’s voice clearly. “This is pointless. Why drag Rowan Clarke out here? She’ll be even uglier without makeup.” Another boy laughed. “Right, the first round is based on looks. She’s definitely out.” “I thought the golden boy was interested in her, but he must have just wanted to see her humiliate herself.” These comments eased the tension on the field, and Brielle’s strained expression relaxed a bit. The principal led me to the stage. He took the microphone. “There was a small misunderstanding. We missed one student. The selection will now continue.” I was ushered into a corner with a basin of clear water. Next to it was a bottle of industrial-strength makeup remover. Gavin smugly told the people around him, “This is from my uncle’s lab. It’ll strip off anything! Get ready for a show…” Brielle had finished scrubbing her face and was covering it with her hands. Someone yelled at me. “Rowan, hurry up and wash your face!” I took a deep breath and plunged my hands into the water.

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Cassandra Bell—the girl I’d spent ten years funding, mentoring, and quietly propelling—was now the reigning queen of Hollywood. Tonight was the Phoenix Awards, her coronation night, and I sat in the shadows of the mezzanine, genuinely happy for her. The host, a seasoned veteran, guided the conversation to her journey, asking if there was anyone special she wanted to thank. She gripped her gold statuette, her eyes sweeping the crowd with the practiced ease of a superstar, and then they stopped on me. The spotlight snapped onto my face, catching me completely off guard. But instead of gratitude, a look of profound disgust twisted her perfect features. She leaned into the mic. “I want to thank a certain gentleman for teaching me the true meaning of harassment.” “He claimed to have funded me for a decade, writing letters, showing up at every event.” Her voice was laced with poison. “Tonight, I want him to know: your delusion is sickening. I am self-made. You have no part in my success, not a single cent.” The entire auditorium erupted. The live stream chat exploded with vitriol, waves of digital hate crashing down on me. Behind her, the giant screen began rolling a sizzle reel for her management company, Aura Management. Boldly printed beneath the “CEO/Founder” credit was my name: Damon Maxwell. My name. 1 “Holy hell, is that him? He looks normal. How can he be a stalker?” “Ten years? That’s horrific. Cassie Bell is so tough to have dealt with that kind of creep.” “I’m going to vomit. Get away from that side of the room. Don’t catch his bad vibes.” I sat paralyzed. My phone vibrated in my pocket, a frantic, silent scream. I didn’t need to look to know my photo, branded “Psychotic Harasser,” was going viral. On stage, Cassie savored the moment. Her eyes met mine, a look of vindictive triumph burning in their depths. The awards ceremony ground to a halt. Security guards were heading my way. I stood up, pushing through the noise, walking toward the exit under the weight of countless judging eyes. As I passed the VIP section, Zane Harrison, a puffed-up industry darling who worked with Aura, subtly shot out his foot. I tripped, sprawling forward, my knee slamming into the polished marble floor. “Oops, my bad, sir… Dad,” Zane covered his mouth with a theatrical flourish, but his eyes were curved into malicious crescents. “I didn’t mean to. Why are you rushing? Headed to your next victim?” A ripple of nervous, suppressed laughter followed. I braced my hands on the floor, trying to push myself up, a sharp, drilling pain shooting up my leg. A pair of impossibly expensive stilettos stopped right in front of me. It was Cassie. She looked down at me, her expression as cold as if she were inspecting garbage. “Done making a scene, Mr. Maxwell?” Her voice was low, but every word was a calculated stab. “You’re embarrassing me.” I looked up at her flawless face, perfect under the stage lights. What she said was colder than any knife. “I warned you not to show up here.” Zane immediately wrapped an arm around her waist in a possessive gesture. “Cassie, baby, don’t stress over this nobody. He looks crazy. What if he has a weapon?” Cassie patted his hand, a small, reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, Zane. I’m here.” She looked back at me, her eyes hardening further. “Security. Get him out. And from now on, I want this man banned from any venue I’m scheduled to appear in.” Two large guards grabbed my arms, their grip bruising and unnecessarily rough. They began half-dragging me toward the backstage exit. As we passed an empty dressing room, Cassie’s voice called out from behind. “Wait.” The guards paused. Cassie walked over and waved them away. The door closed, leaving just the two of us in the cramped space. She tossed a heavy cardboard box at my feet. “These are your trash letters.” “I’m giving them back.” “I never read a single word.” Scattered across the floor were the hundreds of letters I had written her over the past ten years. Each one held a promise, an encouragement, an expectation. Now, she called them trash. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper meant only for me. “You know what? Every time I saw your self-satisfied face, I felt sick.” “You thought giving me a few dollars made you my savior?” “I’ll tell you something, Damon Maxwell. What I hate most is when people look at me like I’m a pathetic stray. Your cheap pity was the biggest insult of my life.” My body went rigid. She knew my name. She had known all along. “You…” “Surprised?” She stood up, a cruel, triumphant smile on her face. “I looked you up years ago. Just a normal guy who started a tiny company. Did you really think you were some major figure?” She raised a hand, as if to pat my cheek, but recoiled as if I were contaminated, instead flicking the lapel of my jacket with her finger. “Stop dreaming.” “You and I are not in the same league.” She turned, yanking the door open. Zane was waiting outside. He shot me a fleeting, smug look before adopting his concerned, gentle demeanor for her benefit. “Cassie, baby, let’s go. The after-party is starting.” “Let’s.” Cassie walked out without a second glance. The door shut slowly behind her. I stared at the letters on the floor. The pain in my knee, the ache in my chest—they were one single, searing wound. My phone finally stopped vibrating. I pulled it out. The last text was from Greg, my assistant. “Mr. Maxwell, the company website… it’s been hacked.” 2 I didn’t go home. I had my driver take me to the office. The mid-rise building was empty except for the light spilling out of my executive suite. Greg was pacing anxiously by the door. Seeing my bruised knee and disheveled state, his eyes immediately welled up. “Mr. Maxwell, are you…” “I’m fine.” I pushed the office door open. “What’s the PR team saying?” “It’s useless.” Greg’s voice was choked with tears. “It was orchestrated. The bots and trolls are too aggressive. Our statement got buried instantly. Everyone is trashing you online, and someone posted the company address. They’re threatening to protest outside tomorrow.” I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the scattered city lights of Los Angeles. “And Cassandra?” “The party… it’s still going. Her name and Zane Harrison’s are trending number one: ‘Hollywood’s New Golden Couple.’” A deep, bitter irony. I had lifted her onto a pedestal, only for her to turn and step on my corpse while clinging to another man, bathed in the world’s adoration. Greg gently cleaned my knee, the sting of the antiseptic bringing me back to the present. “Sir, we should call the police. That’s defamation!” “It won’t work.” I shook my head. “She was careful. She only said ‘a certain gentleman.’ She never named me. If I try to fight it publicly now, it only confirms their narrative of the ‘angry harasser’ trying to lash out.” “Then… what do we do?” I didn’t answer. My eyes settled on a framed photo on my desk. It was ten years old. The picture showed a skeletal girl in ill-fitting clothes, her mouth set in a stubborn line, her eyes fierce and feral, like a hungry wolf-cub. That was the first time I met Cassie Jenkins. In that dusty, forgotten Appalachian town, she’d been tied to a pole and beaten for stealing a stale roll from a neighbor. Everyone had called her the fatherless stray, the thief. Only I walked over and cut the rope. I asked her, “Why did you steal?” She just looked at me, clutching the dirty roll to her chest. I later learned it was her little brother’s birthday. He hadn’t eaten in three days. I took her out of that town, gave her a new name: Cassandra Bell. Cassandra, the radiant one, Bell, the promise of grace. I sent her to the best private school, covered all the living, medical, and educational expenses for her and her brother. I wrote her letters, telling her to stand tall, to study hard, to see the wider world. The day she was accepted into the prestigious film academy, she called me for the first time. Her voice was shaking with excitement: “Brother, I got in! I’m going to make so much money and pay you back!” That one word—Brother—I carried with me for years. When she broke into the industry, I created Aura Management to manage her career discreetly, using all my connections and resources to propel her forward. I withdrew from the spotlight, becoming the anonymous “Mr. Maxwell” everyone talked about. I truly believed I was her closest ally, her most trusted secret. It was all just my own private fantasy. My phone chimed. A private message from an unknown number. I opened it. It was a screenshot of Zane Harrison’s social media feed. “Mr. Damon, still awake? So sorry about the drama tonight. Cassie is just a very honest person. She hates being lied to or controlled.” “She said people like you, who use small acts of charity to try and bind a person’s entire life, are the worst kind.” “Oh, and by the way, Cassie said your letters were garbage. She had them all burned in the backstage lot. Have a good night, old man.” Every sentence was a needle dipped in venom, aimed at my most vulnerable spot. I powered off the phone. I looked at Greg, my voice low and steady. “Call Legal and PR. Full senior management meeting. 9 AM sharp.” Greg looked confused. “Mr. Maxwell, are we…?” I looked out at the black night sky, a cold resolve settling over me. “We’re taking back everything she took.” 3 The next morning, I arrived at the office at 8:50 AM. The lobby was chaos—a swarm of reporters, flashbulbs exploding like fireworks. “Mr. Maxwell, your response to Cassandra Bell’s accusations?” “Do you admit to harassing her for ten years?” “Are you the rumored owner of Aura Management?” I wore dark sunglasses and walked through the crowd, escorted by security, straight into the private elevator. As the doors closed, I heard someone yell, “Don’t let him leave! This psycho needs to be exposed!” At 9:00 AM, I pushed open the heavy door to the conference room. Every senior executive, Legal, and PR head was present. My seat, the main chair, was empty. Cassie, her manager Brenda Maxwell, and Zane Harrison were seated brazenly right next to it. Brenda’s face immediately darkened when she saw me. “How did you get in here? Who let you in?” Zane let out an exaggerated yelp, scrambling behind Cassie. “Cassie, baby! He… he tracked me to the company! He’s going to hurt you!” He sounded genuinely terrified, as if I were a wild animal. Cassie patted his back, a slow, comforting motion. Then she lifted her eyes to me, radiating annoyance and contempt. “It’s you again. What exactly do you want?” “Was being humiliated on national television not enough? Now you’re chasing me to my workplace? Do you have no shame?” I ignored her, walking straight toward the head of the table. Brenda stood up immediately, blocking my path, adopting a posture of superior authority. “Sir, this is a confidential executive meeting. Unaffiliated persons must leave immediately! Or we are calling security!” “Yeah, get him out!” Zane peeked out from behind Cassie, adding with a vicious edge, “He’s clearly delusional. Mr. Maxwell will be here soon. Imagine what an impression this kind of maniac would make on the CEO!” “Mr. Maxwell?” I repeated the name softly, a hint of dark amusement in my voice. I scanned the room. The executives were either looking down, avoiding my gaze, or watching the drama with detached curiosity. They all knew my true identity, but not a single one spoke up. Self-preservation. Cassie was their cash cow, their it girl. I, in their eyes, was merely the “harasser” being dragged through the digital mud. Cassie, accustomed to this deference, leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. She spoke with a tone of casual dismissal. “Look, since you did help me out a few times years ago, I won’t press charges for last night.” “Take this.” She pulled a black card from her wallet and tossed it onto the table. “One million dollars. Take the money and vanish. Never let me see you again.” One million. It didn’t even cover the cost of her brother’s bone marrow transplant, let alone everything else. Zane let out an exaggerated gasp. “Wow, Cassie! You’re too kind! After what he did to you, and you still give him cash? You have a heart of gold!” He picked up the card, walking up to me, extending it with a pitying, patronizing hand. “Hear that, old man? A million bucks. That’s enough for someone like you to live on forever. Take the money and get out before you embarrass yourself further.” He tried to force the card into my hand. I didn’t take it. His hand froze in mid-air, his face twisting in confusion. “What’s your problem? Is it not enough? A million is more than you deserve! Don’t push your luck!” Cassie’s patience snapped. “Security!” she barked. “Throw this man out! I don’t want to see him for one more second!” A handful of guards rushed in, heading straight for me. The entire conference room watched in cold silence. In their eyes, I was about to be escorted out of the building I had built, like a defeated dog. I finally raised my head, my gaze settling on Greg. “Greg.” My voice was calm, almost conversational. Greg instantly understood. He picked up the internal line phone on the table. “Get Robert Liu, Head of Legal, and Sarah Chen, HR Director, up here immediately. Also, notify building security to escort these men out.” I pointed at the incoming guards. The conference room went absolutely silent. 4 The air in the room was a thick, suffocating silence. Everyone was staring at me, confusion mixing with alarm. The guards froze, looking at each other, unsure whose orders to follow. Brenda was the first to recover. She pointed at me, laughing with incredulous rage. “You? Who the hell do you think you are? Calling Robert Liu? Sarah Chen? Are you pretending to be Mr. Maxwell now?” Zane burst into loud, hysterical laughter, clutching his side. “Cassie, did you hear that? He’s telling security to leave! Is he completely insane? Did he watch a movie where he’s the CEO?” He turned on Greg, his face cruel. “And you! You little assistant! You follow this lunatic? You’re fired! I’ll have you packing your desk before lunch!” Greg’s face was pale, but he stood ramrod straight behind me. Only Cassie wasn’t laughing. She narrowed her eyes, assessing me, trying to find the crack in my unnerving composure. “What kind of game are you playing?” I didn’t answer. I just watched the security guards. “Did you not hear me?” My voice was low, carrying an undeniable, quiet authority. The head of the security detail hesitated, then, swallowing hard, took a step toward me. “Sir, please, don’t make this difficult for us…” His plea was cut short as the conference room door flew open. Robert Liu, the Head of Legal, and Sarah Chen, the HR Director, walked in. They paused, taking in the scene. Brenda rushed to them, frantic with relief. “Robert! Sarah! You’re perfect timing! This lunatic somehow slipped in, causing a scene, and impersonating Mr. Maxwell! Get him out of here!” Zane ran to Sarah Chen, pointing at Greg. “And that assistant! He’s complicit! Fire him immediately! He’s damaging company morale!” Robert Liu and Sarah Chen looked past them, their eyes settling on me. In the next moment, to the complete shock of everyone present, both directors bowed deeply to me. “Mr. Pierce.”

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On the sixth day of freshman orientation, the heat was brutal. Liam handed his “best friend” Chloe a cold bottle of water while I stood right there, sweating in the sun. This time, I didn’t cry. I just calmly told him it was over. “All this over a bottle of water?” Liam scoffed. “Yes.” He let out a dry laugh. “Fine. Try to stay mad for more than three days this time, Maya. I could use the peace and quiet.” His friends started jeering. “Go easy on her, man. Your girl is a ten. If you don’t watch out, some frat guy is gonna swoop in.” Liam just shook his head. “She’s too high-maintenance. She starts a fight over every little thing.” “Her parents had a full-ride set up for her in London, but she chose a local state school and a major she hates just to be with me.” “Trust me,” he added, “three days of the silent treatment is her absolute limit.” I stayed silent. I had loved him for seven years. I followed him to this university, making him the center of my entire youth. But what he didn’t know was this: When something doesn’t fit, you drop it. When a person isn’t right, you start over. I’d already processed the withdrawal papers. I applied to a school abroad, and as soon as my visa clears, I’m gone. Liam, I’m done chasing you. Chapter 1 After the breakup, Liam was the first one to block me. Then his “sister,” Chloe, called me. I was in the middle of deleting photos and my thumb slipped—I accidentally hit “Accept.” The video feed popped up. A group of them were at a rowdy sports bar, the atmosphere loud and thick with the smell of wings and beer. “So, you really blocked her?” one of them asked. “You think she’s actually going to come crawling back?” “Aren’t you worried she might actually be done for real?” Hearing his friends, Liam just shook his head and took a long swig of his beer. “You guys don’t get it. Maya can’t live without me.” “She’s a bit slow,” he continued. “Her parents had a whole life planned for her in the UK, but she threw it away to follow me here. She even took a spot in a major she doesn’t like just to stay close.” He said it with total conviction. “She’ll last three days tops. Then she’ll be right back here, following me around like a puppy.” Chloe, wearing a tiny crop top, leaned in and draped an arm over his shoulder. “Wow, look at our Liam. Such a heartbreaker.” The guys laughed. “Seriously, take it easy. She’s cute, and it’s only freshman year. Some senior is gonna snatch her up.” Liam smirked, completely unfazed. “Let them. I could use the break. Once she realizes nobody treats her as well as I do, maybe she’ll actually learn how to behave.” Another guy chimed in. “Man, you’re cold. If I had a girl that looked like a literal doll, I’d be worshiping her. I definitely wouldn’t block her.” Liam sighed, looking genuinely annoyed. “It’s just… she’s exhausting. We’ve been at orientation for six days and she’s cried four times, always about Chloe.” “Chloe was having a rough day, so I brought her a drink. Maya wouldn’t even listen to me. She just started a scene. I don’t know how she got this spoiled.” Chloe shrugged, playing the “cool girl” perfectly. “It’s fine. If she hates me that much, I’ll just stay away from you. I don’t want to be the reason you guys fight. I’m not trying to make things hard for you, bro.” The guys immediately took her side. “Maya’s definitely being dramatic.” “Is it just girl jealousy? Chloe’s basically one of the bros, but let’s be real—she’s got the body and the face. Maya’s ‘cute,’ but cute doesn’t win against sexy.” Before Chloe could reply, Liam frowned. “Cut it out.” “Maya is my girlfriend, and Chloe is my best friend. They’re both important to me. I’m not actually trying to break up with Maya; I’m just trying to break her habit of being so sensitive. She’s such a crybaby; she’d drive a saint crazy.” I couldn’t listen anymore. I hung up. Chapter 2 My mood hit rock bottom. Just then, my DoorDash arrived—a small chocolate cake. I sat there on my dorm bed, shoveling cake into my mouth while tears streamed down my face. It tasted bitter and sweet at the same time. I grew up with Liam. We were those “childhood sweethearts” everyone talked about. Over a decade of history. Following him around had become a reflex. But this time, I meant it. I wanted out. It wasn’t like all the other times he described. I wasn’t going back. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Maya, honey… about wanting to withdraw and go abroad. Are you sure?” “Yes, Mom. I’m sure.” She paused. “What about Liam? I thought the whole point of that school was to be with him. Long distance is hard, honey. You need to think.” The mention of his name made my throat tighten. I forced myself to explain that we had broken up. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered. “But I realized I can’t stay at a school I hate, studying something I don’t care about, just for a guy. I want to find my own path. Not just follow his.” My mom sounded surprised, but then relieved. “You’ve grown up, Maya,” she said. “I just wanted you to be happy. It sounds like Liam is the one losing out here. Classes abroad don’t start until next month, and your offer is still valid. I’ll handle the visa. Love you, sweetie.” I wiped my eyes. “Love you too.” Chapter 3 I packed up everything Liam had ever given me and hauled the box down to the dorm dumpsters. As I walked out, I saw Liam pulling up to the curb, dropping Chloe off. She was practically hanging off him, laughing loudly. “It was just a six-pack, Liam! I can totally out-drink you. Admit it, you lost the bet!” Liam was laughing too, until he saw me. He awkwardly pushed Chloe back a bit. He probably expected me to blow up, to start crying and screaming about Chloe again. But I just walked past them toward the trash. I didn’t even look at them. Liam smirked and stepped in my way. “Alright, Princess. Throw the rest away if you want, but keep that wooden carving. It took me a month to make that. My hands would fall off if I had to make another one.” I looked at him, expressionless. “You’re overthinking it. I don’t keep trash from my exes.” Liam’s smile twitched, but he nodded. “Fine. Just don’t regret it later.” As I turned to leave, Chloe grabbed my arm. “Maya, don’t be like that. Don’t get the wrong idea. I had a bit too much to drink tonight, so I asked Liam to drive me back. We’re literally just bros. Can’t you just think of me as one of the guys?” “One of the guys?” My temper finally flared. “Does a ‘guy’ ask him to buy her tampons? Does a ‘guy’ make him play duo-queue in games with matching skins every night? Do you have a gender identity crisis or are you just a pick-me? If you’re sick, get therapy. Stop trying to gross me out.” Chloe froze. She let out a fake, nervous laugh, looking both humiliated and “wronged.” “I didn’t realize you were so insecure about small things. Fine, I’ll apologize if it makes you—” Liam cut her off, pulling her back. “Don’t apologize to her. She thinks she’s a queen just because we’re in college now. She’s spoiled. Throw it away then. See if I care. I’m not replacing any of it.” I didn’t waste a second. I walked to the bin and slammed the box inside. Chapter 4 Back in my room, I crashed. I fell into a restless sleep filled with memories of Liam. Five years old, at a family dinner. Someone called me “chubby.” I started bawling. Liam jumped off his chair, ran over, and hugged me. “It’s okay! Maya is the cutest! I love Maya the most!” He planted a messy kiss on my cheek while the adults laughed. I stopped crying. From childhood playmates to high school sweethearts. Over a decade. He used to say, “Crybaby. Who else is going to put up with you besides me?” I thought he was my “forever.” Until Chloe showed up junior year. She was everything I wasn’t. The “bad girl.” Rebellious, edgy, always with a lollipop in her mouth, claiming she was trying to quit vaping. I lost count of how many times Liam broke our plans for her. “You don’t get it, Maya,” he’d say. “Chloe acts tough, but she’s actually really fragile. Her dad is an alcoholic. I feel like she and I are the same… we both just want to be free.” They became inseparable. Dirt bikes, skateboarding, adrenaline stuff. Liam would “help” her study, which just meant I was ignored while he tutored her. Every time we had a date, she’d call with some emergency. I finally snapped. “Can you stop hanging out with her? I don’t like her.” Liam just looked at me like I was crazy. “You can’t do the stuff we do! I don’t take you because I don’t want you to get hurt. Don’t be like that.” Eventually, my crying just gave him a headache. He’d go hang out with Chloe until he was bored, then bring me a cupcake like I was a toddler. “Hey, crybaby. You done leaking yet?” Nobody knew the bottle of water wasn’t the real reason I left. It was the second night of orientation. Everyone was exhausted. Liam snuck out with Chloe to go street racing and didn’t come back all night. We had just fought, so he ignored all my calls. Then I saw a social media post of a bike accident nearby. I panicked. I rushed out in my pajamas to find him. I was so frantic that I jumped out of my Uber before it fully stopped and tumbled onto the asphalt. My leggings tore, and my leg was a bloody mess. But then I looked up. Across the street, Liam was perfectly fine. He was holding a “shaken” Chloe in his arms, whispering to her and stroking her hair. At that moment, I was just… tired. I realized that nothing is “forever.”

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A few years ago, my dad got wasted at a bar and let some “friends” talk him into buying a pre-construction condo. Later, once the building was finished, he took my younger brother, my grandma, and me to go see it. While we were walking through the place, my grandma—the woman who actually raised me—asked my dad who this condo was for. My dad, still in a generous mood from his lingering buzz, answered flatly, “It’s for her. It’s for the middle child.” Grandma smiled, finally satisfied. On the drive back, my brother was behind the wheel, and I was in the passenger seat. Suddenly, he spoke up. “Sis, don’t take what Dad said back there too seriously. He only bought that place because he was drunk and people were egging him on. He regretted it the next morning. A couple of days ago, he was asking me if he should flip it or try to rent it out. I told him to just sell it. It’ll cost fifteen grand just to furnish and fix it up, and renters will just trash the place. Right, Sis?” My heart went cold. I didn’t say a word. My brother was born in ’94. When he graduated college, my parents bought him a house and a car in the city. When he got married, they even bought a new car for his wife. Then there’s me, born in ’92. I have no house, no car. Even the money for my Master’s degree abroad was earned by my own blood and sweat, working two jobs in a foreign country where I didn’t know a soul. The hardest times were when tuition was due. I had to open half a dozen credit cards, maxing one out to pay the other in a desperate cycle just to stay in school. And here was my brother, who already owned everything, trying to snatch away the only thing our father had ever offered me—the first thing I would have ever received from them. But my brother was right. That condo never made it into my hands. Even now, my grandma still says to me, “Don’t be so hard on yourself out there. Your dad already bought you that place, so stop living so frugally.” Hearing her, I just think to myself: That place never belonged to me. Technically, nothing ever belonged to me. But I never corrected my dad’s lie in front of my grandma. I didn’t want to break her heart. Most people assume my parents favor boys over girls. But it’s not that. I have an older sister, five years my senior. Just like my brother, she was always the golden child. It was only me. I was the one living on the edges of the family photo. When I first wanted to go abroad for grad school, I asked my parents for support. My dad said nothing. My mom said, “Two years abroad? That’s going to cost a fortune. Just stay here and get a job. You can be close to your siblings, and we can help you out if things get tough.” Then she shifted her tone. “We paid for your undergrad. We’ve already done so much for you. Stop thinking about what this family can give you and start thinking about what you’ve given to this family.” I did what my dad did. I said nothing. I just sat there wondering: What exactly has this family ever given me? From the day I was born, they didn’t even give me a name of my own. 1 I was born during the strictest years of the birth control laws. My parents already had my five-year-old sister, so my arrival was a secret. When I was born, I didn’t cry. My dad took one look at me and said, “She’s not going to make it. Just bury her.” The midwife couldn’t stand it. She tried everything—shocking my body with cold and hot water—but I lay there as still as a piece of wood. Finally, she had an idea. She had my dad blow cigarette smoke into my face while hanging me upside down. Unbelievably, it worked. I lived. Who would have thought that the person who wanted me to live most wasn’t my father, but a midwife I didn’t even know? Because my existence was illegal, they couldn’t let anyone know about me. They bundled me up and snuck me out to the countryside to live with my Great Aunt. When my Great Aunt took me from my dad’s arms, he made it very clear: “We aren’t giving her to you. We’re just letting you raise her for a few years. We’ll come back for her.” They chose the five-year-old they already knew over the seven-month-old they didn’t. They sent me away. I spent my childhood in the country. My Great Aunt was amazing. She treated me like her own daughter. If her sons got something, I got a share too. Even though I don’t make a lot now, I still send her a few thousand dollars every year. When it was time for middle school, my parents suddenly decided to bring me back to the city. My Great Aunt’s eyes were full of tears as she patted my hand. “When you go back,” she whispered, “be good. Work hard. Do what they say. That’s the only way they’ll love you.” She turned to my parents and pleaded, “She’s been away a long time. She doesn’t know you well. You need to put in the effort to get to know her.” My mom only replied, “I don’t have time for that kind of drama.” Back in the city, the first thing they did was take me to the station to add me to the family registry. They didn’t even give me a new name. They just gave me my sister’s old one. They had gotten my sister a new identity and registry. I became the “replacement” eldest daughter on paper. My sister’s name was Chloe. My name became… Chloe. I didn’t understand. If my sister was the oldest, why did her new name mean “Little Rain,” while I was just “Rain”? I moved into my “real” home. I followed my Great Aunt’s advice. I was quiet. I was helpful. I did all the chores. But in my sister’s eyes, my helpfulness was just a desperate attempt to suck up to our parents. In her world, you could brown-nose anyone, but you shouldn’t have to brown-nose your own parents. I was sent to a boarding school. The first time I ever rode in my dad’s car was when he dropped me off. He promised to pick me up every Friday. But my mom told me, “Your dad is busy. He doesn’t have time to drive out there every week. Don’t you dare call him and pester him.” Was he really that busy? No. My mom just felt that I wasn’t worth his time. Later, when my brother started school nearby, my dad picked him up every single week. Suddenly, he had plenty of time for me, too—because I was the “buy one, get one free” passenger. One time, we were all going out. My mom said, “Wait a minute, your dad needs to go pay the insurance premiums for your brother and sister.” It turned out that when they bought health and life insurance, they only bought it for the two of them. Maybe because they never invested any time or energy into me, they never learned to value me. You love what you nurture. Like the Little Prince and his rose—he loved his rose not because it was the only one, but because of the time he spent tending to it. My parents never tended to me. And because they never loved me, I never learned how to depend on them. 2 My relationship with my sister was complicated—and by complicated, I mean we were strangers who shared DNA. The first year I moved back, we shared a room. I used to keep a diary with a little heart lock. Eventually, the locked diaries got too expensive, so I switched to a regular notebook. One afternoon, I woke up from a nap and saw my sister sitting at the desk, casually flipping through my diary. I jumped out of bed and snatched it away. I started tearing the pages out, one by one, right in front of her. “Psycho!” she yelled. No apology. Nothing. “You’re the psycho! You’re a thief!” I screamed back. The screaming woke our parents. My mom burst in, saw my sister sitting perfectly composed and me standing there, disheveled and shaking with rage. Without asking a single question, my mom pointed at me. “You country brat. You have zero manners. Look at your sister—try acting like a civilized human being for once.” That was the last time I ever fought with her. I stopped caring. I didn’t want to share a life, or a conversation, or a mall trip with her. We were just two people living under the same roof. My sister’s life was paved by my parents. After college, they got her a job as a teacher. When she decided she was too “short-tempered” for kids, she quit. My dad then pulled strings to get her a cushy office job at a major tech firm. “It’s great,” my dad said. “She’s indoors, no manual labor, perfect for her.” Whenever I was home from college, my mom made me escort my sister to and from work because she was “scared of the dark.” One night, my sister invited a colleague over for dinner. When the colleague tried to help clear the table, my sister stopped her. “Don’t worry about it,” she said smoothly. “We have someone specifically for that.” She meant me. When it was time for my sister to get married, my parents bought her a house and a car. She stayed at our parents’ place throughout her pregnancy so my mom could wait on her hand and foot. The day she brought the baby home from the hospital, everyone was crowded around the stroller. I stood on the outside of the circle, watching. “Your sister is still recovering,” my mom commanded, looking at me. “You’re going to help her with the baby from now on.” “I have to go back to school,” I said. “I’m not staying here.” “Summer break starts in a week!” my mom snapped. I didn’t argue. I just didn’t come home for the summer. I told them I found an internship, just so I wouldn’t have to be a full-time, unpaid nanny. After graduation, I moved to a different state for work. My mom would call occasionally with fake concern. “If you need anything, tell us. The family is here for you.” But if I ever actually asked for advice, she would just turn it around and blame me for whatever problem I had. She never asked if I liked my apartment or my life. She just wanted to sound like a good mother. On Mother’s Day, I texted her: Happy Mother’s Day. She replied: Same to you. Did she think I was a mother? No. In her mind, her only “real” daughter was the one who had already given her a grandson. 3 Like my sister, my brother got a house and a car when he married. When his kid was born, my mom called me. “The family is growing, and you haven’t even come to visit.” I took a twelve-hour train and a bus to get home. The first thing my mom said when I walked through the door wasn’t “Are you tired?” or “Have you eaten?” It was: “What did you buy for your nephew?” “I didn’t buy anything,” I said, annoyed. “Then just give him cash.” She immediately turned back to the crib, cooing at the baby. After the holidays, my brother and I were leaving the city together. My parents packed his trunk until it was bursting—pickles, milk, snacks, pots, pans, even towels. Everything he could ever need. Then my mom looked at me. “Do you want to take a watermelon?” I just laughed. She didn’t even give me the watermelon. I left empty-handed. As we got into the car, my mom told my brother, “When you get to the South Station, there’s a highway exit. Just drop your sister off there.” I wasn’t even worth the gas it would take for my brother to drive me to my actual door. I had to get out on the side of the road and find my own way home. My mom isn’t stingy with things—she’s just stingy with me. Everything she gives has strings attached. You have to beg. You have to smile. I’m too stubborn for that. One October, the fruit trees in my parents’ yard were full. They brought a basket to my brother’s house and told me to come by and grab some. After dinner, we all went to the mall to look at cars for my brother’s wife. “What do you think?” my mom asked me. “I don’t have an opinion,” I said. “I can’t afford a car anyway.” “Fine. Here’s some cash. Take the kids to the play area while we finish up here.” She shooed me away so they could finish buying a car for my sister-in-law. Shortly after that, I left the country for grad school. 4 I came back during the pandemic after finishing my Master’s. After a nightmare of expensive flights and two weeks of quarantine in a facility, I finally made it to my hometown. The “welcome home” wasn’t a hot meal. It was a shack in the back alley. As I got out of the car, my mom stood there in a mask, wielding a bottle of disinfectant. She sprayed me down from head to toe. I couldn’t see her face behind the mask, but the vibe wasn’t “I missed you.” It was “You’re a biohazard.” “If you don’t have anything important to do, don’t leave this room,” she said, locking the door from the outside. I looked around. The room was filthy. Muddy footprints on the floor. Thick dust on the table. They knew I was coming for 21 days—and they couldn’t even wipe a desk? There was an electric burner on the table and a pot covered in rust. In the corner was a box of Cup Noodles. The next day, she brought me some eggs and a cucumber. “Eat this. You need to lose weight anyway.” For the next few days, she would drop off a bowl of food, knock, and wait for me to grab it through a crack in the door. No conversation. The worst part? There was no bathroom. I had to use a public restroom in the building next door. I didn’t see my dad until the very last day of my isolation. He gave me a nod. “You’re back.” That was it. If I hadn’t been so “good” when I first moved back—if I hadn’t done all the chores and played the obedient daughter—would things be different? Probably not. As soon as I was allowed to leave, I booked an Uber to the city. It cost me eighty dollars, but I didn’t care. I just wanted out. That was the third time I left home. I stayed in the city with my best friend from college. We got an apartment and I adopted a dog—a little toy poodle I named Happy. Even with a Master’s degree, my lack of local experience and the job market made things hard. I applied to dozens of places before finding a basic 9-to-5 job with mediocre pay. But I didn’t lose hope. I worked my ass off. I wanted to be the most successful child in the family without a dime of their help. My first goal: buy a small house for my Great Aunt back in the country. I didn’t contact my parents for a year. They didn’t contact me either. I worked, I learned, I prepared for my next career jump. I lost weight. I built a life. My best friend—I call her my “sister” because she’s more of a sister than Chloe ever was—is always there for me. She thinks I’m too soft, that I let people walk all over me. She says I’m the kindest person she knows, but she worries I don’t know how to get angry. “I’ll be your backup,” she told me once. “If anyone messes with you, they mess with me.” We did everything together. Shopping, trying new restaurants, traveling. Everything I never did with my real sister, I did with her. “I feel more like your sister anyway,” she said. “You are my sister,” I replied. I couldn’t choose my family, but I chose my friends.

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The moment I woke up and realized I had been reincarnated as the “villainess,” my high heel was already digging into the hero’s abdomen. I jerked my foot back, trembling with guilt. “Look, I can explain! I want us to be—” The boy before me, cold and distant, slowly unzipped his blue-and-white varsity jacket. His eyes were downcast, his voice a low whisper. “Princess, I brought a box.” I scrambled to finish my sentence: “To be… to be best friends for life!!” The boy froze for two seconds. He gritted his teeth and pulled a square object from his pocket. “I brought you a box of… Choco Pies.” 1 The second my memories flooded back, my heel was grinding into Caleb’s stomach. I wasn’t holding back. I could see the deep red mark left on his pale skin. Caleb let out a muffled groan, the veins in his neck bulging from the pain. He was kneeling by the bed, his varsity jacket hanging open, revealing his sharp collarbones and the faint, defined lines of his abs. His long, pale fingers rested on his buttons, undoing them one by one. His eyes were cold, yet his skin was flushed with a strange, feverish pink. He looked like a masterpiece of repressed desire. I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face, and Caleb had been the most beautiful boy in any room since we were kids. He was an orphan; I’d spotted him at the shelter years ago and threw a literal temper tantrum until my dad agreed to sponsor him. From that day on, Caleb moved into the Sterling estate. I was a brat back then. I demanded that he only have eyes for me. I forced him to revolve his entire world around my whims. When I went through my rebellious phase and refused to go to school, Caleb was forced to stay back a year just to keep me company at home. Caleb obeyed my every command, but he never initiated contact. I always thought it was just his personality. I thought I had him figured out—which is why I had been planning to force myself on him tonight. I didn’t realize until this exact moment: I was the villainess. And in this story, the hero is destined to loathe me. Thinking back on a decade of my own entitled, reckless behavior, my vision went black. I shakily retracted my leg. Caleb looked up at me, his gaze dark and unreadable. “Princess?” Trying to play it cool, I knelt down and frantically tried to zip his jacket back up. My fingertips brushed against his warm skin, and I flinched as if I’d been electrocuted. “I—I’ve made a decision,” I said, clearing my throat and trying to sound sincere. “Caleb, I want us to be—” He reached into his pocket. The fabric of his jeans outlined the shape of a small, square box. “Princess,” he interrupted, “I brought a box.” I blurted out my finish: “BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!” The air in the room turned to ice. Caleb’s hand froze in his pocket. He didn’t pull the box out. After a long silence, he slowly looked up. Something dark and heavy settled in his eyes. “Choco Pies,” he said flatly. I patted his shoulder with fake enthusiasm, acting relieved. “I knew it! You really are my best friend. We’re totally on the same wavelength.” Caleb stood up slowly, straightening his clothes until he looked like the perfect, untouchable honors student again. “Princess, today is your eighteenth birthday. You specifically called me to your room just to tell me… that?” I forced myself to nod. I didn’t know why, but his expression seemed to get even colder, as if a layer of frost had settled over him. Right. This is good, I thought. Keep the distance. Fix the relationship. I added helpfully, “From now on, you don’t have to follow me around 24/7. You don’t have to come every time I call. I’m an adult now. It’s time I learned some independence.” Caleb stepped closer. He was a good head taller than me, and his shadow swallowed me whole. “Fine.” “Great! Go get some rest then.” “You don’t want your bedtime story?” “Nope! No more. I was being a brat before. I’m sorry for being such a hassle.” He stood silent for a few seconds, then turned toward the door. As he passed my vanity, his arm “accidentally” clipped a glass of water on the edge of the table. Clatter. The glass flipped, drenching him. His thin white t-shirt became instant-transparent, clinging to his skin and tracing every muscle of his torso. Water droplets slid down his hip bones and disappeared into his waistband. I subconsciously swallowed. Caleb turned to face me, tugging at the hem of his shirt. The fabric clung even tighter. “Princess, where are the napkins?” “Oh? They’re… right there…” “Could you help me dry off?” God, he looks so good. I want to touch. If this were yesterday, my inner predator would have pounced. But now, I forced myself to look away. “Men and women should keep their boundaries, Caleb. You… you should go to your room and change.” Caleb didn’t say anything. But I could feel his gaze heavy on my face, weighing me down like an interrogation. After a few beats, he finally moved. His hand lingered on the doorknob. “Princess,” he said softly. “Goodnight.” 2 The next day in class, I was leaning my head on my hand, contemplating my bleak future. The teacher tapped the whiteboard. “Everyone, listen up. We have a new transfer student. Meet Silas Vance.” The classroom erupted into whispers. “Holy crap, he’s gorgeous.” “He’s on the same level as Caleb.” “I heard he’s here on a scholarship from a rural town. Poor, but a genius.” “Wow, the classic ‘Poor but Hot’ protagonist trope?” The keywords hit me like a physical blow. I sat up straight. I realized my “awakening” was incomplete. Last night, only a general plot had entered my head—I didn’t have a list of names. The “story” said I would fall for a poor but beautiful hero and try to own him by force. He would endure my abuse until he became successful, then he’d reunite with the “poor but kind” Female Lead and ruin me. I had assumed Caleb was that guy. But now, looking at Silas, I realized the world was full of handsome, struggling guys. With my personality, it was entirely possible I’d move on to the next hot guy eventually. To be safe, I had to cast a wide net. I needed to stay on the good side of every potential protagonist. I whipped out my phone and texted my dad: “Dad! I have a brilliant plan. I’m going to sponsor every poor but talented guy I find. I’m feeling charitable. You won’t say no, right?” My dad replied instantly: “Sweetie, starting a harem is illegal. Didn’t you get the memo? Isn’t Caleb enough of a handful for you? And besides… is your heart strong enough for that many guys??” Before I could reply, a shadow fell over my desk. Silas Vance was standing over me, looking down with eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief. “Mind if I sit here?” I had originally shared a desk with Caleb, but to “detox” myself from my dependency on him, I had made Caleb move this morning. I nodded instinctively. I hadn’t looked at Silas closely before, but up close, the class gossip was an understatement. He smirked at me, his voice smooth as silk. “Looking forward to working with you, neighbor.” The mole under his eye seemed to dance in the sunlight. I felt my face heating up. Just as I was about to say something, I felt a heavy, piercing stare from across the room. I looked over. Caleb was watching me, his dark eyes unreadable. Silas tilted his head, perfectly blocking Caleb’s line of sight. “Is something wrong?” Silas asked softly. “You look a little flushed.” I waved my hand dismissively. “No, nothing. I’m fine.” 3 The Charity Fund was set up, the company risks were mostly cleared, and I finally felt like I could breathe. I made it back to my apartment near campus before dark. I pushed the door open to find the place in total darkness. The neon lights of the city bled through the window, outlining Caleb’s lean, tall silhouette. He sat there silently, like a statue with no heat. “Why are the lights off?” I asked tentatively. “Is everything okay?” He didn’t answer. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. I put my bag down and tried to walk past him. “So you finally decided to come home.” His voice was strained, vibrating with something he was trying to hold back. “I’ve been busy with important stuff,” I explained lamely. I tried to go to my room, but he grabbed my wrist. His skin was ice cold. Caleb looked at me, emotions swirling in his eyes. “Busy with what?” He let out a sharp, cold scoff. His grip tightened. “Spending every day with that transfer student? Is he the most important thing in your world now?” “Silas? I’m just processing his scholarship paperwork. He fits the Sterling Fund criteria—” “You’re sponsoring him too?” Caleb interrupted, his brow furrowed. “What’s next? Are you going to move him in? Just like you did with me?” He took a step closer. I backed up until I hit the cold wall. “Caleb, calm down.” I tried to pull away, but his hand was trembling. “Calm?” He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Princess, you’ve been avoiding me for a month. You made me switch seats so you could sit with Silas. Why?” My skin crawled. “What do you mean?” “Why won’t you look at me the way you used to?” His breath was on my face now, smelling of the crisp, clean scent he always had, but now it felt scorching. “Like you have for the last ten years.” He slammed his other hand against the wall by my ear, pinning me. In the dark, he was so close I could see the quiver in his eyelashes and the desperate, almost pathological possessiveness in his eyes. “Caleb,” I tried to bluff. “I’m not avoiding you. We’re still the same.” “The same?” He twisted his lips into a smirk, his eyes suddenly rimmed with red. “Then tell me. Do you love me the most?” My brain short-circuited. He went through all this drama just to get me to say I love him best? I didn’t have time to overthink. “Of course!” I said, sweating. “We’re best friends, aren’t we?” 4 The moment the words left my lips, Caleb’s expression went stone cold. He looked at me like I was a prey animal trying to act clever. “Best friends.” He repeated the words, enunciating every syllable. Then, he let go of my wrist. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I saw his hands go to his collar. He ripped it open. The moonlight hit his collarbones, making them look dangerously sharp. He pulled the collar down further, revealing a black leather choker around his neck. I froze. That was the “gift” I had been planning to give him on my birthday before I “woke up.” “Caleb, what are you doing—” He stepped forward, pressing his body flush against mine. I could feel his heat through my shirt. My breath hitched. “Best friends?” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His voice was low and hoarse. “Do you think a ‘best friend’ wants to do this?” He grabbed my hand and pressed it hard against his chest. Under my palm, his heart was thumping like a drum—heavy, fast, erratic. “Does a friend feel like this?” He guided my hand down, over the hard planes of his abs, stopping right at the line of his waistband. I tried to pull back, but he held me there with terrifying strength. “Princess.” He looked down at me, his eyes overflowing with raw, naked desire. “You’re the one who taught me to be your dog.” “Now you want me to be a ‘friend’? That’s not fair.” I felt like I was seeing Caleb for the first time. The cold, obedient honors student was just a mask. “Caleb, we can’t be like this!” His pupils constricted. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Why?” “Why can’t we?” “Why don’t you want me anymore?” I couldn’t explain the “plot” to him. But I knew I couldn’t just stay silent, or he’d keep digging. I took a deep breath and put on my best “annoyed princess” face. “You ask too many questions. I’ll give you one answer. One. Ask it, and then never bother me about this again.” A long silence followed. Finally, as if making a life-altering decision, Caleb looked me in the eye. “I want to know if the Princess ever cries.” I blinked, confused. “I… of course I cry…” Caleb smirked, leaning in until our noses touched. “I mean… I want to know if I can make you cry.”

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Senior year was the year I hit rock bottom. I tried to pull a move on Leo Vance, thinking I’d finally get a kiss out of him, but his older brother caught us in the act. His brother, Silas, cornered me in a dark alleyway behind the gym. He grabbed me by the hair and leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous growl: “You want to kiss someone so bad? I’ll give you something to kiss.” Blood rushing to my head, I fumbled with my belt and smirked. “Bring it.” 01 I wasn’t going down easy. I’d been beaten before, and I wasn’t scared. I licked the blood from the corner of my mouth and tugged at my waistband, completely ignoring Silas’s thunderous expression. “What are you waiting for? I thought you wanted this,” I taunted, tilting my head back with a death-wish level of defiance. “Get on your knees and do it.” Silas let out a dark, dry laugh. Then he punched me. Right in the gut. The bastard played dirty. I doubled over, the wind knocked out of me, but my spite only burned hotter. “If you don’t want to do it, why did you ask? I wanted Leo. If you’re too much of a coward, I’ll just go find him and make him do it.” I knew exactly which buttons to push. Silas lived for his “perfect” little brother. In his eyes, Leo was an angel in a varsity jacket. And me? I was the trash. Silas looked at me like I was a virus that would infect Leo if I got too close. Silas reached into his pocket and pulled out a box cutter. The cold, steel blade slid slowly down my chest toward my stomach. I swallowed hard. Since when did this guy carry a weapon like that? His eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses, but his anger was a heavy, suffocating thing. “Tell me again. Who are you going to touch? Where?” I finally shut up. I stood there, frozen, terrified that one slip of his hand would end my bloodline right then and there. He tapped the flat side of the blade against my hip. I shivered, nearly losing it. “Silas… put the knife away,” I managed to rasp out, trying to sound tougher than I felt. “I promise. I’ll stay away from Leo.” Silas didn’t move. He looked at me, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “Kiss me.” What? The blade moved, a shimmering threat. Silas repeated the command, devoid of any emotion: “Kiss me.” I cursed under my breath. Fine. Silas was a good-looking guy; it wasn’t like I was losing out. The moment our lips touched, he grabbed me by the throat and shoved me back. “Not like that.” His cold gaze swept down. He smirked slightly and whispered, “Get down.” My eyes widened. He wanted me to… I clenched my fists, looking for a way to bolt. Silas read my mind instantly. “If you run, I’ll catch you before you hit the end of the block. And then I’ll cut off that restless little part of you that keeps getting you into trouble.” He pressed his hand onto the top of my head and forced me down. It wasn’t a violent shove, but it was absolute. “If you try to bite, I’ll knock every single tooth out of your head.” I knelt at his feet, teeth gritted in a mix of fury and helplessness. He had worked me over pretty good; I couldn’t run even if I tried. He tapped the blade against my cheek. Silas’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Zane. Open up.” I closed my eyes in total despair. Silas didn’t treat me like a person. He was brutal. When it was over, he pinched my chin, staring at my swollen lips. “How does it feel to be forced, Zane?” He was doing this for Leo. To “protect” him by ruining me. My throat burned. My voice came out as a hoarse wreck. “Try it yourself and find out.” Silas laughed. Up close, I could see his eyes behind the lenses. They were beautiful, but the pupils were so dark it felt like drowning in an abyss. “With a mouth that soft, you should learn to say softer things.” He pulled out a tissue, wiped his hands, and threw the crumpled paper at me as if I were a piece of garbage. “Not a word of this to Leo. I’ll be watching you, Zane.” 02 Silas left me there in the dirt. I was curled in the corner of the alley like a pile of trash. It started to rain. I could smell the dumpster nearby, and honestly, I didn’t smell much better. I fumbled for a crumpled cigarette, but my hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t get the lighter to spark. I threw the lighter against the wall and cursed the world. I limped my way home. From a distance, I saw someone standing perfectly straight at the end of the street. Clean-cut, black-rimmed glasses, a sweater vest over a collared shirt. The picture-perfect student. That was Leo. He heard my footsteps and looked over. He froze, then ran toward me, looking terrified. “Zane? What happened? Did you get into another fight?” I pushed him away. “None of your business.” Leo bit his lip. He fumbled through his pockets for a long time and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. He handed them to me, his eyes pleading. “Here. Take it.” I didn’t count it. I just grabbed the cash and looked at him. “Get lost, Leo. Stop looking for me.” Leo didn’t move. “Is it because of the other day? Because I wouldn’t kiss you? I wasn’t trying to be mean, Zane. I just… I wasn’t ready. I’ve never done anything like that before…” His voice softened. “Zane, please don’t be mad.” Leo seemed to make a decision. He grabbed my shoulders and slowly leaned in, his eyelashes fluttering. He was offering me exactly what I had wanted. I looked at his nervous, desperate face. Then I stepped back and shoved him away. “I’m not mad,” I said, pocketing the money. “I never liked you anyway. I only hung around because you’re pretty and your family has money.” It was a lie, but it was a necessary one. Leo’s family was wealthy. He was a straight-A student, polite, and soft-spoken. For a delinquent like me, guys like him were the easiest targets. You get money, and you get a sense of power. When I ended up in the same class as Leo, I bullied him constantly, shook him down for “protection money.” Leo was a coward; he never told his parents. Then some of the guys started saying Leo was so pretty he looked like a girl. They told me I should just “date” him so I could have a permanent ATM and a pretty face to look at. I listened. I forced Leo into a relationship. Leo was too scared to say no. He had asked me, trembling, “If I date you, will you stop hitting me?” I thought it was cute. I laughed and said, “Yeah. I won’t hit you. I’ll take care of you.” He believed me. He became like a loyal dog, giving me every cent he had. “Zane, I’ll give you all my allowance, just please stop fighting people.” My crew used to tease him, calling him “the bride.” They cheered and told me to kiss him to see if he tasted like money. Leo was terrified. He shook his head and begged me not to. I didn’t care. I put out my cigarette, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed him against a wall to force a kiss on him. That was the moment Silas saw us. And that was why I was currently bleeding. Leo’s face went pale. His voice trembled. “You’ve been with me for so long… why won’t you even look at me now?” Because your brother will kill me. My throat was raw, but I forced a cruel grin. “Because I realized I like your brother more.” 03 Leo gave me $645—enough to eat for two months. When I got home, my mom, Lily, was lying on the couch smoking. Her skin was covered in a rash. Her heart condition was getting worse, but she refused treatment because we had no money. I counted out $500 and put it on the coffee table for her meds and food. I didn’t want to come home one day and find a corpse. I couldn’t sleep. Everything ached. I dreamed of Silas. He was hitting me, kicking me, grinding his shoe into my face. He looked like he wanted to kill me. I woke up shaking. The day Silas transferred into my class, I was passed out at my desk in the back row. He pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. When the bell rang, he grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head up. I was ready to swing at whoever woke me, but when I saw Silas, I swallowed every curse word in my throat. Hell. Why was this psycho here? Silas flipped through my textbook. He saw the blank pages and laughed. “I’ve seen a lot of losers, but you’re a pure-bred specimen, aren’t you?” I was furious, but I was also terrified. My throat still hurt just looking at him. Being insulted was better than being cut. I ignored him and tried to go back to sleep. Silas slammed the book against my head. “Sit up. Pay attention.” Even a dog has limits. I rubbed my head and snapped, “Mind your own business! You listen to the lecture, I’ll sleep. If I’m such a problem, change seats!” Silas looked at me sideways. “Leo came home crying the other night. We had a big fight.” Not my problem. “He told me you’re in love with me,” Silas continued, his voice mocking. I was suddenly wide awake. That kid… why would he tell his brother that?! Silas leaned back, enjoying my panic. “So. You like me?” I swallowed hard. “I was lying to him.” Silas acted like he didn’t hear me. He pulled his chair closer. “Pay attention to the teacher. I don’t like being liked by losers.” Damn it. Silas was doing this purely to torture me. He didn’t just make me listen; he checked my notes after every class. I didn’t understand a word of it, and my notes looked like chicken scratch. Silas frowned, threw his own notebook at me, and told me to copy it. “I need to use the bathroom,” I grumbled. Silas smiled thinly. “Hold it.” I spent the whole break catching up on notes. By the time the next class started, I was sweating from holding it in. Silas wouldn’t let it go. While I was trying to solve a problem, he reached over and pressed his hand against my lower stomach. Gently. Firmly. I shuddered, letting out a muffled groan as I slumped over the desk. From the corner of my eye, I saw Silas’s lips curl into a tiny, satisfied smile. The man was a total freak. 04 The second the bell rang, I bolted for the restroom. I was just finishing up when someone threw an arm around my shoulder. I looked up. It was Brooks. Brooks was the leader of the local gang—the “Alpha” of our school’s delinquents. He didn’t look at me. He just stared ahead and said, “Zane. I heard you and Leo broke up.” I didn’t answer. Brooks loved knowing everything. He probably knew how many times a day I used the bathroom. He zipped up, turned to me, and said, “Since you’re done with him, mind if I take a turn? He’s a pretty little thing.” “Back when you said he was yours, I gave you a pass. I didn’t touch him out of respect for our brotherhood. But now, you can’t stand in my way.” Brooks was a sadistic prick. When he targeted someone, he didn’t stop until they were broken. I’d seen him bully a kid into a total breakdown before. The only reason I had “dated” Leo was to keep Brooks away from him. I had told Brooks I wanted him for myself, and Brooks had backed off. Now, I had no reason to stop him. “Do whatever you want,” I said. I was trash anyway, and I had my own problems. Besides, Leo had a brother to protect him now. I skipped the rest of class to go work my shift at the BBQ joint. When I walked back into the neighborhood that night, I saw Brooks in the alley. He had a dozen guys with him. Leo was on his knees in the dirt. His face was bruised and swollen. His glasses had been knocked off, and he was crawling around, frantically searching for them. Brooks was smiling as he raised his foot to stomp on Leo’s hand. I looked for a split second, then turned my head and kept walking. As I stepped out of the alley, I ran into Silas. He was drenched in sweat, looking frantic. Searching. I paused. “He’s in the alley.” Silas gave me a look of pure hatred. He grabbed a lead pipe from the ground, pushed past me, and charged into the darkness. I took a deep breath of the damp air. Suddenly, a hot, strong hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. Silas had the pipe in one hand and me in the other. “You think you can just walk away? Not a chance.”

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During my first week of college, I began having recurring dreams of two men. Both claimed to be my boyfriend. Every time I woke up, my entire body ached. I eventually went to see a campus psychiatrist. “It’s just stress,” he said with a gentle, slow smile as he wrote me a prescription. “Take these. They’ll help you fall into a deep sleep.” But after I started the medication, the dreams only grew longer. In the dreams, the other man would pin my wrists above my head and chuckle. “I told you to take it easy on her. If you go this long, she won’t be able to handle it.” 1 “Look at you… you’re so beautiful like this.” The hand resting against my collarbone was elegant, with long, slender fingers. I couldn’t see his face. “Aria, wake up!” Suddenly, someone shook me hard. My roommate, Chloe, was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking worried. she touched my sweat-drenched forehead. “Aria, are you sick? You’re burning up. Maybe we should go to the clinic.” I was lying in my narrow dorm bed, heart hammering against my ribs, my muscles screaming in pain. “I’m… fine,” I rasped, my voice sounding like I’d been screaming for hours. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. I moved my wrists; the lingering phantom pain from the dream felt terrifyingly real. Right before I woke up, those two men were debating exactly how to tie my hands so they could suspend me in front of the floor-length mirror… 2 This was the fourth time this week. Since moving into this dorm, the dreams had become a nightly occurrence. Two men. I could never see their faces. One was older, calm and composed. He wore expensive watches and had a voice so smooth it made my knees weak. A sophisticated predator. The other was younger. He spoke with a smile, but he was impulsive and aggressive. He never went easy on me. Both claimed they were my boyfriends. Both seemed hell-bent on breaking me. Every morning, I woke up so sore I had to use the bedpost for support just to stand up. “Aria, we’re going to be late for Anatomy. Are you coming?” Chloe asked, clutching her textbooks. I’m a med student—a firm believer in science and logic. I told myself these dreams were just the result of the intense pressure of freshman year. But I didn’t dare tell Chloe the details. She was the sensitive type; she’d probably freak out. 3 Friday afternoon. The anatomy lab was packed. Chloe had already snagged seats in the front row. “Aria, over here!” she called out. I was distracted, my mind still looped on the dreams, and I realized I had walked past her. As I tried to back up through the crowd, someone accidentally tripped me. I started to fall backward, books flying. Suddenly, a strong, firm hand caught me by the waist. “Careful. We wouldn’t want you getting wet before the lecture starts.” A low, slow laugh vibrated against my back. My legs nearly gave out. I had heard that exact voice—that exact tone—mocking me a thousand times in my dreams. Chloe mouthed a name to me: The TA. I slowly turned around. It was Silas Vance, a PhD candidate and the teaching assistant for our anatomy course. He was legendary on campus—brilliant, handsome, and completely untouchable. “Do you need a hand?” he asked, tilting his head. His dark eyes were filled with a knowing glint. I broke into a cold sweat. “No… I’m good. Thank you, Silas—I mean, Mr. Vance.” “Take your seat, Aria. Class is starting,” he smiled. I had never spoken to him before, yet the rumors about him were endless. Some said his “hobbies” were quite unconventional. The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows as Silas stood at the front of the lab in his white coat. He looked like a god cutting through the light. He pulled on latex gloves and picked up a scalpel. Chloe leaned in and whispered, “His dissection technique is famous. He’s so precise.” Silas seemed to hear her. He looked over and smiled at me. It wasn’t a warm look; it was an analytical, piercing gaze that made my skin crawl. I watched his fingers move with surgical efficiency. I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting back to the dreams. He moved exactly like the man in my nightmares—with that same effortless, terrifying control. I needed help. Real help. As soon as class ended, I fled the lab. 4 The university hospital was on the south side of campus. Friday was peak hours for the psychiatric department. I waited until my number was called. The office was quiet, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. I heard only the mechanical click of a mouse. A pale, elegant hand rested on the mouse. A luxury watch glinted on his wrist. Against the light, I could see his sharp jawline and broad shoulders. This was Dr. Elias Thorne, the university’s most renowned professor of clinical psychology. Young, brilliant, and devastatingly handsome. He practically radiated a cold, disciplined energy. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked softly. My heart skipped. That voice. It was the voice of the man who held me down in front of the mirror. “Student? Are you listening?” Dr. Thorne looked over the rim of his glasses. I licked my dry lips. He wasn’t even looking at my chart; he was leaning back, waiting for me to speak. “I… I’m sorry. I’ve been having nightmares. Every night for a week.” His expression became serious. “Nightmares? Any specific details?” I stammered, my face heating up. “They aren’t exactly… scary. They’re… suggestive. I’m being… toyed with.” A flicker of something—amusement? curiosity?—passed through his cool eyes. He leaned forward. “And what do you think is the cause?” “Stress? Lack of sleep?” “Do you feel tired when you wake up?” he asked, his voice low and soothing, pulling me into his rhythm. “Yes, Professor. Very tired.” He smiled knowingly and began writing a prescription. “It’s just stress. Don’t worry. I’ll give you something to help you sleep deeply. It’ll be over soon.” 5 That night, I sat at my desk looking at the bottle of sleeping pills. Chloe watched me, looking hesitant. “Did you see Dr. Thorne today?” “How did you know?” “Just a guess.” She looked away and handed me a glass of water. “By the way, Aria, I think Silas is a good guy. Don’t you?” “Maybe,” I muttered, swallowing the pill. I expected a dreamless sleep. I was wrong. The dream returned with a vengeance. Both of them were there. “She’s out of it today,” a cool voice said. “Take it easy.” The room was bright. I thought of Silas, but I had no strength to say his name. Then, a more mature voice whispered in my ear. “It’s okay. Just a routine check-up. I won’t hurt you.” I tried to struggle, but I couldn’t wake up. The air smelled of galbanum, citrus, and hospital-grade disinfectant. It was the scent of the two of them combined. “So cute,” one whispered before kissing me. I felt a sharp sting on my lip. The taste of copper filled my mouth. I felt like I was drowning, gasping for air like a fish out of water. A hand cupped the back of my head, patting my cheek. “Aria, breathe. You’re going to choke yourself.” Silas let out a frustrated laugh. “I told you to lower the dose. If she’s under for too long, she can’t handle it.” Thud! I woke up on the floor. I had knocked over the washbasin by my bed. Chloe’s sleepy voice came from above. “Aria? It’s the weekend. Why are you making so much noise?” “Sorry…” I mumbled. I felt weak, as if I’d run a marathon. Then I felt it. A stinging pain on my lip. I went to the bathroom mirror. My hair was a mess, my face was flushed, and there—right on my lower lip—was a small, fresh cut. A bite mark. I looked down at my wrists. Faint, reddish marks were beginning to bloom on the pale skin. My blood ran cold. This wasn’t a dream. 6 I was spiraling into self-doubt. Was I going crazy? Or was something else happening? “Aria, focus,” Chloe said. “We have an elective today. Attendance is mandatory.” Ten minutes later, I dragged my aching body into the lecture hall. Of course, we were late. “Latecomers, front row,” a voice commanded. I looked up. Silas. He was leaning against the podium, smiling. The room was silent; he had failed half the class last semester. No one messed with him. As he called the roll, he paused at my name. “Aria Vance. Why are you late today?” “I couldn’t get up,” I whispered. “Oh? Doing what?” “Exercise,” I stammered. Silas grinned. “Well, exercise only works if you’re consistent. Perhaps you need more… practice.” My face turned scarlet. Chloe leaned over. “He’s a catch, Aria. If I were you, I’d be thrilled.” I looked at her. Why was she acting like he liked me? “Why would I be happy about that?” She blinked and looked at her pen. “Oh, you’re just overthinking it…” 7 After class, Silas called me back. “Aria, come here. I have something for you.” He sounded strictly professional. I walked back to the podium. He pulled a small bag from under the desk. “What is it?” “Medicated patches,” he said, packing his notes. “For muscle strains. It’ll help you recover faster from your… exercise.” I froze. He glanced at me. “Chloe mentioned you were struggling. She’s working with my mentor now. She’s like my younger sister.” “Oh… I see.” I felt a wave of shame. I had been imagining conspiracies where there were none.

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I always did what my brother told me. Except for one thing: I secretly dated his worst enemy for three years. Asher Sterling was infamous—arrogant, reckless, and untouchable. He claimed he was only loyal to me, but he flatly refused to go public with our relationship. When a friend asked him why, he just smirked. “Because I don’t give a damn about Elena. Being with her is just payback for what her brother did to my sister. On my birthday, I’m going to dump her in front of everyone. I want to watch the Sterling siblings become the laughingstock of the city.” So, on the night of the year’s most anticipated gala—his birthday party—I didn’t show up. Instead, I flew to Chicago for an arranged marriage. On my wedding day, Asher arrived looking like a wreck, desperate to stop the ceremony. He was blocked at the gates. He begged the security guards to let him in, claiming he was the bride’s boyfriend. But when they told him to prove it, he scrolled through his phone for an hour. He couldn’t find a single photo of us together. 01 “Just to get back at her brother?” Asher exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes dark. “My sister was humiliated when he rejected her. She left the country because of him. He wouldn’t even accept her apology. Wasn’t that enough?” His friend gasped. “Asher, are you insane? You’ve been obsessed with your ‘sister’ for years, and she isn’t even blood-related.” Asher’s expression blurred behind the smoke. “So? Why shouldn’t I be?” “But what did Elena ever do to you? Her brother’s choices have nothing to do with her. Why take it out on her? You spent two years chasing her! You’ve been together for three. You pampered her, loved her… everyone thought you were going to propose at your birthday party.” Silence followed. As the cigarette burned to the filter, Asher crushed it out and let out a cold laugh. “I had to make it look real, didn’t I? How else was I supposed to make her fall for me? She needs to fall from the highest peak to feel the depth of the abyss. I want her to feel the exact same pain my sister felt.” I bit my lip so hard it bled, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. His friend frowned. “Are you really going through with this? No regrets?” Asher picked up his glass, his voice freezing. “Zero regrets.” I looked down as a single petal drifted past, falling to the floor alongside a tear. No wonder he never wanted to go public. It wasn’t about protecting me. It was all a calculated trap. The “soulmate” I thought I found was just a ghost in a machine. At that moment, I didn’t even want to go downstairs to confront him. Arguments, screaming, begging—those would only give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain. I turned and walked away, leaving the gift I had bought for him on the cold pavement. 02 When I got home, I ran into my brother, Liam, who had just returned from a business trip to Chicago. “Why are your eyes so red?” he asked, concerned. “It’s just the wind,” I whispered, looking away. On the sofa, he looked at me seriously. “I know you were planning to go to California for your PhD. But… would you consider the Hayes family in Chicago again? Julian Hayes is a good man. I’ve vetted him myself. He’s someone I can trust with you.” He had brought up this arrangement several times before. I had always said no. Because of Asher. Because I wanted to marry for love. But now, love felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. Maybe a relationship built on family ties and transparency was safer. Even without love, at least there would be no lies. “Liam,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll do it. I’ll accept the arrangement.” “Seriously?” Liam’s face lit up. “I’ll call the Hayes family right away.” Back in my room, I packed every gift Asher had given me over the last three years. As I moved the boxes to the storage closet, Liam knocked on my door. “Next Friday. We fly to Chicago.” Next Friday. Asher’s birthday. 03 The next day, I spent the afternoon organizing my research papers. Asher called, asking if he could pick me up for dinner. The background was noisy—the sound of airport announcements. He was likely at the terminal, picking someone up. When I declined, he sounded relieved. “Okay, stay home and eat a good dinner. Don’t skip meals to lose weight, you hear me?” His concern was so convincing. He was a master actor. Later that evening, a friend of my brother’s messaged me, asking for a ride from a local lounge. My car was in the shop, so I took Liam’s. I found the room number and pushed the door open. Inside, Asher was tangled up with a woman, playing a suggestive party game where they had to tear a piece of paper using only their mouths. His hands were on her waist, a loose, rakish smile on his face. The room was chanting: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Asher pulled the paper away and frowned, but the woman leaned in closer. Just as their lips were about to touch, he turned his head and saw me. The room went silent. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. I lowered my gaze. “Sorry. Wrong room.” I closed the door and walked away, but Asher caught me in the hallway, dragging me into an empty VIP booth. In the dim light, he pinned me against the wall, his hand on my chin. “Are you jealous?” I shook my head. “It’s not what you think. That was my sister, Clara. It was just a game. Come on, give me a kiss?” He leaned in, but I flinched away. “My brother is waiting,” I said, avoiding his eyes. The door was pushed open by the woman from the room. She looked surprised. “Asher? What are you doing?” That was Clara. His “non-biological” sister. Asher looked at me for a few seconds before walking over to her. “I’ve had too much to drink. Wrong room. I don’t know this lady.” Clara smiled and took his arm. “Everyone’s waiting for you.” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even look at him. As we brushed past each other, his hand twitched as if he wanted to grab mine, but he balled it into a fist instead. 04 In the car, a tipsy Liam started rambling about my childhood. “I’m sorry, Elena. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you five years ago when you wanted to stay here. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to go so far away.” Back then, Liam wanted me to go into business to help with the family firm. I wasn’t interested; I wanted to stay in the lab. In a city where I felt misunderstood, Asher had appeared. He understood me. He supported me. I had wanted to take that step toward him, but I remembered the bitter feud he had with my brother over a real estate project. So I rejected him. But he pursued me for two years. No matter how cold I was, he always smiled. “Elena, you’re worth the effort. Don’t feel bad for me; I’m doing this because I want to.” It wasn’t until he literally saved my life during a hiking accident that I finally gave in. Back then he said: “I’d die for you.” Now he says: “I had to make it look real to make her fall.” My chest tightened. I got distracted for a split second and clipped the curb. 05 Luckily, it was just the curb in front of our house. No one was hurt. Liam hit his head, leaving a nasty bruise. “Maybe you shouldn’t drive until we get to Chicago,” he grumbled. “Sorry, Liam. I’ll get the car fixed.” I took the car to the dealership the next morning. I thought about buying him a new one as an apology. In the lobby, I heard a familiar voice. “It’s fine. I can test drive in heels.” Clara was sitting on a designer sofa. Asher was kneeling in front of her, holding her ankle, carefully unbuckling the straps of her stilettos. He treated her like a piece of fine porcelain. “No,” he said firmly. “What if you twist your ankle? I brought your flats.” He swapped her shoes out with practiced ease. Clara tried to complain, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “Asher, you’re such a good brother.” Asher stiffened for a second, a small frown appearing. I let out a silent, bitter laugh. He didn’t want to be your “brother.” “You’re so sweet,” Clara continued. “Whoever ends up as your girlfriend is going to be so lucky.” Asher stayed kneeling, lost in thought. Then he pulled out his phone. A second later, my phone buzzed. [Asher]: Babe, I have a race tomorrow. If you come, I’ll have a surprise for you.

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The annual performance reviews were released, and my score was an “Unsatisfactory.” The lowest possible grade in the company. I was stunned. As the lead architect who had spent sleepless nights dragging three major projects across the finish line, how was this possible? Before I could even storm into HR, three different executives called me for “private chats.” My direct manager said, “I fought for you for hours, but the CEO and the HR Director have a bias against you. Don’t worry, because of our history, I made sure to give you an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on my end.” The HR Director said, “Everyone saw your results. I gave you a top tier rating. But… have you offended your department head lately?” Finally, the CEO himself consoled me: “In terms of raw talent, you’re the best we have. Regardless of what others think, I insisted on giving you an ‘A.’ Don’t lose heart; keep it up next year!” I almost laughed. Did they really think I was that stupid? There were five evaluators in total. If three of them gave me an “A,” how did I end up with a failing grade? So that’s how they wanted to play? I got the message. If they wanted a “failing” employee, I’d give them exactly what they paid for. I pledged my loyalty to all three leaders, pretending to be their inside man, while I secretly checked out and watched the office burn. It didn’t take long for the vultures to start eating each other. 1 The moment I saw my performance review, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. This past year, I had worked myself to the bone. My team’s KPIs were ranked number one in the entire firm. Specifically, the company’s only “Tier-1” core project—the Solid-State Battery Chassis Integration—was hauled over the finish line by me and the technical crew I led. Because of that project, the entire engineering department received a department-wide “Exceeds Expectations” rating. The bonus pool was boosted by 50%. Everyone was looking forward to a fat paycheck. We had just passed the first phase of the client’s audit last week. I never, in my wildest dreams, expected my individual score to be the worst in the company. “Unsatisfactory.” In this company, that was the kiss of death. It meant I was rated lower than the security guards, the janitors, and even the guy who had been on medical leave for six months. Not only would I get zero bonus, but I was also looking at a demotion. I was officially on the “Performance Improvement Plan” (PIP)—the corporate waiting room for being fired. The irony? The intern who had been in the department for a month got a “Satisfactory.” Around me, my colleagues were scrolling through the internal portal. The cheerful chatter about bonuses died instantly. The office became eerily quiet. I didn’t look at anyone’s face, but I could feel the weight of their gazes—some pitying, some mocking, some just confused. A wave of humiliation and bitterness washed over me. For a long time, my mind was a total blank. I wanted to storm into the CEO’s office, slam my fist on the desk, and throw down a resignation letter. I wanted to tell them exactly where they could shove this job. But as I opened a blank document and typed the word “Resignation,” I hesitated. The holidays were coming. I was about to lose my bonus, and if I quit without a backup plan, how would I explain it to my family? My parents were getting older, and my wife had just found out she was pregnant. This wasn’t the time for an ego trip. Besides, quitting now would be letting this parasitic company off too easily. I decided I needed answers first. How could the top performer be ranked dead last? Even if I ended up screaming at someone, I needed to vent. But as I stood up, I saw my direct manager, Mark. He was standing at his office door, frantically gesturing for me to come in. 2 I thought for a second, then quietly turned on the voice recorder on my phone before stepping inside. The moment I entered, Mark slammed the door shut and locked it. Before I could even open my mouth, he sighed and patted my shoulder. “Ethan, I saw the results… honestly, I’m as gutted as you are.” I kept my face expressionless and didn’t say a word. Mark continued: “You’re my best engineer. I’ve always treated you like a younger brother. I fought for you during the review meeting until I was blue in the face. But the CEO and Sarah in HR? They have some ideas about you. They insisted on a low score to ‘keep you humble.’ You know I don’t have much sway with the board. My hands were tied.” I looked up sharply, my voice dripping with disbelief. “Keep me humble? What ‘ideas’ could they possibly have? No one has ever said a word to me about my performance.” Mark stammered. “Well, your solid-state chassis design passed the audit… but the execs think the tech is too conservative. It doesn’t align with their ‘growth at all costs’ strategy for mass production.” My temper flared. I shot back immediately: “The solid-state tech isn’t mature yet! Mass-producing it now is just throwing money into a black hole. The safety risks are massive!” Mark held up his hands, playing the role of the helpless middle manager. “Look, I agree with you, but that’s ‘engineering thinking.’ You have to think like a leader—macro-strategy, Ethan.” “Whatever. Let’s not get sidetracked. Leadership has their reasons. But listen, you and I are good. I absolutely gave you an ‘A.’ Don’t let this get to your head.” Hearing him say that, my anger softened slightly. We had been in the trenches together. In a room of five executives, his one ‘A’ wouldn’t have been enough to change the outcome. I nodded, my voice raspy. “Thanks, Mark. I’m just… I’m struggling to process this.” Mark’s gaze shifted, becoming unreadable. He whispered, “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while.” “You need to network more with the higher-ups. I know you’re Ivy League, you’ve got the skills, you’ve got the ego—and you have the right to it. But ‘corporate politics’ is how you survive. Do you get it?” Corporate politics? His words hit me like a slap to the face. I let out a self-deprecating laugh. So, it didn’t matter how much I contributed; it mattered how much I sucked up to the right people. I wasn’t ignorant of politics; I just found it exhausting. I wanted to be an engineer. I wanted to get paid for my technical expertise. Was that really such a crime? I had nothing left to say. As I turned to leave his office, he added one more “consolation”: “Don’t take it too hard. Next year, for the Phase 2 launch, I’m stepping back. I’ll be backing you to be the Lead Project Director. Keep that between us, though. We take care of our own.” I didn’t say anything. I just nodded and walked out. I had just worked a whole year for zero bonus. Why would I care about next year? All I felt was a burning resentment toward the CEO and the HR Director. I had no idea how I had offended them. Or maybe, by not playing the game, I had already “offended” them? What a joke. I had worked the hardest, taken the most difficult tasks, and put in the most overtime. And in the end, I was worse off than the people who spent their days hovering around the water cooler, brown-nosing the bosses. I felt suffocated. I needed some air on the terrace. But as I passed the breakroom, someone blocked my path. 3 It was Sarah, the HR Director. She was a veteran at the firm, known for having a massive network and significant influence over the board. We rarely crossed paths, and I couldn’t think of a single reason why I’d be on her bad side. I certainly didn’t expect her to seek me out. In the breakroom, Sarah poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me. She looked at me with an expression that was almost maternal. “Ethan, I know you’re hurting.” “To be honest, your performance is undeniable. As an HR professional, I see the metrics. I know who really does the work here.” I blinked, confused. Sarah lowered her voice. “But… did you have a falling out with your department head? With Mark?” “I’ll be straight with you: that comment in your review—the one about your ‘arrogant attitude’ and ‘lack of team spirit’? That was Mark. He insisted on adding it.” She let out a small, cynical laugh. “Anyone can see what he’s doing. He’s intimidated by you. He’s afraid you’ll take his job.” “For the record, I gave you a top rating. If it wasn’t for Mark’s sabotage, you would have cleared at least a $30,000 bonus. It’s a shame.” My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. The information Sarah just gave me was the polar opposite of what Mark had said. For a moment, I didn’t know who to believe. I tested the waters. “Sarah, are you sure? Mark and I have always been close. Why would he do that?” Sarah scoffed. She pulled out her phone and showed me a scanned copy of the final review document. “This is your official file. Look at the handwriting on the comments section.” I zoomed in. There it was, in Mark’s unmistakable, loopy script: “Arrogant attitude. Not a team player.” The blood rushed to my head. My vision tunneled. That bastard. I had treated him like a mentor, and he had treated me like a threat to be neutralized. I slammed my coffee cup down on the counter. I wanted to go back and rip Mark’s head off. Sarah saw my rage and grabbed my arm. “Don’t be reckless. I’m telling you this because I hate seeing talent wasted. But don’t out me—my position is sensitive enough as it is.” “Just hang in there. Next year, when the director-level positions open up for internal bidding, I’ll put my full weight behind you.” I forced myself to breathe. She was doing me a favor; I couldn’t sell her out. But I didn’t want to talk anymore. I thanked her and left. As for “hanging in there” or “internal bidding”? Pure garbage. From this day forward, if I don’t see a dime, this company isn’t getting a single ounce of “dedication” from me. I cursed Mark’s name ten thousand times in my head. But as I sat back down at my desk, a cold thought began to take root. Sarah said Mark was the one holding me down. Mark said it was Sarah and the CEO. Both of them looked incredibly sincere. But one of them—or both—was lying. Who was playing me? Or were they both in on it? As I sat there, the office gradually emptied out. Everyone had clocked out, leaving me alone in the dim light. Suddenly, someone tapped on my desk. I jumped. It was the CEO, David Sterling. 4 Now I knew something was wrong. High-level execs like David didn’t even work on the same floor as us commoners. They almost never spoke to individual contributors one-on-one. And yet, in a single afternoon, I had been approached by the three most powerful people in the building. David didn’t waste time. He invited me into his office and got straight to the point. “Ethan, you’re a rising star.” “In terms of technical ability, there isn’t a single person in this company who touches you. Truly. In my heart, I’ve always considered you my top technical lieutenant.” The alarm bells in my head were screaming now. Here we go again. Seeing that I wasn’t reacting to his “heart-to-heart,” David cleared his throat. “I’m deeply sorry about the review. I wanted to authorize a special bonus for you, but there was too much resistance in the meeting.” “Sarah from HR mentioned your attendance—apparently you’ve been ‘clocking in late.’ And Mark, your boss, complained that you’re ‘dictatorial’ in project meetings. That you don’t play well with others…” “Look, even as a CEO, I have to manage the board’s perception. I can’t just override everyone, or I look like a tyrant. It’s bad for morale.” I was vibrating with rage. I could barely stay in my seat. Clocking in late? HR only saw that I arrived at 9:15, but they ignored the fact that I left at midnight every single day. Dictatorial? Not a team player? Mark was only saying that because his technical skills were trash and he hated when I corrected his disastrous directions. If I hadn’t pushed back, this company would have gone under months ago. Both of them were snakes. Thankfully, I had already sat through two of these “confessions” and had my recorder running. Otherwise, I might have actually committed a felony right then and there. “I understand,” I said, my voice eerily calm. David seemed surprised by my composure. He looked a little awkward. After a beat, he continued his script. “Of course, regardless of what the others thought, I personally gave you an ‘Exceeds Expectations.’ That’s my stance as the owner. I don’t want the people who actually build this company to feel unappreciated.” He looked at me expectantly, waiting for a “thank you.” Inside, I was screaming. They all had the same script. Five people rated us. Three of them claimed they gave me an “A.” Mathematically, it was impossible for me to end up with a failing grade. They were all playing me for a fool. Unsurprisingly, David moved on to the “dangling carrot” phase. “You’re young. It’s normal to have some feelings about this. But don’t let personal frustration affect your work.” “Trust me, I know what’s going on. Hang in there this year. Next year, for Phase 2, I’m putting you in charge of all critical testing. I’m giving you a stage to prove yourself to everyone.” “To be honest, I don’t think much of the rest of the engineering team. You’re the one I’m grooming. So, wipe your eyes, and let’s kill it next year!”

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It happened again. The rhythmic creaking of the old wooden bunk above me, groan-crying under the weight of two people, made it impossible for me to sleep. Staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling, I grabbed my phone. [Harry]: These damn roommates. Do they ever plan on letting anyone sleep? A faint vibration came from the bed next to mine. A second later, a message from Kevin popped up. [Kevin]: Right? [Kevin]: Hey, you want to crash over here, Harry? That was exactly what I was waiting for. I hopped down, shuffled into my slippers, and climbed onto his bed. The dorm visibly quieted down. A few seconds later, the rustling sounds from the top bunk started up again. Kevin’s bed smelled like fresh laundry, and the mattress was actually firm. I let out a satisfied sigh and turned to face him. I whispered: “Those damn guys. Do they think we’re made of stone?” Kevin’s eyes were bright in the dark, and he was staring right at me. His gaze dropped to my lips, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. In the dim light from the streetlamp outside, I noticed his ears were bright red. In a room with the AC blasting, why was he flushing? “Hey, are you coming down with that thing again?” Kevin nodded obediently. “Yeah.” “Harry, can I keep holding you tonight?” His voice was soft and polite, with a slight vulnerability that made my chest feel weird. He was doing that pouting thing again. I sighed, sat up to pull my shirt off, and burrowed back under the covers. “Fine, fine. Just hug.” He tucked his head into my chest, smelling like clean shampoo. He was nearly 6’3″, yet he curled into my arms like a kid, his body radiating an abnormal heat. He looked so pathetic I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. “This condition is brutal, man,” I muttered. “Yeah…” Kevin’s voice was tight and raspy, as if he were holding back a groan. Poor guy. I patted his back. “Go to sleep.” Late that night, in a half-dreaming state, I felt something wet on my chest. “Kevin!” I whispered. “Stop licking.” “Oh.” A muffled voice came from under the blankets. “Sorry, Harry. I couldn’t help it.” 01 My two other roommates were gay. I’d known that since day one. When I first shoved the door open with my bags, ready to give a big “Hello,” I found two guys locked in a passionate kiss at the desk, completely oblivious to the world. Holy crap, they’re boyfriends. I instinctively slammed the door shut, checked the room number—404—and opened it again. One of the guys, Andy, pushed the other away, looking embarrassed. “Hey, I’m Andy,” he said shyly. The other one, a tall, intense-looking guy named Chris, just rolled his eyes and went back to his laptop. That night, I called my best friend, Jay, feeling like my world was ending. “Dude, two of them! Both of them!” Jay laughed so hard I could hear him hitting his desk. “Harry, I told you not to move to a liberal arts college in the city! You called me close-minded. How’s that boomerang taste?” So, when Kevin arrived a day late, I could have cried with relief. Look at that height! Look at those sharp, masculine features! Look at that reserved, polite demeanor! Finally. A normal, straight guy. I immediately declared him my best friend. Kevin was perfect—he let me copy his psych notes, he brought me takeout, and he even helped me with my fitness credits. The only thing was… he had that weird medical condition. 02 One day, I walked back from the campus gym, humming a tune. I found Kevin sitting on his bed, hugging a giant blue shark plushie. He was so buried in the white fluff that his black hair was a mess. He looked up, startled, a faint blush creeping across his face. “Uh, hey,” I stammered. Kevin tossed the shark aside. I finally managed to ask, “Dude, isn’t that thing huge? How do you even fit on the bed with it?” He looked at me, his pretty eyes blinking. “It’s fine.” He paused, then added quietly, “Have you ever heard of tactile hunger? Or ‘skin hunger’?” “What’s that?” “It’s a condition where someone needs constant, soft physical contact. If I don’t get it, my skin reacts. It’s like an allergy.” “You’re sick?” I asked, genuinely concerned. “…Yes,” he admitted. That was a new one for me. But hey, compared to having roommates who turned the dorm into a make-out session, this was fine. Suddenly, I thought of the chest workout I’d just finished. Since Jay wasn’t here, I hadn’t shown off to anyone in weeks. “You like warm, elastic things, right?” I grinned, walking over. “What?” Kevin looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah.” I grabbed his hand and pressed it directly onto my chest. “Check it out. Solid, right?” Kevin’s face went beet-red. “This is… unusual. But yeah, it’s soft.” “Better than the shark?” “Yeah.” He sounded much more certain about that. I flexed, making my pecs jump. “Boom! Reflex!” His long fingers were bounced off by the muscle. Kevin was stunned. He looked at me with a complicated expression. “Harry, you’ve really been working out.” Ha! Impressed, aren’t you? I felt great. I stripped off my shirt to change and flexed a few more times. “If you want to get big, Kev, I’ll show you the ropes.” Kevin sighed. “Thanks, Harry.” 03 I didn’t really believe in his “condition” at first. But I was a good guy, so I didn’t call him out on it. Everyone has their weird little comfort habits. It wasn’t until one night that I realized he might be telling the truth. The top bunk was squeaking again. I stared at the ceiling, trying to manifest a silent dorm with my mind. It was 2 AM and I was wide awake. Then, I heard a tiny, pained sigh from the bed next to mine. We’re both suffering. “Kevin?” I whispered. “Kev? You still up?” No answer. I leaned over and saw him curled in a ball, clutching his blanket. His pale arms were covered in tiny red bumps, like a severe rash. “What’s wrong?” I poked his shoulder. He opened his eyes, looking dazed. “Harry?” “Dude, your arms. What is that?” “Sharkie… is in the wash,” he rasped. I looked at the balcony. The giant blue shark was hanging out to dry. He didn’t have his plushie, and now his skin was freaking out. The “skin hunger” was real. “Does holding something help?” “Yeah.” I looked at my own shaky bed and then back at him. “…Hey, you want me to stay over there tonight?” “What?” Kevin’s eyes widened. “Is that okay? Isn’t it too crowded?” Man, he’s so polite. “I can’t sleep anyway. And you need a pillow. It’s a win-win.” I didn’t wait for him to argue. I climbed in. “Move over. I shower every day, I promise I don’t smell.” Kevin’s entire body went rigid. “Relax, dude,” I said, pulling him into a hug. “If you need a hug, just ask.” Slowly, he relaxed. In the dark, I couldn’t see his eyes, but I saw the red rash on his arms start to fade. “It’s like magic!” I whispered. “Harry, it’s still itchy,” he groaned, burrowing his face into my stomach. “What do you want me to do?” He looked up shyly. “Can we… have skin-to-skin contact?” “Oh, sure.” I pulled my shirt off. “No big deal.” “You’re so warm, Harry.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. He was being so cautious it actually tickled. I finally just yanked him close. “Stop overthinking it.” “Your chest is so big, I can’t breathe…” he mumbled. I loosened my grip. He seemed happy then, his eyes shining. “This is the first time I’ve been this close to someone.” It’s just two guys sleeping, I thought. We did this at sleepovers as kids. “I’m used to it,” I said. “I’ve slept with plenty of people.” Kevin’s mood plummeted instantly. “Oh.” “What?” “Nothing. I’m tired. Let’s sleep.” 04 “You’re telling me,” Jay yelled into the phone, “that to avoid your gay roommates, you started sleeping in the same bed as your other male roommate?” “Yeah, his bed is way better.” “He brings you food? He does your laundry?” “So what?” I said. “I even let him touch my muscles.” “Harry, listen to yourself. You’re becoming the exact character you were afraid of.” “What? I’m not gay.” “Harry, you’re literally cuddling a dude.” Whatever. I looked at myself in the mirror. There was no way a six-foot-tall gym rat like me was gay. “It’s just a medical thing,” I muttered. Besides, I needed to get a girlfriend to prove it. 05 The Student Union was hosting a mixer. I signed up in secret, planning to find a girlfriend and shock everyone in the dorm. That night, while I was picking out a shirt, Andy looked up from his desk. “Harry, you’re going to the mixer?” “How’d you know?” “I’m volunteering for the check-in desk. I saw your name.” Andy hesitated. “If you’re having a fight with Kevin, you should just talk to him.” “What does this have to do with Kevin? We’re fine.” “Is he going?” “No. Why would he? He’d take all the girls.” “You guys have a very… interesting relationship,” Andy muttered. “Who said I’m not going?” Kevin walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair. His face was like stone. “Kev, come on. You don’t need a mixer. Let me have one night of peace.” “Girlfriend?” Kevin frowned. “I’ll go with you.” “What?” Kevin gave a cold smile. “I’ll make sure you get some… contact info.” That night, I tried to climb into his bed, but the shark was back. It was sitting right in my spot. “Sharkie is dry,” Kevin said coldly. “I’ll hug him tonight. You don’t need to worry about me.” Wait, did he just dump me for a toy? “Fine.” I went back to my own bed, feeling strangely hurt.

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