My girlfriend hired male escorts, and I booked the venue. My girlfriend went on a “friends” trip with another guy, and I bought the plane tickets. My girlfriend hooked up with some pretty boy, and I had condoms delivered to their hotel. They called me a simp, a doormat, the king of cuckolds. I didn’t care. Because I was bound to a system. A bizarre, cosmic contract. If I spent ten million dollars on her—as the ultimate doormat—I would be rewarded with nine quadrillion dollars in wealth. And I was almost there. 1 When I finally delivered the absurdly expensive fusion tacos I’d stood in line for three hours to get, Chloe was holding court in the VIP lounge, sharing the secrets of my training with her friends. “Leo? Oh, he’d literally lick the dirt off my shoes if I asked,” she said, a lazy smile playing on her lips. “You think there’s a line he wouldn’t cross?” I walked in as if I hadn’t heard a thing, placing the still-warm box on the table in front of her. I kept my head down, my face a blank mask. “I got the food. You should eat it while it’s hot.” Chloe raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, then grinned at her entourage. “You guys wanted to see what a real simp looks like in his natural habitat, right? How about a live demonstration?” The group of them, all sharp angles and designer labels, started to whoop and cheer. A cold knot formed in my stomach. Chloe stood up slowly, deliberately, and placed one stiletto-clad foot onto a velvet ottoman. The slit in her dress fell open, revealing a long, pale thigh. The view was breathtakingly deliberate. She crossed her arms, her expression a perfect portrait of icy, aristocratic boredom. “Leo,” she commanded, her voice clear and cutting, “crawl over here. On your knees. Then crawl under my leg. Just like you do when you’re begging me not to leave you.” A ripple of shock went through the lounge. Murmurs broke out. “Holy shit. Leo’s family has money, right? He’s gonna do this?” “Didn’t you hear Chloe? She said this is, like, their Tuesday.” “No way. I don’t believe it. Unless he’s literally her pet.” I stood frozen, the noise of the room fading to a dull hum. Chloe extended a single, manicured finger and crooked it, beckoning me closer. The gesture was unmistakable. It was the way you’d call over a dog. I took a deep breath, the air burning my lungs, and bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. Just one hundred thousand dollars left, I chanted to myself, a mantra against the rising tide of shame. Spend this last hundred K, and the system pays out. Nine quadrillion dollars. For a number so big it broke the calculator app… My knees hit the plush carpet. The room erupted in a symphony of jeers and laughter. “The King of Simps, for real!” “Damn, Chloe’s a goddess! She has him completely broken.” “He’s not even a man anymore. He’s just her dog!” I swallowed the humiliation, crawling slowly across the floor until I was at her feet. The laughter was a physical thing, sharp and stabbing at my eardrums. After I passed under the arch of her leg, I rose to my knees again, holding up the box of tacos with both hands. “Chloe,” I said, my voice steady. “Your tacos. You should eat them.” A smirk touched the corner of her mouth. She took the box with two fingers, as if it were contaminated. Then, she placed it on the coffee table. “You know,” she announced to her friends, “these would be perfect for a little game. Let’s play fetch.” She turned her cold eyes back to me. “Leo, you have to catch it. With your mouth. We wouldn’t want my friends to have a bad time, would we?” Before I could process what she meant, a taco hit me square in the face, guacamole smearing across my cheek. One of Chloe’s friends, a woman built like a linebacker in a silk dress, pouted. “Chloe, your pet is misbehaving. He didn’t even try to catch it like a dog! Now I have to take a penalty shot.” The displeasure was evident on her fleshy face. Chloe clicked her tongue. “Don’t worry, sweetie. A dog that doesn’t listen just needs to be disciplined. You love putting a bad dog in its place, don’t you? Go on.” The woman’s eyes lit up with a disturbing excitement. She stomped over to me, and her heavy, ring-laden hand swung through the air, connecting with my cheek in a brutal slap. The force of it sent me sprawling to the floor, my head ringing. Before I could recover, she grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking me up and shoving my face into her suffocating cleavage. The cloying scent of cheap perfume and sweat filled my nostrils, making me gag. Her other fist began to rain down blows on my back, each one a dull, sickening thud. When she was finally done, she dropped me. I collapsed in a heap at Chloe’s slender ankles, every muscle screaming. She nudged my face with the pointed toe of her stiletto, pressing down until it felt like she was trying to bore a hole through my cheekbone. “Pathetic,” she hissed. Then, she dropped a leather collar onto the floor beside me. “Put it on,” she ordered. “Then go kneel outside the door. Wait there until we’re done playing, then you can take care of the bill.” 2 I wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and did as I was told. As I knelt in the hallway, collar fastened around my neck, a procession of male escorts, all smiles and sculpted abs, filed into the suite. Soon, the sounds from inside became a chaotic blur of shrieks, pulsing music, and the rhythmic slap of cards against a table. It wasn’t until three in the morning that the party wound down. The escorts stumbled out, looking exhausted. A few moments later, Chloe emerged, supported by her friends. Her face was flushed, her neck a canvas of angry red marks. You didn’t have to be a detective to know what had happened in there. “Leo, go pay,” she slurred, not even looking at me. “Then go to the market. Get some top-shelf caviar and the freshest uni. My mother called. She said you’re coming over at dawn to talk about… our future. The whole family will be there. Don’t you dare embarrass her.” “The best caviar,” she repeated, her voice hardening. “And the best uni. Got it?” I said nothing. Chloe and her friends didn’t have the energy to notice. As they staggered towards the elevator, I could still hear them talking. “God, to live like that… so pathetic.” “Who cares? As long as he’s willing to burn his money on Chloe, we get to play with the fire.” “Did you see him glare at me earlier? I swear he did. Next time I see him, I’m gonna gouge his eyes out. See if he ever looks at me like that again.” Just then, the bartender, Marco, walked over, his face a mask of pity. He gently helped me to my feet. “Man,” he said softly, “why do you do this to yourself? Paying for your own misery?” “There are so many good women out there. Why are you so hung up on… on her?” “She does this right in front of your face, over and over. Doesn’t it make you angry? Not even a little?” Seeing my lack of reaction, he just shook his head and sighed. “Look, your girlfriend ran up another tab. A hundred and six thousand. I talked to the owner, told him your situation. He said to knock off the six grand. You just owe a hundred thousand.” A hundred thousand dollars. My eyes lit up. A sudden, hot wetness blurred my vision. Marco flinched back. “Whoa, man, why are you looking at me like that?” Finally. I was finally going to spend this last hundred thousand. A full year of this subhuman torment was finally coming to an end. I didn’t even bother to wipe the tears streaming down my face. I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking, and transferred the final ten thousand dollars of my ten-million-dollar sentence. The instant the payment went through, a voice echoed in my mind, crisp and digital. “Ten million dollar ‘Simp Fund’ depleted. Nine quadrillion dollars has been transferred to the host’s account.” The voice faded, and I saw it. On my banking app. A number that was so long it looked like a glitch. Zeroes. So many zeroes. A one, then a comma, then a string of them that defied comprehension. Nine. Quadrillion. Dollars. It was real. A sob escaped my lips, and the tears fell freely now. Marco panicked. “Hey, man, don’t cry! Just leave her. Please, just walk away from her and you’ll never have to feel like this again.” I grabbed his sleeve, unable to speak through my weeping. He grew even more concerned. “Sir, look, I’ll refund you the money. I’ll have my boss collect from your girlfriend! He’s… connected. He’s good at collecting debts.” “No!” I managed to choke out, shaking my head frantically. “No, don’t. I’m just… I’m just so happy. These are tears of joy.” Marco just stared at me. 3 That night, I didn’t sleep. First, I called the real estate agent who’d been patiently showing me properties for months. I bought ten penthouses in the city’s most exclusive high-rises. All cash. Next, I called the luxury car salesman who always treated me with a polite, pitying deference. I ordered a McLaren in every color of the rainbow. Seven of them. Finally, I checked into the Emperor Suite at The Meridian Grand. I spent an hour just rolling around on the ten-foot-diameter bed. I clutched my phone, alternating between manic laughter and fits of relieved crying as I stared at my new bank balance. I finally drifted off to sleep just as the sky began to lighten. I was jolted awake by the shrill ring of my phone. It was Chloe’s mother, Brenda. “Leo Hayes, where are you? Weren’t you supposed to bring the seafood for the brunch? Are you dead somewhere?” “This is the day we discuss your future with Chloe! Her uncles are here, everyone’s here, and we’re all waiting to eat!” “Get your ass over here right now! Don’t make me tell Chloe to break up with you for good! You’ll never get the chance to worship the ground she walks on again!” Click. She hung up. On pure, conditioned instinct, I threw on my clothes and grabbed a cab to Chloe’s family home. It wasn’t until I was standing on her doorstep that the reality of my new life crashed back into me. I didn’t have to do this anymore. As I turned to leave, the door swung open. Brenda was standing there, holding takeout bags from a nice hotel. She shot me a look of pure disdain. “Here.” She shoved the bags into my arms. “Useless.” Then came the verbal assault. “I ask you to do one simple thing, and you can’t even manage that. What good are you for anything?” “You’re lucky you have money. Without it, you’d be absolutely worthless.” “The thought of my Chloe marrying a moron like you… it makes me sick. She deserves so much better.” She pushed past me into the house. The living room was filled with Chloe’s relatives, all of them eyeing me like a piece of meat. I stood there for a long moment, taking deep breaths, wanting nothing more than to walk away. But as I placed the takeout bags on the dining table, Brenda barked at me again. “Forget the food, we don’t need you for that. Come over here and let’s get this dowry conversation over with. Then you can go to that Michelin place downtown and pick up some of their tasting menus. Your uncles want the Wagyu and the sea urchin. Just looking at your pathetic face is ruining everyone’s appetite.” I pressed my lips together. This was it. Time to set the record straight. But before I could speak, Chloe’s eldest uncle cleared his throat. “Alright, let’s talk numbers. Chloe is the only girl in our family, the eldest of her generation. She has three younger cousins, my boys, who are all unmarried. Traditionally, her marriage should help secure their futures. I won’t beat around the bush. My oldest is twenty-eight. His girlfriend wants a half-million-dollar ring, a house, and a car. Three million should cover it.” The second uncle chimed in. “My son is still in college, also has a girlfriend. A nice girl, doesn’t want a dowry, but they’ll need a condo downtown and a luxury car. That’s probably five million, easy.” The third uncle sighed dramatically. “My boy’s only in elementary school. But if you factor in private school, college, a trust fund for a house and car, plus a seed fund for him to study abroad… ten million should be a safe bet.” The total came to eighteen million dollars. Brenda nodded approvingly. “Her uncles are being very reasonable, just thinking about your future together. I’m sure this amount is no problem for you, Leo. Then, of course, Chloe’s father and I will need a small fund for our retirement. Global travel, you know. A million a year should suffice, we can do it in installments. And Chloe, well, she’s accustomed to a certain lifestyle. A five-thousand-square-foot penthouse and a million-dollar sports car, both in her name only. That’s about it. You can handle the deed and title transfers as soon as she wakes up. You can wire us the rest of the money now.” As she spoke, the uncles all pulled out their phones, ready to show me their QR codes for the transfer.

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After the girl he loved fell to her death, my stepbrother hated me for ten years. Even after I used the most despicable means to make him completely mine. He never truly forgave me. Not until I fled the country in a fit of pique, only to get caught in a riot. And still, without a moment’s hesitation, my brother shielded me. He took a bullet and died. The last words he ever spoke, cradled in my arms, were: “I’m the one who spoiled you.” “I truly regret… ever becoming your brother.” Everyone said I was a monster. That I had ruined him—my brother, who had been so decent, so full of integrity his entire life. So I knelt on the long stone steps of a temple for fifty years. Begging for a chance to do it all over again. This time, I would let him have his perfect life. All I ask is that he lives a life of peace and happiness. 1 “Stella, look at this. Just look at the things you’ve written. Doesn’t it make you sick?” “How could you… feel this way about your own brother?” That voice. A voice I’d ached to hear for a lifetime. My eyes fluttered open. I saw Asher holding my journal, his face flushed crimson with fury. Inside that journal, I had poured out all of my— Desire. For him. But in that moment, I felt none of the shame of being exposed. Instead, a sob of pure relief broke from my lips. I was really back. I had been reborn into the moment of my first real fight with Asher, the day he discovered my forbidden feelings for him. Seeing him there, so vibrant and alive, sent a tremor through my entire body. Thank God. He’s alive. Asher must have noticed something was wrong. The fire in his eyes died down, replaced by a flicker of confusion. He pointed to the floor. “Take all of this… and burn it.” In my past life, those words had sent me into a hysterical frenzy. I had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. The shock on Asher’s face, the way he’d fled from me… that was the beginning of the distance that grew between us. And for me, that desperate, defiant kiss shattered the last of my restraints. It made me hate her—Lila Vance, the girl who stole my brother’s heart—even more. It was the catalyst for every tragedy that followed. So this time, I scrubbed the tears from my face with the back of my hand. I gathered the box filled with my journals. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll burn them.” 2 Those journals held a decade of my life with Asher. My mother and his were best friends, inseparable. But my mom had a weakness for love, and she fell for the wrong man—a monster who used his fists to speak. She died in a hospital bed when I was five. My father, a lifelong alcoholic, stumbled into a ditch and died on his way to turn himself in. Asher’s mom, my Aunt Clara, took me in. She passed away from cancer when Asher and I were just starting middle school. And just like that, in the sprawling, empty mansion, it was just us, and a handful of staff who were rarely seen. Asher was only a few months older than me, but it felt like a lifetime. I was a walking disaster, and he was the stoic little adult who followed behind me, cleaning up my messes. Aunt Clara was always working. The housekeepers and nannies had days off. When I had a stomach flu, Asher stayed up with me all night, holding my hand while the IV dripped into my arm. When I got into fights at school, he was the one who stood up for me. When thunderstorms terrified me, he would drag his pillow and blanket into my room and build a fort with me on my bed. Even after Lila fell, a tragedy he blamed entirely on me. Even when he hated me to his very core. When the chaos of the riot erupted around us, he still threw himself in front of me without a second thought. My brother was perfect in every way. Except for one thing. His love for me was the love of family. My love for him was a crime of the heart. In our last life, when our housekeeper, Maria, heard the news of Asher’s death, she collapsed, weeping. Our driver, Sam, had pointed a trembling finger at my face. “You’re a curse, Stella! A goddamn black hole. You won’t be happy until you’ve destroyed everyone around you, will you?” I remembered Asher’s final words. “I’m the one who spoiled you.” “I truly regret… ever becoming your brother.” He regretted it. And so did I. There was a monastery, north of the city, that was said to work miracles. I went there to pray that in the next life, Asher would never have to meet me. But my sins were too great. The abbot refused to see me. So I knelt. Year after year. The worn stone steps are stained with my blood, each mark a prayer from a bowed head. My hair turned from black to silver. Finally, when I was frail and close to death, the abbot granted me an audience. He said, “What has happened cannot be undone. But a new beginning may yet be possible.” “You are the calamity in his fate. If you do not resolve it, your efforts will be in vain.” He pressed a small, silk pouch into my wrinkled hand. “This will guide you, when the time for rebirth comes.” And when I woke up, the pouch was still clutched in my hand, proof that it wasn’t all a dream. This life, I won’t make the same mistakes. I will pay any price, as long as my brother can live in peace. 3 The next morning, on the way to school, neither of us mentioned what had happened. The silence in the car was thick enough to choke on. It wasn’t until we pulled up to the school that Asher finally broke it. “You need to apologize to Lila today for what you did a few days ago.” His tone was clipped, formal. He was clearly expecting a fight. But I just gave a small, quiet nod. “Okay.” Asher shot me a look of surprise. But in the end, he didn’t say another word. During lunch, I went to find Lila, just as I’d promised. It took me a while, but I finally found her. She was with Asher. The afternoon sun cast a warm, hazy glow over the bustling quad. Lila was laughing, playfully tapping her fist against Asher’s chest. The next second, she saw me. The laughter died on her lips. She flinched and scurried behind Asher, clutching the bandage on her hand as if I’d just appeared with a knife. Asher instinctively moved to shield her. “What are you doing here?” His words were laced with a cool distance. He’d already forgotten he was the one who sent me. I couldn’t really blame him for being on edge. I was, after all, a monster. My possessiveness over Asher was a suffocating, all-consuming thing. He was handsome, kind, and popular. There was never a shortage of girls interested in him. And I had driven every single one of them away. I had always interpreted Asher’s silent permission as something more, a sign that deep down, he felt the same way. That he wanted me. It was the same delusion that led me, in my past life, to drug his drink. To force him across a line that should never be crossed. He had fought against my touch, but even through his broken, ragged breaths, I convinced myself I heard pleasure. I ignored the fact that it was nothing more than an involuntary, physical reaction. But Lila was different. She was special to him. Even ten years after her death, Asher had never forgiven me. I forced down the acid bile of jealousy rising in my throat and took a deep breath. I walked over and gave Lila a deep, formal bow. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you the other day, and I never should have humiliated you in front of everyone. It was cruel and unacceptable.” I looked up, my voice trembling slightly. “Can you… can you forgive me?” Lila glanced nervously at Asher. When he remained silent, she finally answered. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I forgive you.” I straightened up, and my eyes met Asher’s. They were swirling with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. 4 In my past life, there was another reason I despised Lila. I’d seen her, more than once, getting a little too close to Ethan Carter, the school’s resident bad boy. Ethan was Asher’s sworn enemy. He was a malicious jerk who lived to make my brother’s life miserable. I was convinced Lila was a plant, sent by Ethan to mess with Asher’s head. That’s why I went after her so relentlessly. This time around, whatever the truth was, I had to find out. I needed to get the two people who were supposed to be together back on track. So, I started following Lila around, telling her how guilty I felt, how much I wanted to be her friend. She was wary at first. But when she saw I was being genuine, she slowly let her guard down. I started probing, trying to be subtle. “So… what do you think of my brother?” A blush crept up her neck. “Asher… he’s helped me so much. And he’s amazing with animals. He’s always feeding the stray cats around campus, he even raised money to get them all spayed and neutered.” She looked down, a soft smile on her face. “I think he’s a really kind person.” Of course. They were perfect for each other. And Lila really was a great person. She didn’t come from money, but she was smart and driven, attending our expensive private school on a full scholarship. The classic beautiful, resilient girl from the wrong side of the tracks. My brother was handsome, top of our class, and had a massive trust fund left to him by his mother. Anyone could see they were a perfect match. Even knowing this, my stomach churned with a bitter, acidic jealousy. That night, for the first time in what felt like forever, Asher knocked on my bedroom door. He didn’t come in. The last time he’d burst into my room without asking was when he’d found my journals. I spoke first, to put him at ease. “I’m just looking at college applications. There’s nothing else in here…” Ever since I’d been reborn, I could feel Asher pulling away, creating a careful distance between us. Even without the kiss, he couldn’t stomach the idea of the little sister he raised being in love with him. And even without the kiss, I couldn’t let him go. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Why haven’t you been coming home with me lately?” I was surprised. I didn’t think he’d even noticed. Because I have to learn how to live without you. The thought was a silent scream in my mind. Even now, I was looking at schools as far away from him as possible. He and Lila were both brilliant; they’d end up at the same Ivy League school, I was sure of it. Me? I just needed to be as far away as I could get. I fabricated a quick excuse. “Oh, Lila and I have been getting along really well. We decided to walk home together so we can hang out more.” The lie felt flimsy even to my own ears. Asher’s gaze was intense, drilling into me until my skin prickled. I lifted my chin defiantly. “Are we getting in your way?” He frowned and flicked me on the forehead. “What are you talking about? It’s not like that.” He ran a hand through his hair, a flash of frustration in his eyes. “Forget it. It’s… probably a good thing for you to make more friends.” 5 A few days later, I was walking home with Lila as planned. She had started to open up to me, and I felt I was getting closer to understanding the real reason she had died in our past life. Everyone thought I pushed her. Even Asher. After all, I had a history. But I didn’t. I never laid a finger on her. She had just… jumped. Sobbing. I wondered if something terrible was happening at home, something that would drive her to such desperation. “Lila,” I said, my voice earnest. “If anything is wrong, you have to tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll help you. I promise.” She froze, and then her eyes welled up with tears. She knew. Something was definitely wrong. She opened her mouth to speak. But before she could, a group of guys materialized from a side alley. They were trouble. They were carrying metal rods, the legs of disassembled school desks. I’d taken some self-defense classes when I was younger, and I managed to hold my own for a minute. But Lila wasn’t so lucky. I saw a pipe swinging towards her head. I didn’t think. I just moved. I shoved her out of the way and took the blow myself. The world exploded into blackness. When I came to, a searing pain shot from the back of my head down my spine. I was covered in mud, but the scene in front of me was so horrifying I barely registered my own state. Lila was lying on the ground next to me, naked. “Lila? Hey, Lila, what happened?” My voice was a raw, trembling whisper. I scrambled for my phone, my only thought to call Asher. But the screen was shattered, dead. Suddenly, a blinding light hit my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, recoiling. The sound of police sirens and Asher’s enraged voice blended into a chaotic roar. A powerful force shoved me backwards, my head cracking against a concrete step. “Stella! I actually thought you’d changed! Were you just waiting for the perfect moment to pull something like this?” Asher’s eyes were bloodshot, blazing with a fury I’d never seen before. It took me a second to understand. He thought I did this. “Ash, no… it wasn’t me.” He scooped Lila into his arms, wrapping his jacket around her. “You’re holding a phone, don’t tell me it wasn’t you! Delete those pictures right now. We’ll deal with this when we get home.” I watched, stunned, as he walked away, his back a rigid line of condemnation. Tears blurred my vision. “It really… wasn’t me…” My strength gave out, every muscle in my body turning to water. The world faded to black once again. 6 I dreamed of the last life, of another time Asher had been this furious with me. It was after Lila’s fall, when the police were questioning me. Asher slapped me. The first and only time. The sound of it echoed in the sterile interrogation room. “How could you do something like this?” “I am so… disappointed in you.” “I wish you were never my sister.” His eyes held a sorrow so deep it had become numb, a terrifying calm. I couldn’t blame him. On the rooftop that day, it had just been me and Lila. No one would believe that a brilliant student with a bright future would just randomly jump off a building. But even though Asher believed the worst of me, he still hired the best lawyers. There were no cameras on the roof. No direct evidence that I had pushed her. My fingerprints weren’t on her. But the possibility that I had coerced her, bullied her into jumping, remained. In the end, her death was ruled an accident. Asher paid a huge settlement to Lila’s mother. But she still showed up at school every day, screaming my name, calling me a murderer. So, Asher pulled us both out of school. I really did ruin his life. If it hadn’t been for me, what a brilliant future he would have had. It didn’t matter what the world thought. For Asher, the simple, devastating truth was that his sister had killed the girl he loved. From that day forward, nothing was ever the same. I woke with a gasp, the dream clinging to me like a shroud. I was in my own bedroom. Asher was asleep in the chair beside my bed. He looked exhausted, with dark, bruised circles under his eyes. As my eyes fluttered open, his shot open too, a flicker of light returning to their depths. And then he was holding me, his arms wrapped around me in a crushing embrace. 7 It turned out Lila had woken up before me. She told them everything. That I had been knocked out trying to save her. That the group of guys had taken pictures of her and run off. Asher held me, his body trembling uncontrollably. He kept murmuring the same words over and over again. “I’m sorry, Stella. I’m so sorry.” “It was my fault. I misjudged you.” “I didn’t protect you, and then I accused you without even listening. You should hit me, you should scream at me…” His shaking was so violent, so palpable, that a hot wave of tears started to burn my own eyes. All the fear and hurt from the past few days came pouring out. I buried my face in his shirt, my sobs and tears soaking the fabric. “No, Ash! It’s all my fault!” “If I hadn’t been such a monster before, you wouldn’t have had a reason not to trust me!” I shook my head wildly, desperate for him to believe me. “I was wrong, I was so wrong. I’ll never cause trouble for you again, I swear!” “I won’t… I won’t think about you that way anymore. I just want to be your sister. Forever.” I felt his body stiffen for a split second. Then, his hand began to gently pat my back. We stayed like that for a long, long time. It felt as if the chasm that had opened between us might finally be closing. Asher eventually pulled away and brought over a bowl of soup from my bedside table. “Here. Eat something.” He gently tied my hair back and draped a robe over my shoulders. “I’m going to go out and get you those cream puffs you love, from the bakery downtown. To make it up to you.” He paused at the door, his expression serious. “When I get back, there’s something important I need to tell you.” I watched him go, a strange feeling settling over me. Something about him had shifted. It was as if he’d finally made up his mind about something monumental. But I waited for a long time, and he didn’t come back. Instead, a text message from Lila lit up my phone. [Stella, please, I’m begging you. Meet me on the school rooftop.] [You have to come alone.] [Please…]

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Clara’s prized protégé, Leo, loved to brag he could crack a chest one-handed. When his performance failed, he stared at the patient’s unclosing thoracic cavity, dropped the bone saw with a clatter, and ran. I got the call in the dead of night. I was the one who rushed to the hospital and, against all odds, saved the man’s life. In the aftermath, Leo was crucified online, his career facing total annihilation. Clara, my girlfriend, wanted to defend him, but I held her back, my grip tight on her arm. “If you speak up for him now, at this exact moment,” I warned, my voice low, “you can kiss the Whittaker Grant goodbye. And they won’t just come for him. They’ll come for you, too.” Leo couldn’t handle the vitriol. He threw himself into the river. His suicide note was a testament written in blood and tears, each line a furious accusation against Clara for not taking his side. Clara said nothing. She simply held the note to a flame and watched it turn to ash. In the years that followed, she ascended. From the Whittaker Grant to a full fellowship, she became a titan in the medical world, a name spoken with reverence. The day of my own surgery, she insisted on being the one to wield the scalpel. She did it one-handed. As I lay there, my own chest gaping open, she angled a mirror so I could see the reflection of my own undoing. “See?” she whispered, her voice a cold, smooth stone. “A chest can be opened with one hand. “Why did you have to make it so hard for Leo? “If I had just stopped you that night, he would be the one standing here right now. Not me.” A surge of rage and betrayal choked me. I felt a final, hot burst in my chest, and then, darkness. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day of Leo’s disastrous performance, watching Clara ready herself to charge into the fray for him. What she didn’t know, what she couldn’t possibly understand, was that the man on the table was Arthur Richmond. And his sister, the matriarch of the Richmond family empire, was protective of her brother to a terrifying, absolute degree. 1 The moment I realized I had returned to the day of Leo’s one-handed stunt, the very first thing I did was turn off my phone. I slept until the sun sliced through my blinds. The next morning, I powered it on. Ninety-nine-plus missed calls, just as I expected. In my last life, the second Leo knew he’d screwed up beyond repair, he’d blown up my phone, begging me to come clean up his mess. And I did. Despite having just finished a triple-header of surgeries, despite having slept for less than an hour, I had dragged myself out of bed. I’d driven through a blizzard, racing back to the hospital to spend the entire night wrestling a man back from the brink of death. I saved his life. And because I did, his sister—Sloane Richmond, the iron-willed CEO of one of the country’s most powerful private equity firms—showed a sliver of mercy. She didn’t obliterate Leo. She simply allowed him to face the standard medical board review and disciplinary action. If Leo had just weathered that storm, he could have eventually returned to his post, maybe even salvaged his career. But he had spent his entire life sheltered and adored by Clara. He’d never known real hardship. The tidal wave of online hate was more than he could bear. He jumped. This time, when I walked into the hospital, the scene was one of controlled chaos. Leo was slumped against the wall outside the OR, his face a mask of vacant horror. My colleagues were a blur of motion, their scrubs stained crimson. “This is on you!” one of them hissed at Leo, his hands trembling with adrenaline and rage. “We told you it was reckless! A one-handed crack? Are you insane?” “Just because Dr. Pierce fast-tracked you into this residency doesn’t give you the right to play God!” another snapped. “Well, look where it got us! We’ve barely got a thread of a pulse. He’s circling the drain. If he dies on our watch and his sister finds out, none of us—none of us—will ever work in this city again!” An alarm shrieked from inside the operating room, a high, flat-lining keen. One of the nurses sank to the floor, her face ashen. “It’s over… We’re all done for…” A younger resident, fresh out of med school, started to openly sob. “Why wasn’t Dr. Hayes on call last night? If he were here, he’d know what to do…” “It’s too late now. It’s over.” Leo’s head shot up. His eyes, vacant moments before, locked onto me. A flicker of something predatory sparked in their depths. “It was him!” he shouted, pointing a shaky finger. “I was calling him all night! Over and over! But his phone was off! We’re not the ones who killed this patient! He is! The man who could have saved him but deliberately shut his phone off!” Every head whipped in my direction. “Dr. Hayes!” “Lucas… is that true? Was your phone really off on purpose?” “Of course it was!” Leo scrambled to his feet, shoving his call log in everyone’s face. Ninety-nine calls. He stalked toward me, his eyes red-rimmed and wild. “Dr. Hayes, a life was on the line. We’re doctors. Our phones are supposed to be on 24/7. You knew there was a major cardiothoracic surgery scheduled for last night. You knew you’re the best we’ve got. To turn your phone off at a time like this… Lucas, what the hell were you thinking?” Crack. The sound of my hand striking his cheek echoed in the corridor. I stood over him, my voice ice. “Have you lost your mind, Leo?” The commotion had drawn staff from other departments. They were gathering, watching. I raised my voice, ensuring they could all hear. “The on-call roster is posted in black and white. Last night’s surgery was your responsibility, Dr. Sterling. Not mine. Yes, it seems my phone died. But the person who signed the chart, the person ultimately responsible for that man in there, is you.” Leo’s face went pale. “You can’t hide behind a schedule when a man is dying! Your phone is never off. It was only off yesterday. You were targeting me, weren’t you, Lucas? That’s fine. But you don’t get to gamble with a patient’s life to prove a point!” He was so righteous, so utterly convincing, that some of the patients and families lingering in the hallway began to murmur. They were buying it. They were starting to believe I’d intentionally left a rookie to fail just to watch him burn. Before I could speak, one of my colleagues stepped forward. “Shut up, Leo! Just shut your damn mouth! Do you have any idea that Dr. Hayes performed three back-to-back marathon surgeries yesterday? He survived on two bites of a protein bar and a bottle of glucose water!” “Exactly!” another chimed in. “While you’re sitting in the resident’s lounge complaining about paperwork, he’s putting in the hours. He didn’t get home until after midnight. Forgetting to plug in a phone that’s been running nonstop for 36 hours isn’t a conspiracy, it’s called exhaustion!” Family members of a patient I had operated on yesterday nodded in agreement. “Besides,” the first colleague added, his voice firm, “Dr. Hayes fulfilled his duties during his shift. Last night was his time off. He wasn’t on call. This wasn’t his responsibility.” The murmuring crowd fell silent. The truth settled over them. Even the residents who had been in the OR with Leo looked away, unable to meet my gaze. “He’s right, Leo. This one’s on us. We just got dealt a bad hand.” Leo staggered back, slumping to the floor again. His lips were white. “What is all this commotion!” The hospital director, Dr. Wallace, appeared at the end of the hall, her voice sharp with authority. Behind her, her face a mask of cold fury, was Clara. I started to speak, but she walked straight past me without a glance. She went to Leo, kneeling down and helping him gently to his feet. “It’s okay,” she murmured, just for him. “I’m here. I’ll find a way to fix this. You’re going to be okay.” Dr. Wallace’s glare dispersed the crowd. Then, she jerked her head toward her office. I followed her. The second the door closed, her stern facade crumbled. Panic flooded her eyes. “Lucas! I know you’re not officially involved, but you have to save him! You have to! That man is Arthur Richmond. If he dies in our hospital, Sloane Richmond will burn this place to the ground, and every single one of us, you included, will be caught in the fire!” I let out a slow breath. The truth was, the only reason I’d dared to turn off my phone was because I knew my team. They were good. They were good enough to keep a patient stabilized, to keep him alive long enough for me to get a full night’s sleep. Long enough for me to arrive this morning with leverage. I looked Dr. Wallace dead in the eye. “The responsibility for what happened today doesn’t just fall on Leo. It falls on Clara, too.” The director stared at me, confused. I slid a document across her desk. It was a formal proposal for an experimental surgical technique. At the bottom was Clara’s signature, authorizing Leo to perform it. “Leo’s one-handed showboating,” I said calmly. “Clara personally approved it. We are all shouldering an insane amount of risk to pay for their arrogance. So, yes, Director, I can clean up this mess. But Leo can’t be the only one who faces consequences.” I leaned forward, my hands flat on her desk. “If you don’t handle Clara, something like this will happen again. And next time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to save this hospital.” Dr. Wallace’s expression hardened. Clara was her star, the protégé she had mentored since medical school. But the hospital’s survival, its very existence, was on the line. And right now, she needed me to save Sloane Richmond’s brother. “That arrogant little…!” She slammed the signed proposal down on the desk. “After everything I’ve done for her, she pulls a stunt like this!” She looked up at me, her eyes flinty. “Don’t you worry. Her application for the Whittaker Grant? It’s dead on my desk. Her promotion track? Canceled. From now on, she’ll be handling basic consults and paperwork. She will never be trusted with a core surgical position in this hospital again.” A slow smile touched my lips. I picked up the pen. With that single action, the glittering path that had led Clara from the Whittaker Grant to medical stardom in her past life had just been severed. It was a long day. From morning until well past nightfall, I worked. Slowly, painstakingly, Arthur Richmond’s vitals began to stabilize. My scrubs were soaked through with sweat. The moment I stepped out of the OR, my legs gave out and I collapsed. A colleague forced a bottle of glucose into my hand and I drank it down, the sugar slowly bringing the world back into focus. The same residents who had been in the OR with Leo gathered around me, their eyes filled with tears of gratitude. “Thank you, Dr. Hayes,” one of them choked out, gripping my hand. “Without you… I don’t know what we would have done.” “It’s true,” another added. “Sloane Richmond is ruthless. If her brother had died… she might have gone after our families.” I reassured them as best I could. Finally, I was free to go home, to fall into bed. I was in the underground parking garage when a footstep behind me made the hairs on my neck stand up. I spun around. Nothing. Just rows of cars and concrete pillars. Muttering to myself, I turned back toward my car. A cloth clamped over my face, and the world went black. A sweet, chemical scent flooded my senses as my consciousness faded. When I woke, my right hand was chained to a heavy steel table. In the dim, flickering light of a single bare bulb, I could just make out the silhouette of the person standing over me. “Clara!” The hand holding me down flinched. I was bound to a chair, and I thrashed against the restraints. “Clara, it’s you! I know it’s you, isn’t it? Whatever you’re planning, we can talk about it! Please… just let me go! I saved him! For you, I saved Leo’s ass!” The figure paused. When she spoke, her voice was a ghost of a sigh. “No, Lucas. You saved him from Sloane Richmond’s immediate wrath. But you still let him be cast as a villain, a reckless, incompetent doctor. You left him to face the world alone.” Her voice hardened. “I’m sorry. If you truly want to help him, there’s only one way. You have to lose a hand.” My blood ran cold. “That way,” she continued, her tone unnervingly calm, “no one will believe you performed the surgery. They’ll credit the miracle to Leo. I’ll talk to the other residents. I’ll delete the surgical logs. Lucas… this time, you have to help him. For real.” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Clara!” A heavy cleaver, glinting in the dim light, was raised high above her head. I bucked against my restraints, a primal scream tearing from my throat. “I’m a surgeon! My hands… how will I live without my hand?!” The cleaver paused mid-air. The yellow light caught a flicker of something—pity? regret?—in her eyes. “I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life, Lucas.” “Wait!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “If you do this, you’ll never practice medicine again either! They’ll find out!” She shook her head slowly. “Dr. Wallace is my mentor. She would never let it come to that. Don’t worry. I have the power to stay in this world, to protect you forever.” “She’s already abandoned you!” Her body went rigid for a second, then she let out a small, dismissive laugh. “No. She wouldn’t.” CRUNCH. “AAGGHHH!”

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The day I defended my dissertation, Aubrey, the woman who’d spent four years trying to steal me, apologized. She apologized for hiring a parade of men to hit on my girlfriend, Clara. Every single one of them had been shot down. Aubrey rubbed the bridge of her nose, a failed strategist assessing a lost battle. “Okay, so the methods were a little low-rent,” she admitted. “But look on the bright side. It proves Clara’s a keeper.” “I’ll be sure to send you a wedding invitation,” I said, my voice dry. I was about to let it go when Aubrey waved her phone. “Right, about that. The eighteenth guy I sent just crashed and burned. Apparently, Clara really lost her temper with him.” She gave me a look that was equal parts mischief and plea. “You should probably head back and smooth things over. Maybe… explain my part in this?” I sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion, and agreed. I booked the next Acela home. On the way from the station, I stopped to pick up a slice of that ridiculously expensive cheesecake from the bakery Clara loves and her favorite oat milk latte. But when I opened the door to our apartment, the first thing I saw was the wreckage. A vase, a stack of mail, a framed photo—all of it scattered across the floor as if thrown in a rage. I knelt to pick up the pieces. And as I looked up, my eyes caught on the sliver of a view through the half-open bedroom door. Two pairs of feet, one overlapping the other. 1 The air in my lungs turned to ice. It wasn’t until the sharp, digging pain of my own fingernails biting into my palm that my mind rebooted. The clock on the wall kept ticking. Methodical. Uncaring. Its hands swept past 11:30. I remembered scrolling through Instagram as I got out of the elevator just minutes before. The cake box was awkward, so I’d shoved my phone in my pocket to free a hand for the keys. The lock had clicked open. The screen had shown 11:23 PM. It only took a minute to get from the front door to where I was now. Which meant I’d been squatting here, completely paralyzed, for six minutes. I tried to stand, but my legs were numb, refusing the command. I tipped backward, landing hard on the floor with a dull thud. The sound wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t silent, either. The people in the bedroom gave no sign they’d heard. This was our home, Clara’s and mine. She had moved to Boston for me, quitting her job and facing the daunting prospect of starting over in a new city just shy of thirty. She’d done it without a second thought, just to be with me while I finished my program. I’ve never wanted marriage or kids, and Clara always said she felt the same. Her parents, however, did not. So, in a move of brilliant defiance, she’d bought this one-bedroom apartment herself. It was a clear message to them: You can visit, but you can’t stay. You can worry, but you can’t interfere. After a few futile attempts to change our minds, they finally backed off. The day they left, defeated, Clara had slammed the door, thrown her arms around my neck, and pressed her face into my chest. “We did it, babe!” she’d whispered, her voice giddy with victory. “It’s perfect. On weekends, you can put on your jazz records in the living room, and I’ll be right here in the kitchen making your favorite pasta. We can just… talk. All the time. Imagine how happy we’ll be.” And we were. The open-plan kitchen flowed into the living room, a single, shared space. I could be reading on the couch and murmur a thought, and she’d answer from the stove. Even if I was in the bedroom, as long as the door was open, she could hear me. That was the benefit of a small apartment. So I knew. I knew with absolute certainty that she could hear the sound of me falling. As surely as I could hear the slow, steady rhythm of two people breathing—his and hers—drifting from the bedroom and wrapping around me in the quiet of the living room. 2 My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Aubrey. Leo, did you explain? So sorry, today was a mess. I’ll take you and Clara out for a proper apology dinner soon! Promise! My thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the cool glass, but I couldn’t form a single word. Maybe it was the text, the intrusion of the outside world, that finally broke the spell. My sense of reality came crashing back. My gaze moved from the phone to the pristine cake box on the counter, to the shattered frame on the floor, and back to the sliver of the doorway. To the two pairs of feet. The legs on top of Clara’s were tattooed. A thorny, blue rose, stark and aggressive against his skin. It was vivid. Piercing. The image stabbed straight through the fog in my brain. In an instant, every hair on my body stood on end. The pain was no longer an illusion; it was a physical certainty. There was no escape. Clara was ruined for me. My hand still ached from where I’d braced myself, but I got to my feet and walked to the bedroom door. I stopped just outside. Inside, Clara was sleeping peacefully. Her long dark hair was fanned out across the pillow and a bare, muscular arm that was draped over her chest. The arm with the blue rose tattoo. For a moment, I thought I could smell it. A cloying, artificial fragrance emanating from his skin, filling the small room. I hesitated. Go in and wake her up? Or just turn around and walk out? Was I angry? Of course. The approved, masculine response would be to storm in, maybe throw a punch. But I knew, deep down, that what I felt most intensely wasn’t anger. It was a profound, hollowing grief. I lowered my eyes, took two steps back, and pulled out my phone. Then I sat down on the couch. And I called her. Years later, after she had tried and failed to win me back countless times, Clara would break down and scream at me, asking why I didn’t just confront her then and there. By that time, someone else had already answered the question for me. But I never told Clara the truth. The truth was this: from the moment I stood in that hallway and saw everything, my world had already redrawn its borders, and she was no longer inside them. She just didn’t know it yet. 3 Her personal ringtone—a silly, upbeat melody—played twice before she answered, her voice thick with sleep. “Hey, babe? What’s up?” In stark contrast to her lazy tone, I heard a sudden, frantic rustling from the room behind the wall. I had no energy for games. “Come out,” I said, my voice flat. Clara stammered, fumbling over the words as if she didn’t understand them. “Come… come out where? Babe, don’t mess with me. Oh, did you order food for me?” “I’ll be right there to get it—” “Come. Out.” A muffled yelp from the bedroom, then a low male voice complaining. “Shit, I hit my head…” The line went fuzzy as Clara covered the receiver. But the wall was thin, and I could hear her hissing at him to be quiet. She came back on the line, her voice artificially bright. “Babe, I’m actually out right now. Can I just grab it when I get home?” I didn’t say a word. I just raised my phone, switched to a video call, and aimed the camera at the shattered picture frame, the mess on the floor, the whole damning scene. Clara went silent. For several seconds, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator. I repeated my command, my voice low and steady. “Come out. To the living room.” Clara always had a strong sense of accountability. It was one of the things I’d loved about her. In college, when our senior project went completely off the rails, she was the group leader. Without consulting any of us, she took the full blame. I stayed late with her, trying to help fix the mess, but it was a lost cause. Later, she found me on the athletic field, staring into space, and handed me a warm can of coffee. “It’s okay,” she’d said, her voice soft. “Don’t stress. Worst case, I’ll go back to the professor and take the hit. That’s what two shoulders are for, right?” Throughout our relationship, she was always the first to tackle a problem, to initiate the difficult conversation. Which is why I was so completely unprepared for the sight of her emerging from the bedroom, physically shielding the man behind her. I just stared. My heart, which had been numb, suddenly seized. A bitter, acidic wave of nausea and hurt washed through me. “Leo,” she said, her voice a fragile whisper. I didn’t answer. Seeing my gaze fixed on them, she instinctively moved to block him more completely, a mother animal protecting her young. The tall, lanky figure behind her was almost completely obscured. “He just drank too much,” she pleaded. “Don’t blame him.” “Leo, listen to me. Nothing happened. It was just…” Her voice twisted and warped, fading in and out as if I were hearing it from underwater. She was still trying to explain, to manage the situation, to fix it. All I felt was a violent surge of revulsion climbing from the pit of my stomach. I doubled over— And vomited all over the floor. 4 “Gross…” The guy flinched back, pulling at the leg of his jeans where some of the mess had splattered. He wrinkled his nose and complained to Clara. She had been reaching for me, but her hand froze in mid-air. She immediately turned her back on me, knelt, and began wiping his pants with a tissue she’d had in her hand. A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I looked around for the tissue box. It had been moved. I finally spotted it on the far corner of the coffee table, near where she was kneeling. Out of my reach. I was about to get a napkin from my briefcase when the box slid across the table toward me. “Here.” The guy was leaning over Clara, one hand braced on her shoulder, his torso pressed against her back. He pushed the box in my direction. He pointed a single finger at my face. “You should wipe your mouth. Got some on your collar, too.” A smirk played on his lips, his eyes glinting with a clear, goading challenge. For a second, I couldn’t tell if he was this committed to fulfilling Aubrey’s mission, or if this was just who he was. A sudden yelp from him answered my question. He’d lost his balance, his lean frame toppling forward. Clara broke his fall, collapsing onto the floor with him landing squarely on top of her. To steady him, one of her hands gripped his shoulder, while the other pressed flat against his lower abdomen. I saw Clara’s lips part, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. It took her a long moment to remember I was even in the room. When she finally pushed him off, a perfect, five-fingered imprint was visible on the taut muscles of his stomach. “It’s still dirty,” he whined. Clara scrambled to her feet and nudged him toward the bathroom. “Go on, wash it off.” He glanced from her to me, then bit his lip and reluctantly disappeared into the bathroom. Clara’s eyes followed him until the door clicked shut. Only when the sound of the shower started did she finally turn to me, rubbing her temples. “We need to talk,” she said. 5 “He was drunk.” Clara sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. On the coffee table, a little yellow roly-poly toy wobbled back and forth, its painted smile mocking the silence. I waited, but she said nothing else. My eyes drifted to the exposed skin of her neck, to the bright red mark blooming just below her ear. I felt the corner of my mouth pull into a sneer. “And that’s your explanation?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “He was so drunk that your hands were tied and you couldn’t push him away? So drunk that your mouth was glued shut and you couldn’t call 911?” I took a step closer. “He gets drunk, and you lose all ability to function?” “Clara,” I said, the name feeling like poison on my tongue. “If you slept with him, just say it. Stop with the performance.” Her face went rigid, a mask of sallow gray. Veins pulsed in her forehead. “Leo! We didn’t sleep together! Nothing happened!” she finally spat out, her voice raw. “Why do you always have to assume the worst in people?” Her stare was hot enough to burn holes in me. I laughed. “You mean, why do I see others as I see myself? That I’m the disgusting one, and you two are the saints here? Is that it?” “That’s not… that’s not what I mean.” Her voice faltered as the sound of the shower cut off. She propped her head in her hands and let out a long, shuddering breath. “He was heartbroken over a breakup. He drank way too much… and we only have one bed, so I let him sleep there.” “He started thrashing around in his sleep, so I was just sitting on the edge of the bed looking after him. I must have fallen asleep. I probably just rolled onto the bed by habit.” “Clara,” I interrupted, my voice devoid of all warmth. “There’s no couch in this apartment?” “And who the hell is he to you? So important that you have to personally tuck him in?” Just then, my phone buzzed again. It was Aubrey. She’d sent a video. The thumbnail showed her smiling next to a handsome, rugged-looking guy. As my thumb hovered over the play button, Clara finally answered. “He’s my cousin.” My head snapped up. “I’ve told you about him before. Ethan.” 6 The warm coffee cup touched the back of my hand, and I looked up to see Aubrey’s apologetic smile. At five-foot-three, she had to tilt her head up to meet my eyes. Her hair was curled softly, framing a face with delicate, willow-leaf brows and wide, sincere eyes. She looked completely harmless. “I’m sorry, Leo. The whole ‘testing your girlfriend’ thing was a bad idea.” I took the coffee, poking the straw through the lid. The rich scent of hazelnut filled the air. As I took a sip, Aubrey spoke again. “So, about that video I sent last week… Did Clara see it?” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “She wasn’t too mad, was she?” It took me a second to realize which video she meant. The one she and Ethan had sent as a joint apology. In it, he had raised a glass to the camera, looking envious. “Dude, a girl who turned down eighteen guys for you? You marry her! Girls like Clara are a rare find these days!” he’d said, a row of silver studs in his earlobe glinting under the bar lights. He winked. “My cousin’s a trust fund kid who likes to break things, but she hit a brick wall this time, haha. Don’t you pay her any mind, man!” In the video, Aubrey had just smiled sheepishly and admitted defeat. “She kicked a professional model out before he could even finish his sentence. I was starting to think she was allergic to men.” She’d shrugged. “Tall, short, fat, skinny… I tried every type. I’m out of ideas. Maybe she really is just crazy about you.” She’d raised her own glass. “A love like that is rare. I can admit I can’t compete. I wish you two a long and happy life.” My phone hadn’t been on silent that night. Every word had been perfectly clear to both of us. The video had started playing the second after she’d said the man in our bed was her cousin, Ethan. The look on her face had frozen instantly. Her expression shifted from defensiveness to a kind of horrified, contemptuous disbelief. “So, those men… you sent them to test me?” she’d whispered, her eyes narrowed. “No wonder. No wonder you were so upset.” She’d taken a breath, her composure returning as she found her angle of attack. “Don’t you have any fault in this? For doing something so invasive, so disrespectful? Were you ever once angry for me?” The irony was suffocating. I remembered all the times her friends had made crude, boundary-crossing jokes at my expense. When I’d mentioned it to her later, she’d just smiled placatingly. “Did they do anything really out of line?” she’d asked. And when I couldn’t point to a specific, egregious act, she’d shrugged. “That’s just how people are. We’re adults. Sometimes you just have to let things go.” I’d adjusted. I’d learned to believe it wasn’t a big deal. And now she was throwing the same accusation back at me. When I didn’t respond, she let out a quiet, sharp scoff. The tension in her shoulders vanished. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you, Leo?” she’d said, her voice dripping with scorn. “Disappointed you didn’t actually catch us in the act.” In that moment, a feeling even worse than nausea washed over me. It was a cold, alienating disgust. My jaw tightened. “So you think you and your cousin sleeping in the same bed is nothing?” Clara didn’t speak, but her expression screamed, Obviously. What else would it be? “Admit it, Leo,” she’d said, pressing her advantage. “Sending people to test me was wrong. The original sin was yours.” This time, it was my turn to be silent. The silence stretched until the clock on the wall struck midnight, and the custom alarm Clara had recorded for me years ago filled the room. Hey, genius! Midnight! Time to rest. You can’t change the world if you’re asleep at your desk! She’d recorded it in her dorm room back in our senior year, worried I was spending too many nights in the lab. For a split second, the woman before me vanished, replaced by the ghost of the girl who had shyly handed my phone back to me all those years ago, a secret smile on her face. The aluminum volume button felt cold against my thumb. I slowly lowered my head and turned the alarm off. When I looked up again, the clock read 12:01. I looked at Clara, my expression calm, and told her we were over.

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The world was a smear of sound and pain. The screech of tires on asphalt, the sickening grind of metal against bone, and then a darkness that smelled of gasoline and hot rubber. I was being lifted, the world tilting crazily. A voice cut through the fog. “This one’s critical. Prep him for surgery now. Get ahold of his family to sign consent.” A wave of something—adrenaline, maybe just pure terror—cleared my head for a second. I tried to lift a hand that felt like it belonged to someone else. “My wife… Claire… she’s busy. I can sign.” Before the words fully left my mouth, another voice sliced through the chaos. A voice I knew better than my own. “Help him first!” My wife, Claire, wasn’t in court. She wasn’t arguing a case. She was here, in the ER, clinging to the arm of the man who had just run me down. Her voice was sharp with a panic I hadn’t heard in years. She pushed past me, a blur of motion, and confronted the doctor. “He just had heart surgery. His condition is far more delicate!” She didn’t even glance at my gurney. At the blood that was turning my shirt from blue to a dark, sticky crimson. “I’m the patient’s wife,” she declared, her voice ringing with the authority she used in a courtroom. “I can vouch for the other driver. I’m a lawyer. I understand the liability, and I accept it.” “But ma’am, your husband’s injuries appear more severe…” the doctor stammered, clearly thrown. Claire’s gaze was fixed on the other man. “He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than he looks. Just take care of the driver. If anything happens, it’s on me.” Claire! The name screamed in my head. Who is your husband? And as if to answer, while I was still bleeding in a hallway, my life hanging by a thread, she helped the man who hit me file a lawsuit against me. 1 The impact hadn’t just thrown me; it had dragged me. I remembered the scrape of my back against the pavement, a sound that felt like it was happening inside my own skull. They had me prepped for the OR, a green-lit room of salvation at the end of the hall. But it was snatched away. My wife, Claire, steered the man who hit me—the man she was supposed to be suing—into that room instead. Because she was a top-tier lawyer, because she was willing to sign a waiver absolving the hospital of any malpractice, I was left behind. She finally looked at me then, at the blood soaking through the sheets. Her brow furrowed, but not in concern. It was annoyance. She turned away and began comforting the driver, her voice a low, soothing murmur I hadn’t heard directed at me since our honeymoon. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to him. “I’ll handle this whole accident. You won’t have to worry about a thing. You won’t bear any responsibility. Just focus on getting better.” Accident? Was that what you called it when a man inexplicably swerved across two lanes to hit you? When he dragged you for twenty feet without braking? You’re my wife, Claire. How could you abandon me to defend the man who did this? The pain sharpened my focus, clearing the fog. I stared at her, my mind a storm of disbelief and heartbreak. She didn’t notice. Her entire world was focused on the man she’d just saved. Only when they wheeled him into the operating room did she turn away. I thought, naively, that she would come to me, offer some twisted explanation. Instead, she walked right past my gurney without a second glance and approached the police officer who was taking notes. After a brief, hushed conversation, the officer asked about her relationship to the incident. She didn’t hesitate. “I’m the driver’s defense attorney. I’m also the wife of the man he hit.” The cop’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced from her to me, then back again. “Ma’am, with all due respect, this seems pretty clear-cut,” he said, tapping his notepad. “The driver ran a red light and failed to yield to a pedestrian. It’s all on the dashcam. Even for a lawyer like you, that’s an open-and-shut case.” Claire was unfazed. “The driver experienced a sudden cardiac event while operating the vehicle. His doctors can confirm this. He had no malicious intent. According to state law, this should be treated as a medical incident, not a traffic violation.” She cited statutes and precedents with a chilling calm. After a quick call to the hospital, the officer begrudgingly conceded her point. And just like that, I was no longer a victim. I was an inconvenience. I lay there in the hallway, a piece of hospital furniture, watching the staff hurry past. Claire, her legal duties done, bought a bouquet of flowers from the gift shop and stood vigil outside the operating room. Not my operating room. His. I reached out, my fingers brushing the fabric of her coat. “Claire,” I rasped. “It hurts so much.” She flinched away as if I’d burned her. “Stop acting.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and meticulously wiped the spot my bloody fingers had touched. Her face was a mask of cold fury. “I didn’t ask you to get hit by a car, Leo. Don’t be so dramatic.” The world went light. A strange floating sensation took over. The sheet beneath me turned from damp to saturated. A young intern rushed over, glanced at my pupils, and then pressed gently on my abdomen. He screamed. “Doctor! Get Dr. Matthews in here, now! This patient has a lacerated liver! He’s bleeding out!” Claire was right there. She must have heard. But she didn’t turn. Her eyes were glued to the OR doors, which were just swinging open. As a team of medics descended on me, Claire rushed toward the man being wheeled out. “Doctor, is he okay?” she asked, her voice trembling. “His heart condition is so complex. Will there be any permanent damage?” The surgeon shook his head. “He’s fine. It was just a transient ischemic attack brought on by shock. We ran a full workup. He’s perfectly healthy.” Just then, they pushed my gurney past them. The surgeon’s head snapped around, his eyes widening at the river of red I was lying in, a foul, metallic smell now rising from the sheets. He grabbed his pager. “Code Blue! Code Blue, Trauma One!” The hospital’s PA system exploded to life with a repeating, urgent chime. “Rapid Response Team to the ER. Rapid Response Team to the ER.” I was rushed toward surgery, but the nurse was frantic. “We need a signature on the consent forms! Where did his wife go?” “The lawyer for the other driver?” a young resident asked. “Yes! She was just here!” “She’s gone,” the resident said, sounding disgusted. “She arranged a transfer for her client to a private cardiac center upstate. I saw her getting into the ambulance with him. I called out to her, but she just looked at me and the doors closed.” “What do we do?” the nurse cried. “His spleen just ruptured. We can’t wait!” “There’s no choice. We operate now and deal with the paperwork later.” I was plunged back into the green-lit room. The world faded, but then, halfway through the procedure, it came rushing back. My body has a bizarrely high tolerance for anesthesia. I was awake, paralyzed, a spectator to my own dissection. I saw the sweat beading on my surgeon’s forehead, the grim, focused faces of the nurses. The nurse reading my vitals choked back a sob. “BP is dropping. He’s not responding.” “We’re out of O-negative! Call the other blood banks, now!” “I can’t reach his wife. The calls go straight to voicemail.” “What the hell is wrong with this woman?” another voice muttered. “She won’t answer our calls, but she just sent a text to the patient’s phone. Looks like… a notice of intent to sue?” Sue? Sue me for what? Through the haze, I heard the surgeon say, his voice dripping with disbelief, “Her husband is dying on my table, and she’s helping the guy who hit him sue him for… intentional damage to property and negligence.” Me? She was suing me. On behalf of the man who tried to kill me. Who was this guy? As the alarms on the machines began to scream in a single, deafening chorus, the world finally, mercifully, went black. 2 I thought that was it. The end. But I woke up. The first thing I saw was the acoustic tile of a hospital ceiling. I had never been so happy to see something so boring. A doctor came in, checked my chart. “You’re a very lucky man,” he said. “We’ll need to keep you in observation for a while. Let us know if you feel any discomfort.” I nodded weakly. As he left, the door opened again. It was Claire. She wasn’t alone. She was holding hands with him. The driver. “Still alive?” Claire said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “I have to admit, seeing the amount of blood you lost, I didn’t think you’d make it. Since you did, I guess we can proceed with the lawsuit.” She dropped a thick legal folder onto my lap. The papers slid onto the thin hospital blanket. And there, on the top page, was his name: Asher Vance. Asher. The Asher. The ghost from her college photo albums, the name she’d let slip once after too much wine. Her “one that got away.” “After reviewing traffic camera footage and the dashcam from Mr. Vance’s car,” Claire said, her voice formal, rehearsed, “we’ve concluded that you intentionally stepped in front of his vehicle. Mr. Vance is therefore suing you for damages and personal injury.” Intentionally? I stared at her, the woman I had loved for eight years. The world swam, a fog of tears blurring her sharp, cold face. I had almost died on a cold steel table, and she felt nothing. Worse than nothing. She felt… opportunistic. “If the surgery has muddled your memory, allow me to refresh it,” she continued. “The crosswalk signal was green. All other pedestrians were moving. You alone stopped in the middle of the street and stood there until the light changed and Asher’s car was already proceeding through the intersection. Your behavior suggests intent.” A laugh, raw and broken, escaped my lips. It sounded like tearing fabric. She didn’t know why I stopped? She really didn’t know? That car—a midnight blue Audi A5—was the birthday present I’d bought for her. The custom license plate holder with the twin hearts, the one I’d picked out myself, was still on the back. My birthday gift to my wife. Driven by another man. Was I not allowed to take a second look? “You’re right,” I said, my voice hoarse. “It was intentional.” Claire’s professional mask faltered. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “I just wanted a better look,” I whispered. “I wanted to see which man was driving my wife around in the car I bought her. Which man was so important that she’d miss my birthday dinner to be with him.” Asher stepped forward, a pained, fragile expression on his face. “Leo, man, it wasn’t like that. My health… it’s not good. I needed her to drive me to a specialist. I paid her for her time, I swear. It was purely a professional relationship. Don’t read too much into it.” Claire looked at him with an expression of profound tenderness that twisted the knife in my gut. “You don’t have to explain anything to him, Asher,” she said softly, then turned back to me, her face hardening again. “As long as you admit it was intentional, that’s all we need. Get well soon. You’ll be served with a court summons once you’re discharged. All damages and associated costs from this accident will be your sole responsibility.” She tossed the summons onto the bed and turned to leave. Just then, the door swung open and three men in sharp suits walked in. I recognized them vaguely as colleagues from her firm, the kind she never brought home. Their eyes landed on Asher immediately. “Hey, we heard what happened and came as soon as we could,” one of them said, clapping Asher on the shoulder. “We went to that other hospital, but they said you were transferred back here to deal with some paperwork. Are you feeling okay?” “Don’t you worry about a thing, man,” another one chimed in, his gaze flicking toward me with contempt. “We’ve handled a dozen of these insurance scammers. We’ll make this guy pay until he’s bankrupt.” “So, what’s the deal?” the first one asked. “Is the scumbag cooperating, or are we going to have to play hardball?” Asher shot me a look of pure triumph. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice laced with false magnanimity. “As long as he’s willing to apologize, I don’t think we need to be too harsh.” The lawyers’ eyes all swiveled to me. It clicked for them. I was the scumbag. I was the scammer. One of them noticed my chart hanging at the foot of the bed. He read the words ‘ruptured spleen, lacerated liver’ and pointed a finger at me. “Well, look at that. Serves you right. Talk about karma. Tried to cash in on a payday and almost cashed out for good. Pathetic.” “The universe has a way of dealing with trash like you,” another added. They stood there, tearing me apart with their words, while Claire stood by Asher’s side, whispering in his ear, completely oblivious. A nurse bustled in then, holding a clipboard. Her eyes found Claire. “There you are! We’ve been paging you for days! Your husband is in critical condition and you’re only showing up now? Go to the admissions desk and pay the bill. It’s long overdue.” The lawyers froze, their mouths half-open. They stared from me to Claire, the cogs turning in their heads. “He’s your husband?” one of them whispered. Claire just gave a curt “Mm-hmm,” and, taking Asher by the arm, led him out of the room. Her colleagues exchanged awkward glances, muttered apologies, and then followed her out, taking the gift basket they’d brought for Asher with them. Claire never paid the bill. I paid for my own near-death experience. As I swiped my credit card, the chip reader beeping forlornly, an alert pinged on my phone. A charge notification from my emergency-use-only credit card. The one I’d given her for the down payment on our first home—the money my parents had left me. The Grand Sterling Hotel. Presidential Suite. ‘Couples’ Romance Package.’ Ten thousand dollars. I tried to call her, but it went straight to a “this number has been disconnected” message. She’d blocked me. A nurse helped me shuffle back to my room. On the way, I dialed 911. “Hello,” I said, my voice shaking with a cold, clear rage. “I’d like to report credit card fraud. And… an illegal transaction of services taking place at the Grand Sterling Hotel.” For eight years of marriage, Claire had insisted we keep our finances separate. A pre-nup. Her idea. Everything was split 50/50, down to the groceries. I even had to pay for my own health insurance. And now, while I was fighting for my life, while I was draining my savings to pay for the damage her lover had done, she was using my inheritance—my dead parents’ money—to pay for a romantic getaway with him. She hadn’t even asked if I was going to live or die. The thought was so monstrous it made me sick. Just then, my surgeon, Dr. Matthews, approached me in the hallway. “Leo, you have a sister, why didn’t you tell us? You’ve been going through this all alone. I took the liberty of looking up your emergency contacts.” A sister? I was an only child. When I pushed open my door, I saw her. A woman in a tailored suit with sharp, gold-rimmed glasses, perched on the edge of my bed. She turned, and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes spread across her face. “Your sister heard you were in trouble,” Dr. Matthews said cheerfully. “Flew in all the way from London to see you.” He exchanged a few words with this “sister” of mine, promising to have dinner soon, then left us alone. She surveyed the room, a multi-patient ward with thin curtains for privacy. “A ruptured liver, and this is where you’re recovering? All alone?” Her voice was quiet, but it vibrated with a tightly controlled anger. “This is the woman you moved mountains for, Leo.” She looked at me, her composure finally cracking. “And you couldn’t call me? You couldn’t let me know you were here, alone, fighting for your life?” “You’re busy,” I mumbled, looking at the floor. “In London…” After my parents died, Hannah Jiang, the daughter of my father’s business partner and my childhood friend, had become my de facto family. She was only a month older than me, but she had always been my protector. She had been vehemently against my marriage to Claire. When I’d ignored her warnings and eloped, she’d accepted a position at her firm’s London office and left. We’d exchanged holiday calls, but that was it. I was too ashamed to tell her how right she’d been. “Busy?” Her voice rose, shaking with emotion. “When have I ever been too busy for you? When have I not dropped everything when you needed me?” She grabbed my hand, her eyes glistening. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if you had died? Your father trusted me to look out for you. He put you in my care. How could I face him if I let you die alone in a place like this?” That broke me. The dam I’d built inside myself crumbled. I collapsed into her arms and sobbed, all the pain and fear and betrayal pouring out of me. If my dad were still alive, Claire would never have dared. She would never have cheated on me while I lay dying, never have sued me for the privilege. The door flew open with a bang. It was Claire. She saw me in Hannah’s arms and her face contorted with rage. “No wonder you called the cops on me!” she shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “You just got out of surgery and you’re already cheating! You have a wife, and you’re in here holding another woman!” Hannah released me. On pure instinct, I spun around and slapped Claire across the face. “You know damn well why I called the cops!” I yelled. “You used my inheritance to book a presidential suite for you and your boyfriend! You deserved to get caught!” Claire laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Oh, I see. You got caught, and now you’re lashing out.” Hannah stepped forward and, with a move so swift I barely saw it, kicked Claire’s legs out from under her. “He was almost killed because of you,” Hannah snarled, standing over her. “And you have the audacity to come in here and play the victim?” Claire scrambled backward on the floor until she recognized Hannah’s face. The fight instantly drained out of her. “Hannah,” she stammered. “You don’t understand. He set us up. He reported Asher for prostitution. He transferred five thousand dollars to Asher from my account to make it look transactional. Asher is still being held at the station because of him! We can’t explain it!” The five thousand dollars. That was my doing. A little trick I’d picked up from eight years of living with a lawyer. I knew Asher had been unemployed since returning to the States. I knew he had no assets to his name. I knew exactly how it would look to the police. Hannah just smiled. A cold, terrifying smile. “Five thousand dollars doesn’t get you held overnight, Claire. You’re a lawyer. You know the procedure better than anyone.” Her voice dropped. “It’s the pattern, isn’t it? The police must have found multiple transactions. Payments made after… services were rendered. Repeatedly.”

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I am the real heiress nobody wanted, framed and forced to marry Caleb Sterling, the crown prince of New York’s elite. When I was five months pregnant, his first love—the imposter who had stolen my life—divorced her husband and came back for him. I ran into them at my doctor’s office, my swollen belly a testament to a marriage he despised. He gave me one cold look and confirmed my worst fear. “Yes,” he said. “It’s exactly what you think.” He threw a glittering party for her at our home. I was locked in the attic. Later, when the agony in my stomach became unbearable, a housekeeper secretly unlocked the door. I called 911 and stumbled downstairs, only to be met by the sight of him smashing a glass at my feet. “Who the hell,” he roared, “gave you permission to come down here?” The shock and the terror of that night cost me my child. With the few things I owned, I vanished into the storm. When he finally found me, he grabbed my arm, his voice a raw mix of fury and disbelief. “And me?” he demanded. “You don’t want me anymore?” “No.” My biological parents tried to drag me back, warning me that a girl from nothing would never get a better chance than Caleb Sterling. I looked at their faces, feeling nothing. “And you,” I told them. “I don’t want you, either.” 1 I never expected to see Caleb Sterling and Chloe Pierce in the sterile, beige hallway of an Upper East Side obstetrics clinic. Everyone in our world knew their story. They were the golden couple, childhood sweethearts, a love story written in the stars and whispered about at galas. He had adored her, put her on a pedestal so high no one else could touch her. And then, at the peak of their romance, she’d shattered it all, leaving him for a life in Europe without a backward glance. The rumor that followed was potent: Caleb Sterling, broken by the girl he loved, had developed a particular brand of misogyny. An ice-cold wall went up. Any woman who tried to get close was met with a swift, brutal rejection. I was the exception. Not because he loved me. Not even close. I was the exception because I’d been set up. Because on one rain-slicked New York night, we’d ended up in the same bed. And because, against all odds, I got pregnant. My family, the Pierces, had all but gift-wrapped me and forced me on him. He despised me for it. A living symbol of his entrapment. But the baby, his heir, meant he had to marry me. Our eyes met across the waiting room. My first instinct, primal and immediate, was to flee. But it was too late. He was already moving toward me, his long strides eating up the space between us. I took an involuntary step back, my body already turning to leave. “Tracking me?” His voice was low, devoid of warmth. “Thea. Is this the new playbook they taught you?” His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my neck. Not enough to choke, but enough to hold me in place, a gesture of pure ownership and contempt. His eyes were flinty, hard. “Tell me. What are you trying to squeeze out of me this time?” Panic flared in my chest, a breathless, suffocating wave. The baby fluttered inside me, a frantic pulse against my ribs. I struggled against his grip, hot tears welling in my eyes against my will. “I… I wasn’t.” He didn’t believe me, of course. He never did. In his mind, I was the master manipulator who had drugged him and crawled into his bed. A narrative I had tried to correct a thousand times, to no avail. Heads were starting to turn. Chloe drifted to his side, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm. “Caleb, darling. People are watching.” Her voice, as always, was the magic word. His grip loosened, and he let me go. As my gaze flickered to Chloe, he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her possessively against him. A deliberate, cruel performance for my benefit. “Yes,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine, cold and triumphant. “It’s exactly what you think.” He paused, letting the poison sink in. “Chloe’s pregnant.” “After this baby is born,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me, “you’re gone.” 2 The doctor said the baby’s heartbeat was weak. Unsteady. He told me to keep my stress levels down, to focus on pleasant thoughts. I nodded, a hollow space opening up inside my chest. That evening, the moment I walked through the door of the penthouse, two of Caleb’s security guards flanked me. They took my arms firmly, half-dragging me toward the spiral staircase that led to the top floor. “Don’t take it personally, Ms. Hayes,” one of them said, his tone professionally detached. “Mr. Sterling is hosting a party tonight. He doesn’t want your presence to… disrupt the mood.” They opened the door to a sparse, cold guest room, ushered me inside, and locked it from the outside. I was left alone, curled on a bed in a dark, silent room. This wasn’t the first time he’d locked me away. But it had become more frequent in the last month, ever since Chloe had divorced her European husband and returned to New York. It was as if he needed to prove to her, over and over, that his heart had never strayed, that I was nothing more than a villain, an unfortunate consequence. He had locked me up. He had let me go hungry. He had flayed me with words designed to strip me of any dignity. I’d tried to run once, but he’d dragged me back. I remembered that night, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, his face a mask of cold fury. “Scared now?” he’d sneered, his breath hot against my ear. “Isn’t this what you wanted? A baby you schemed to have? You can die, for all I care, but not until you give me my child.” He’d leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “And think about your old director at the children’s home. Mrs. Gable. I hear she’s getting on in years, her health isn’t what it used to be. It would be a shame if something… unexpected were to happen. Accidents are so common for the elderly, aren’t they?” The threat was clear. He held all the cards. My only ties to this world were a kind old woman and a group of kids in a struggling orphanage. I was utterly, completely alone. I hugged myself tightly in the darkness. I don’t know how long I was in there before the pain started. A deep, twisting agony in my stomach, like a blender tearing me apart from the inside. I stumbled to the door, pounding on it until my knuckles were raw, my voice cracking as I screamed for help. No one came. I collapsed against the door, time dissolving into a haze of pain. Then, a soft click. The door creaked open a few inches. Maria, the housekeeper, was there, her face etched with pity. “Miss Thea, quickly. You must get out.” I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking so badly I could barely dial 911. A cold dread washed over me. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was losing this baby. Stumbling down the stairs, I was met with a wall of sound. The main hall was filled with laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses. My sudden appearance silenced the room. A hundred pairs of eyes turned to me, a sea of disgust, pity, scorn, and ridicule. Each glance was a fresh blade. Caleb’s smile froze on his face. He was sitting with Chloe, of course. The usurper, the fake heiress, tucked so closely beside him they looked like one person. Without a word, he rose to his feet. He snatched a champagne flute from a passing tray and smashed it on the marble floor at my feet. The sound was deafening, a gunshot in the silent room. “Who the hell,” he seethed, his voice trembling with rage, “told you you could come down here?” The explosion of glass left a ringing in my ears. A violent, searing cramp seized my abdomen. For a moment, the pain was so absolute, it felt like nothing at all. He started toward me, his face a blur. The world began to tilt. Then, a woman’s horrified gasp from the crowd. “Oh my god… she’s bleeding.” I looked down. A dark, crimson stain was spreading down the pale fabric of my dress, rivulets of red trickling down my legs. And strangely, inexplicably, I felt a sense of relief. My head spun. Just before the darkness took me, strong arms caught me. Caleb? Why did he look so terrified? This was what he wanted. Shouldn’t he be the happiest man in the room?

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Three years a zombie, and I still can’t bring myself to eat people. Most days, I just blend in. I shuffle along with the horde, moaning and groaning for show, before slipping off into some abandoned supermarket to steal a pack of stale cupcakes. That’s what I was doing today, crouched behind a collapsed aisle of canned goods, meticulously peeling the plastic off a Twinkie. Suddenly, the cold, hard press of a gun barrel met the back of my head. A low voice, laced with amusement, drifted over me. “Miss Zombie, I do believe you were about to take a bite out of my ass.” My movements froze. I lifted my head, slowly, and my gaze met a pair of devastatingly familiar dark eyes. Oh, hell. Of all the asses in this apocalyptic hellscape, I had to find his. Caleb Hayes—the boy I’d silently crushed on all through college—was looking down at me with a half-smile playing on his lips. 1. This had to be a hallucination, a side effect of the virus rotting what was left of my brain. Caleb Hayes? He was alive. He was here. How could he possibly be here? And… did he recognize me? My nearly-dead heart gave a frantic, painful lurch. It was a sensation so achingly familiar, so fundamentally human, that for a second I forgot all about the gun pressed against my skull. I raised my hands over my head, a dumb, frozen statue in the dust-filled aisle. Caleb nudged the barrel of the gun forward, a gentle reminder. He leaned down, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “So, Miss Zombie. A review, if you will. How’s the texture?” Okay. My eyes dropped. The brief, insane flicker of hope died. He had no idea who I was. It’s for the best, I told myself, a familiar, bitter comfort. I must look so different now. Unrecognizable. Better that he doesn’t connect this… thing… to the girl he once knew. Better not to tarnish his memory of her. The thought was a strange cocktail of relief and a deep, hollowing sadness. 2. I replayed the last few moments in my head, trying to follow his logic. I’d been crouched low, unwrapping a package of expired peanut butter crackers. As my hand reached for another, my fingers brushed against something soft. What the hell? It felt… human. Unsure, I did what any zombie would do. I leaned in for a test bite. The target was firm, springy even, but covered in a thick layer of denim that my teeth couldn’t get through. I gave up immediately. Who knew it was Caleb Hayes’s left butt cheek? Fearing he might pull the trigger out of sheer annoyance, I answered him with total honesty. “It’s… nice. Firm.” The words were out before I remembered: the low-level infected, the ones shuffling around outside, they don’t think. They don’t speak. A high-functioning, articulate zombie like me was, to put it mildly, a freak of nature. A slow smile spread across Caleb’s face. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners made my head spin, just like it always had. “Interesting,” he mused, tilting his head. “First talking zombie I’ve ever met.” He paused, considering. “I should take you back to the base. I’ve never dissected your particular strain of infected.” Oh, god, no. My face fell. I held out the rest of the peanut butter crackers, a pathetic offering. “This is my favorite kind,” I said, my voice small and pleading. “You can have them all. Just… don’t kill me. Please?” 3. Maybe it was the desperation in my voice. Maybe it was the crackers. Caleb lowered the gun, his eyes scanning me with a new kind of intensity. “You… you don’t eat people?” I nodded frantically, like a bobblehead. There was a sudden click at my throat. I reached up in alarm. A collar. Cold, metallic, and securely locked. “What did you put on me?” Caleb dangled a small key from his finger. A terrible feeling washed over me. Sure enough, a cruel, merciless curve touched his lips. “A bomb.” My stomach plummeted. “A remote-detonated collar,” he clarified. “No matter how far you run, I press a button, and you go up in a thousand little pieces.” I felt a surge of indignation. Caleb Hayes was a petty, petty man. So I accidentally tried to bite his ass. It wasn’t on purpose. Did he have to be so dramatic? “But don’t worry,” he said, his tone shifting. “As long as you meet me here every night with a fresh supply of food and water, I won’t have any reason to press it.” Ah. There it was. His real motive. “It shouldn’t be too hard for a creature like you. Besides,” he added, a glint in his eye, “you took a bite out of me. It’s only fair you pay me back somehow. Right, Miss Zombie?” He was smiling again. It was still a devastatingly handsome smile, but now it just seemed cruel. “Fine,” I mumbled, my head hung in defeat. “I’ll do it.” Then, I found a tiny scrap of courage. “And my name isn’t Miss Zombie. It’s Nora.” Caleb let out a low chuckle. I couldn’t tell if he’d even heard me. As he turned to leave, he snatched the half-eaten bag of crackers from my hand. He’s eating something a zombie touched, I thought, a fresh wave of outrage washing over me. Doesn’t he know he could get infected? I scowled at his retreating back, silently cursing him. 4. “Wait, what?! You ran into your old college crush, and he’s alive? Nora, that’s practically a post-apocalyptic fairy tale!” Sadie was so shocked she had to pop her glass eye back into its socket. She was the only friend I’d made since turning. We were both high-functioning—we’d kept our minds—and had bonded over our shared predicament. Unlike me, the first thing Sadie did after turning was eat her abusive ex-boyfriend. The experience had… rewired her tastes. The smell of human food made her sick now. When she got hungry, she’d chew on tree bark or grass. If things got really bad, she’d scavenge the leftovers from other infected. “It doesn’t matter, Sadie. He doesn’t remember me at all.” I pointed to the blinking red light on the collar around my neck. “And he wants to blow me up.” Sadie was a hopeless romantic. “If he wanted to kill you, he would have shot you on the spot. Why would he ask you to meet him every day?” “Because he needs supplies, and who makes a safer delivery girl than another zombie?” This time, she got it. The dreamy look on her face vanished. “Men are trash,” she muttered. “You should just eat him. I hear the smart ones have the sweetest brains. My ex was a dumbass, but even he tasted pretty good.” I shook my head, horrified. “I can’t do that. I have standards. I don’t eat people.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her the real truth: I was a bit of a hopeless romantic, too. Even after he’d held a gun to my head, strapped a bomb to my neck, and spoken to me with such casual cruelty, a pathetic, traitorous part of me was still completely, stupidly in love with Caleb Hayes. 5. Despite the threat of imminent explosion, I was excited to see him again. Sadie helped me curl my hair into a new style. I changed into my best dress—a faded sundress I’d salvaged—spritzed myself with perfume from a shattered department store counter, and even put on a little makeup. I was at the Evergreen Market long before our agreed-upon time. When Caleb appeared, he stopped short, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Did I overdo it? Is it too obvious? Panic seized me. When humans get awkward, they pretend to be busy. I coughed and started wiping down a dusty shelf with my sleeve. “What… what are you staring at?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for me. I flinched back instinctively, my foot catching on a piece of debris on the floor. I cried out, stumbling backward, windmilling my arms. The cigarette fell from Caleb’s lips. In a flash, his arm shot out, his fingers locking around my wrist. He yanked me forward, hard. I slammed into his chest, my nose colliding with solid muscle. The familiar scent of him—woodsmoke and something clean, like antiseptic—filled my senses. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart against my ear. The embrace was so sudden, so unexpected, it felt like a dream. I stood there, paralyzed, not daring to move. His grip on my wrist didn’t loosen. “What happened here?” he asked, his voice low and rough. My face flushed, hot and prickly. My own heart was hammering against my ribs like a drum solo. I couldn’t look at him, my head sinking lower and lower. 6. “I was… looking for things in a pharmacy this afternoon. I cut myself.” “I don’t remember asking you to find medicine.” Caleb’s voice was cold, laced with an irritation that stung. He hadn’t. But I remembered he used to have stomach problems in college. In a world of scavenged, unbalanced meals, it was bound to act up. When I passed a pharmacy, I’d gone in, hoping to find some antacids for him. The shelves had collapsed, and in the mess of it all, I’d sliced my wrist on a piece of broken glass. His voice grew even sharper, as if he were drawing a line in the sand. “Nora, I was very clear yesterday. I need food and water. I’m not going to remove this collar just because you bring me extra supplies.” He gestured vaguely at me. “There are other high-functioning infected out there. If I blow you up, I’ll just find another one to do the job. If you get yourself hurt again, I might just press the button myself.” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “Do you understand me?” I didn’t know what he meant by “hurt like this,” but I didn’t want to be blown to bits. He was worried about me, I realized, but only because an injured delivery girl might disrupt his supply chain. The thought didn’t make me happy. “I understand,” I mumbled. Heartless bastard, I thought. I hope your stomach hurts forever. “Don’t move.” A sudden warmth spread across my wrist. I looked down, surprised, as Caleb pulled a small Band-Aid from a tactical pouch on his belt. A zombie’s wounds don’t heal. I wanted to tell him not to waste it. But as I watched his strong, calloused fingers peel back the wrapper and gently press the worn-out teddy bear Band-Aid over my cut, my cold, dead heart did a ridiculous, traitorous little flutter. It felt like floating. I couldn’t bring myself to say no. He finished, his thumb lingering for a moment on my skin. He looked up, his dark eyes searching mine. “Nora, why are you so afraid of dying?” “That’s a secret.” He started to ask again, but I cut him off. I tilted my chin up, mimicking the arrogant tone he’d used with me just moments before. “And Caleb,” I said, a flicker of defiance in my voice, “I’m not going to tell you my secrets just because you put a teddy bear Band-Aid on me.” 7. Sadie shrieked when she saw the Band-Aid. “And you say he doesn’t like you?! Nora, a human putting a Band-Aid on a zombie? Do you have any idea what that means? Tell me!” A warmth spread through my chest, but I stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. “You’re reading too much into it, Sadie. He was just patching up his delivery drone.” “Then what about this?” She gestured to the pile of snacks he’d given me in exchange for the supplies. “He knows you eat human food, and he brought you all your favorites. Don’t tell me that’s not a little bit… flirty.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. My ears burned. I mumbled an excuse and scurried away. The next few nights, I met Caleb as promised. I used to hate the nights. The darkness was always filled with the gurgling, horrifying moans of the infected, a nightmare I could never wake from. But now, because of Caleb, I started to look forward to the sunset. Tonight, though, something was different about the Evergreen Market. A makeshift barbed-wire fence had been erected around the entrance, and the usual low-level infected that milled about were gone, their bodies piled nearby. As soon as I stepped inside, I heard a soft, feminine voice. “Caleb, I’m fine, really. Cough, cough… That medicine you got me worked wonders. My stomach feels so much better. You don’t have to worry about me.” I saw Caleb’s profile. His eyes were lowered, his handsome face etched with a deep, tender concern. The girl, who was leaning against a wall, reached up and gently smoothed the worry lines from between his eyebrows. The smile on my face froze and shattered.

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In my third year in New York, I became Mrs. Connor Harrison, an object of envy. Inside the private room at Per Se, Connor was holding court, laughing with his friends while gesturing for me to refill their glasses. He didn’t know that under the table, the one man in this city everyone deferred to, Caleb Winter, was pressing his thigh against mine, a searing heat bleeding through the fabric of my dress. A friend clapped Connor on the back, slurring his admiration. “You really hit the jackpot with Ava. A real class act.” Connor took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling from his lips as he answered in that old-money Manhattan drawl he affected. “She was born to serve.” Caleb Winter, who normally loathed these kinds of dinners, suddenly spoke, his voice a low, deliberate murmur that cut through the noise. “If you don’t know how to appreciate what you have, Harrison… some of us would kill for the chance.” 1 The party was a constellation of clinking champagne flutes and forced laughter. I wore a designer gown but moved like a ghost among the staff, for one reason and one reason only: Connor was hosting. Everyone was here to toast his latest acquisition, another jewel in his burgeoning empire. “To Connor Harrison, the boy wonder of Wall Street!” Connor offered a dismissive smile, tipping his glass in acknowledgement. His eyes, however, kept flicking to the door, waiting for someone. He must have caught me watching him. He crooked a finger, summoning me to his side. “Go down to the cellar,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Bring up the ’99 Romanée-Conti.” One of his friends grinned. “You trained her well, Harrison. She’s beautiful, she’s loyal, she keeps that new Tribeca place perfect.” Connor laughed, a hollow sound. “She’s no Chloe Summers, though. Did you hear Chloe just got into the architecture program at Cambridge?” My jaw tightened. I said nothing, just moved to pour him more wine. The next words I heard were, “Beauty and obedience only get you so far. Some people are just born to be of service.” My hand trembled. A drop of red wine splashed onto the cuff of his pristine white shirt. He shot me a look of pure disgust and hissed for me to get a napkin. I waved over a waiter to handle it and slipped away to the balcony for a breath of air. My crimson-painted lips closed around a slim cigarette, but my lighter refused to spark. A wave of frustration washed over me. “Mrs. Harrison?” I turned. It was Caleb Winter, the CEO of the Morpheus Group. In this world of sharks and titans, he was the apex predator. His presence here tonight was a king granting an audience to a prince. “Mr. Winter,” I said, my voice respectful. His gaze dropped to the unlit cigarette between my fingers. He pulled a heavy, silver Zippo from his pocket and stepped closer. The metallic click echoed in the quiet. It felt too intimate, a breach of etiquette. I started to pull back, but his posture was resolute. He was already leaning in, shielding the flame with his hand. I had no choice but to lean forward to meet it. The New York night air was sharp and cold. For a moment, the flame wavered, casting our profiles in a flickering glow, creating the illusion of a kiss. The tip of my cigarette finally glowed red. I straightened up. “Thank you, Mr. Winter.” He smiled, a warm, genuine thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Call me Caleb.” I took a long drag, the mint capsule popping in my mouth, the sharp flavor a welcome shock to my system. A maid appeared at the doorway, calling my name. I nodded my farewell to him. “Mr. Winter. It was a pleasure.” 2 “What is it?” I asked the flustered maid. She wrung her hands. “Mrs. Harrison… Ms. Summers is here.” My heart gave a painful lurch. She’s back. I heard her before I saw her, her bright, tinkling laugh injecting a false energy into the stuffy room. Chloe Summers stood there in a butter-yellow dress, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been holding court for hours. She was joking with Connor’s friends, telling them how she just couldn’t get used to life abroad, how she missed the soul of New York. Every gesture was pure Upper East Side princess. And Connor—my husband—watched her with an undisguised hunger, his arm draped possessively over the back of her chair. The chair that was supposed to be mine. My eyes scanned the table and landed on the one empty seat, right next to Caleb Winter. I walked over and sat down, turning to him. “Mr. Winter. We meet again.” He was toying with his black lighter, a faint smile playing on his lips as if he’d been expecting me. “It seems fate has a plan for us, Mrs. Harrison.” A ripple of laughter went through the table. The notoriously stoic Caleb Winter rarely engaged in banter. It was a moment. Connor’s eyes narrowed. He pushed a glass of scotch toward me. “Caleb, it’s an honor to have you. My wife, Ava, would like to propose a toast.” A lump formed in my throat. The familiar sting of humiliation. My hand reached for the glass. But a different hand, long-fingered and steady, got there first. Caleb picked up the bottle and poured a measure for himself. He inclined his head toward me. “Mrs. Harrison has been working hard all night. It’s I who should be toasting her.” He downed the scotch in one smooth motion, his expression unchanged. The mood at the table shifted instantly. Everyone knew Caleb Winter didn’t toast anyone. And tonight, he had just toasted another man’s wife. Speculative glances darted between us. Connor’s face was a mask of thunder. “I should go check on dessert,” I said, rising to escape. “Sit down,” Connor snapped. “The staff will handle it.” He was angry, though at what, I couldn’t be sure. Defeated, I sank back into the chair beside Caleb. Unlike the other men, who reeked of cigars and cologne, Caleb carried a subtle, clean scent of sandalwood. It suited him. The extra chair meant we were pressed close. Every time one of us reached for a dish or a glass, our arms brushed. Beneath the table, the heat from his leg was a constant, undeniable presence. I was wearing a dress with a high slit, and my bare skin kept grazing the fine wool of his trousers. I didn’t know if it was intentional, but he seemed to be leaning closer, the solid muscle of his thigh a warm, firm line against mine. My mouth went dry. I took several sips of water, trying to quell the rising heat inside me. From the corner of my eye, I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Intentional or not, it was happening. Connor’s party was a small affair, and no one had expected the CEO of Morpheus to show. Now, their curious gazes were burning holes in me. I distractedly picked up a slice of apple. Before it reached my lips, it was intercepted. Caleb took it from my fingers and placed it on my plate, his voice a low murmur. “Aren’t you allergic to apples?” I shot him a warning look, but he seemed unfazed. Under the table, the toe of his leather shoe nudged the hem of my dress. I forced a laugh. “Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Winter.” Connor scoffed, switching to a rapid-fire business jargon I only half-understood, clearly meant to exclude me. “Can’t even eat an apple. So high-maintenance.” Caleb, who had been silent for most of the meal, spoke again, his words dropping into the conversation like stones into a still pond. “If you don’t know how to appreciate what you have, Harrison… some of us would.” The entire room fell silent. The unspoken questions hung in the air between us. I pretended I hadn’t heard, deliberately knocking over my water glass. “Oh, clumsy me. I’ll go get this cleaned up.” As I left, I saw Caleb pick up the slice of apple he’d taken from me. He brought it to his lips and took a deliberate bite, his eyes never leaving mine. The juice glistened on his lips, an impossibly seductive sight. His gaze was a mixture of challenge and amusement, a silent reminder of something I had tried for years to forget. Coming out of the restroom, I ran right into Connor and Chloe’s private rendezvous in the hallway. “Connor, darling,” Chloe was whining. “When is your sham of a marriage finally going to be over? I want to be with you for real.” “Soon, Chloe. Soon…” I heard a low groan from Connor and stumbled backward, colliding with a chest as hard as marble. A deep, husky voice vibrated against my ear. “I didn’t take you for a voyeur, Mrs. Harrison.” “Who’s there?” Connor called out. In a panic, I grabbed Caleb’s arm and pulled him into an empty storage closet. The door clicked shut behind us. I looked up and realized a strand of my hair was caught on one of his shirt buttons. The small space was immediately charged with heat, thick with unspoken things. We were too close. I tried to step back, but a large hand clamped onto my waist, pulling me back against him. “Don’t move,” he rasped, his voice thick. “Caleb.” “I’m sorry.” He was so near, his striking eyes just inches from mine. He lowered his head, his focus entirely on the tangled strand of hair. His warm breath ghosted over the exposed skin of my chest, and every second felt like an eternity. “Is it… is it free yet?” I stammered. He suddenly looked up. Our noses brushed. Startled, I jerked my head back, a sharp pain shooting through my scalp as the hair pulled tighter. Caleb moved with me, his hand still firm on my lower back, effectively pinning me against the wall. His powerful arms wrapped around my waist. In the struggle, several buttons on his shirt had come undone, revealing a glimpse of the hard, sculpted muscle beneath. From the hallway, we could hear Chloe’s soft, breathless moans. I swallowed hard, my fingers tracing the line of his throat, feeling the pulse thrumming there. “Caleb,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “You started this.” I rose onto my toes, and our lips met. The clean, sweet taste of apple filled my mouth, a ghost of a memory. The last time we’d kissed, it had tasted of apples, too. But that time, I was the one who had eaten the apple. In an instant, he took control, his mouth claiming mine, kissing me again and again until I was breathless and dizzy. We were lost in a haze of passion and memory. When we finally emerged, I felt transformed. I had reapplied my lipstick, a defiant, blood-red shade, and changed into a wine-colored gown I’d kept in my car for emergencies. Caleb looked slightly more disheveled; his hair was mussed and his shirt was still undone, though he wore a mask of calm. “You should probably fix yourself up in here, Mr. Winter,” I said coolly. “I’ll see you back at the table.” An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back. Caleb cupped my neck and kissed me again, a hard, possessive kiss that smeared my fresh lipstick. “Go on,” he said, finally satisfied. He released me and began calmly straightening his tie, as if nothing had happened. I ran my tongue over my lips. Three years. His technique had definitely improved. Back in the dining room, Connor and Chloe were practically fused together, whispering intimately. Chloe’s lipstick was smudged, a deliberate signal meant for me. As I walked past, she grabbed my hand. “Oh, Ava, honey,” she cooed, her eyes wide and innocent. “I forgot my lipstick. Could I borrow yours?” “No.” “Ava, don’t be so stingy. It’s just lipstick,” Connor chided, siding with her instantly. I smiled, a sharp, cold thing. “This shade is a little too much for a little girl.” Chloe’s face fell, but she recovered quickly, turning to wrap her arms around Connor. “Connor, baby, will you take me shopping for a new one tomorrow?” “Of course,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “Anything you want.” Tomorrow was our third wedding anniversary. She had a real talent for timing. After the party, Connor drove Chloe home. He didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. I stood at the entrance of the restaurant, the cold wind whipping at my silk dress. The red-soled heels were beautiful but cruel; my feet were rubbed raw. The chill of the New York night was a welcome distraction, a way to numb the chaos in my mind. I lit a cigarette, the white smoke curling into the darkness. I took one drag, then another, feeling the knot in my chest loosen slightly. A heavy weight settled on my shoulders. A familiar scent of sandalwood enveloped me. I looked up slowly. Caleb was standing in front of me, his suit jacket now draped over me. “Care for a ride, Ava?” he asked, his voice low. He called me Ava. Not Mrs. Harrison. I met his gaze, my eyes narrowing. “I’d love one.” His black Rolls-Royce Cullinan was a shadow in the night. He opened the passenger door for me. When I was seated, he knelt down and, to my astonishment, produced a pair of soft hotel slippers. His long fingers gently lifted my foot, sliding off the painful heel and replacing it with the slipper. The heat from his touch seared my skin. I flinched, and he simply tightened his grip on my ankle, holding me steady. The sight of his strong, veined hand wrapped around my ankle was strangely, intensely erotic. “A man of your stature, Mr. Winter,” I teased, trying to regain my composure as he got into the driver’s seat. “No chauffeur tonight?” “I gave him the night off.” The drive was silent. We were heading toward his place, an address I hadn’t realized I still remembered. The silence was heavy, so I turned on the classical station. The mournful notes of a violin filled the car as we drove through the sleeping city. When we arrived, I glanced over. Caleb’s eyes were closed, his breathing even. He was either asleep or pretending to be. I watched him for a moment. He hadn’t changed. Still the same impossibly handsome man in a perfectly tailored suit. “Mr. Winter.” No response. I tried a few more times before my voice turned to ice. “Caleb.” His eyes snapped open. Those intoxicating, dangerous eyes focused on me. His Adam’s apple moved. “Thank you for the ride home, Ava,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. He got out of the car and disappeared into the shadows of his townhouse. “Caleb, your keys!” I called, jumping out of the car. The moment my fingers touched his wrist, he spun around, pressing me back against the car door. His voice was a raw whisper, charged with a desire he was no longer hiding. He cupped the back of my head with one hand, the other resting on the small of my back, his body flush against mine. “Ava,” he breathed, his forehead resting against mine. “How long are you going to keep this up?” I pushed against his chest, my voice colder than I felt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “My name,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. “You always hated calling me Mr. Winter.” He kissed my cheek, his lips tracing a path to my ear. My body betrayed me, melting against him. My hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him for support. “Caleb… I’m married,” I whispered, the words tasting like a lie. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He traced the outline of my lips with his thumb. “Has he kissed you here?” Before I could answer, his mouth was on mine, as fierce and possessive as it had always been, stealing my breath and my will. His hands began to roam, setting my skin on fire everywhere they touched. The sharp honk of a car horn broke the spell. My Uber had arrived. I grabbed his wrist, stopping his descent. “Caleb. Stop.” He looked down at me, his arms still holding me close. I reached up and wiped a smudge of lipstick from his lips. “It was over between us three years ago, Caleb.” Three years ago, he was a brilliant but broke founder, fighting for his dream. Now, he was the CEO of the Morpheus Group. A king in this city. A man I couldn’t afford to touch. I pulled away and got into the waiting car. In the rearview mirror, I saw him leaning against his Rolls-Royce, a cigarette glowing between his fingers, a single point of red in the vast darkness. His jacket was still around my shoulders, its sandalwood scent a haunting reminder of the kiss, of the man, of everything I had lost.

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The rejection text from my crush landed just before spring break. When I asked him why, Liam’s reply was simple. Liam: I like girls who are brave and smart. I immediately typed back. Me: Did you forget who pulled you out of the lake when your boat sank last week? Two seconds of bouncing dots, then… Liam: Okay, so you’re brave. But what about smart? Another two-second pause from me. Me: Guess why your boat was the only one that was leaking. Liam: ? 1 The moment I sent it, my phone started ringing. Liam. I declined the call. He was relentless. By the time I was boarding my flight, he’d called a grand total of eighteen times. I ignored every single one. A final text buzzed through: [You’re in the next state over, right? Just you wait.] I powered my phone off, a satisfied smile spreading across my face as I settled into my airplane seat. Finally, it was Liam’s turn to chase me for a change. As for why his boat was taking on water? How should I know? I don’t build boats. 2 Two hours later, we touched down. I switched my phone back on to a gratifying stream of messages from Liam. Liam: Booked a flight. Liam: At the airport. Liam: Landing at seven. Liam: Chloe. You just wait. I let out a long breath. Ah, so this is what it feels like to have someone checking in with you. Utterly terrifying. Over the next two hours, I executed a flawless sequence of operations: baggage claim, dinner, and booking a room at the airport hotel. Once checked into my room, less than five hundred yards from the terminal, I finally felt secure. There was no way he’d think to look for me right under his nose. The old “hiding in plain sight” trick. At seven-thirty, my phone rang. Liam. I answered with all the unearned confidence I could muster. “To what do I owe the honor?” His voice was cold. “What floor?” I froze. “What?” “The airport hotel. What floor are you on? What room number?” I shot up in bed, genuinely stunned. “Holy shit, how did you know?” A dry, humorless laugh came through the phone. “Your phone’s step count has been under a thousand since you landed, Chloe. Do the math.” 3 Damn it. I have a thing for smart guys. Of course, Liam might just be a little too smart. Down in the hotel lobby, I shuffled guiltily toward him. Liam’s brow furrowed the second he saw me. “Why are you wearing slippers down here? The floor is freezing.” I offered a sheepish grin. “I was just in a hurry to see you.” His handsome face darkened again as he tugged on the hood of my sweatshirt. “Alright, talk. The boat.” I threw my hands up in surrender. “I don’t know anything!” “Still playing dumb?” “I really don’t!” My voice was a pathetic whine. It was a total lie, and now I was regretting it. The automatic doors slid open, letting in another guest and a blast of cold air. I hopped from foot to foot, muttering, “I just wanted to sound smart.” Liam looked at me, and a flicker of something—maybe exasperated amusement—crossed his face. He nudged his large suitcase in front of me. “Sit.” I blinked. “Huh?” “You’re practically tap-dancing to stay warm,” he sighed. “Sit on the suitcase. Get your feet off the floor.” “Oh,” I said, hoisting myself up. As I settled, he draped his jacket over my legs. I couldn’t help myself. “Liam, you know, it was a lot of trouble for you to fly all the way out here… maybe instead…” “Instead, you just give in and be mine.” “Instead, you let me throw you in the lake this time.” My mouth dropped open. 4 Seriously? How can a mouth that looks that good say something so cold? We both seemed to freeze for a second. Then, reality hit. I scrambled off the suitcase and bolted. “You jerk! Next time I’ll flip your whole damn boat over!” “I knew it was you!” he yelled after me, his voice a mix of anger and frustration. Honestly, it wasn’t me. But “flipping his boat” felt like the right level of pissed-off. Back in my room, my phone buzzed again. Liam: Come out. I ignored it, turning my attention back to a TikTok of a cute guy with great abs. Liam: I ordered food. I swallowed hard, my eyes still glued to the screen. Liam: …Whatever. It’s outside your door. My flight back is at nine. I’m leaving. I stared at the message. He’s leaving? Already? After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped off the bed, planning to just crack the door and peek down the hall. The second I opened it, my face collided with something warm and soft. Oh. It was a chest. A very solid chest wrapped in a black sweater. “Why do you lead with your head when you open a door?!” Liam’s face was flushed as he grabbed my shoulders to steady me. I was about to come up with a witty retort, but my body had other plans. A sudden warmth trickled from my nose. I was having a nosebleed. 5 For the record, the nosebleed was because the hotel air was ridiculously dry. It had absolutely nothing to do with Liam’s 42-inch chest being squeezed into a tight, black turtleneck sweater. Nothing at all. Liam pressed a cool washcloth to my forehead, his expression a complicated mix of concern and disbelief. “Chloe, I’m not kidding, I’ve never seen a girl get a nosebleed for… this reason.” With my eyes closed, I replied sagely, “That’s just because their rooms weren’t dry enough.” He let out another one of those exasperated laughs. “Hey, what about your nine o’clock flight?” I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s 9:10. You’re super late, Liam.” “I am super late,” he agreed, holding up his phone. “Already rescheduled for tomorrow.” My eyes popped open. “You were actually going to leave?” Liam gave me a look. “What else would I be doing?” “I don’t know, I thought you were bluffing to get me to open the door.” “Why would I need to lie about something like that?” he scoffed. I blinked. “Then what is worth lying about?” He paused, not answering. Instead, he took the washcloth, went to heat up the food he’d brought, and then held a forkful of pasta to my lips. “Eat.” Well, now. Room service and he feeds me? This nosebleed was totally worth it. I chewed, swallowed, and opened my mouth for the next bite. “You have hands for a reason,” came Liam’s deadpan voice, dashing my hopes. “Also, don’t open your mouth that wide. You look like a baby bird.” 6 Honestly, I sometimes worry Liam is so sharp-tongued he might accidentally poison himself just by licking his lips. It’s a serious concern. If we ever kissed, would I get poisoned too? After we finished eating, Liam started gathering the trash to take back to his room. “What’s in that little box?” I asked, pointing to a small, elegant container left on the table. He glanced over. “Chocolates. They were an add-on to meet the delivery minimum.” I opened it up. The aroma was unique, rich and dark. There were six of them. I carefully set aside the prettiest one for Liam and, with a heavy heart, forced myself to eat the five ugly ones. When Liam came back from dropping the trash outside, he saw the single, perfect chocolate sitting alone on the table. He just stood there for a second and said, “Wow. Just… wow.” See? I knew he was picky. He only likes the pretty things. By that logic, he should be obsessed with me. Liam froze. “What?” I blinked, then repeated the thought in my head, louder this time: Liam is a huge idiot if he doesn’t like me. A vein pulsed in his temple. “Are you insulting me?” My eyes widened in mock surprise. “Whoa, are you a mind reader now?” He strode over, picked up the remaining chocolate, broke it open, and sniffed. He let out a long, slow breath. “Chloe, for the love of God, can you please pay attention? These are high-proof liqueur chocolates.” 7 Liqueur what now? All I heard was “more snacks.” I propped my chin on my hands and watched him pace around, a goofy smile on my face. He was so handsome. I wanted to kiss him. Liam’s face was looking a little flushed as he came over and helped me to my feet. “Okay, time for bed. No drunk antics.” “I’m not drunk,” I insisted, pouting. “I’m perfectly lucid.” “Right, right, you’re the queen of lucid,” he said, humoring me. “Now get in bed.” I slapped his hand away and, with surprisingly accurate aim, planted both of my palms flat on his chest. I stared at his face, which was now turning a brilliant shade of red, and asked seriously, “Could a drunk person find their target this perfectly?” The vein in his forehead was practically throbbing. “Chloe… you just wait until tomorrow. I am going to get you back for this.” He sighed, resigned, and guided me toward the bed. “Alright, you’ve had your feel. Can you go to sleep now?” I shook my head. “Not enough.” His face was the color of a ripe tomato. His voice was a strained whisper. “What else could you possibly want?” My eyes drifted down to his chest, and I gave him a shy smile. “Can I… take a sip?” 8 You know what they say: a guy who takes care of you is a guy worth keeping. My hands were still resting on the solid warmth of his chest. He was just standing there, blushing, not saying no. My smile grew bolder. I started to lean in— THUD. I stared in shock as Liam, in a desperate attempt to evade me, stumbled backward and fell right off the side of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. Really? If you didn’t want me to, you could have just said no. You didn’t have to throw yourself to the ground. “Chloe…” He pushed himself up, his face an unreadable shade of crimson. He stared at me for a few long, silent seconds, then turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Just… left. Didn’t say another word. Made a right turn and was gone. I lay on the bed, stunned, for a moment. I looked down at my palms, where the warm, soft feeling of his sweater still lingered. After a minute, I reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a tissue, and silently stuffed it up my nose. 9 Liam didn’t just leave my room. He left the city. The next morning, I checked his location and saw a travel route that spanned a hundred miles overnight, his step count nearing twenty thousand. I was overcome with a deep sense of guilt. I was sorry. But I’d totally do it again. I woke up for real around nine, figuring he’d had enough time to cool off. I tentatively sent him a “Peeking Cat” sticker. No reply. Okay, still mad. I opened a food delivery app and ordered his favorite coffee and some pastries to be sent to his dorm, adding a note for the little card: [Remember! You are my precious prince! If you are hurt or sad, everyone else must perish!] Satisfied, I placed the order. Half an hour later, the app notified me that the delivery was complete. Humming a little tune, I texted Liam again. Me: Did you like the royal treats, your highness? The reply came almost instantly. A single, cold syllable. Liam: Hah. I sat bolt upright. What? Still angry? That can’t be right. Just then, a message popped up from the bakery. [Hi, so sorry, our system glitched and the note only printed the first and last words (crying emoji)]. A terrible feeling began to creep over me. My fingers trembled as I typed back. Me: So… what did the recipient see? It took them a full thirty seconds to reply. Five words that hit me like a ton of bricks. [Remember! You must perish!] 10 Fine, fine, I’ll perish! Is that what you want?! Ignoring the bakery’s frantic apologies, I scrambled to text Liam. [That’s not what I meant! Your Highness, let me explain!!] The Prince was not in a listening mood. No reply. After a few seconds of panic, I was a whirlwind of motion—packing my suitcase, booking a flight back to campus. An apology requires sincerity. Chasing a guy requires effort. I liked Liam, so what was one more trip back to school? Ping. A text from my roommate. [Chloe, you didn’t actually go home, did you?? You have a Business Law final in three days, remember??] My packing came to a screeching halt. I scrambled to open the class group chat, scrolling frantically until I found the exam schedule I’d completely overlooked. Perfect. Now I had an even better reason to go back. Dragging my suitcase downstairs, I hit the voice memo button, my tone serious and solemn, but with a smile I couldn’t hide. “Liam. Wait for me.” 11 The flight was two hours. I took a cab straight to campus. On the way, I rehearsed my defense, a full three-minute speech explaining the note and my behavior the other night. I got to campus around two in the afternoon, which was prime study time for Liam. He’d almost certainly be at the library. I sprinted to my dorm, dropped my bags, threw on a fresh, barely-there makeup look, and grabbed the new box of pastries I’d bought as a peace offering. The second-floor study area was buzzing with people. I scanned the tables from the doorway but didn’t see him. Just as I was wondering where he could be, I heard a voice from the end of the hall, near the water fountains. “Dude, was that Isabelle just now?” I froze, turning my head. It was Liam and his roommate. And in Liam’s hand was a beautifully packaged bag of pastries. I glanced down at the identical bag in my own hand. My stomach dropped. “Nice one, man,” his roommate said, nudging him playfully. “Isabelle is the ice queen of our department. I can’t believe you actually won her over.” I was too far away to see their expressions clearly, but their words carried down the quiet hall. I waited for Liam to say something. To correct him. But he didn’t. He didn’t say a single word. His roommate was still talking. “I mean, Chloe’s hot and all, but… what’s the term? A ditz? You’re too smart for a beautiful ditz.” “A brainy goddess is way more your speed, man. You two are a perfect match.” I just stood there and listened. From beginning to end, Liam never once objected. It wasn’t until they started walking toward the study room entrance that I finally saw his face. He was smiling. And as his eyes met mine, that smile dissolved into shock. I held his gaze for a few seconds, my own face a placid mask. “Fancy seeing you here,” I said, my voice perfectly calm.

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The game of Truth or Dare ended with me kissing the guy I’ve been secretly in love with for a year. And somehow, it gave me the ability to read his mind. After I did it, he retreated to a corner of the couch, his expression as cool and unreadable as ever. He didn’t say a word. But a voice, his voice, echoed clearly in my head. Her lips are so soft. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. 1 It was a stupid party dare. The kind of thing you do in college when the music is too loud and the air is thick with cheap beer and bad decisions. I lost a round of cards, and the penalty was a dare. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled a card from the deck fanned out on the coffee table. The moment I drew it, the crowded living room erupted. My best friend, Mia, who was squeezed next to me on the couch, let out a shriek of laughter so loud it vibrated through my skull. My hand holding the card started to tremble. If she was laughing that hard, I must have drawn something mortifying. “Oh my god, Chloe! Open your eyes, you have to see this!” Mia slapped my shoulder, urging me on. Bracing myself, I opened my eyes. The words on the card made my trembling worse. 【Kiss the person next to you. Passionately.】 There were only two people next to me. On one side was Mia. On the other was Noah Evans. He wasn’t even supposed to be sitting there. Earlier, he’d claimed the cigarette smoke from across the room was getting to him and asked to swap seats with some guy. He’d ended up right next to me. The catcalls and whoops from our friends intensified. Mia put her hands on her hips, her grin wicked. “Just so we’re clear, you are not kissing me,” she declared. “Girl-on-girl is a no-go for this dare!” With that, every eye in the room landed on Noah. The noise level spiked again. My whole body went rigid. I turned to look at him, my palms slick with sweat. He sat there calmly, the dim party lights casting his face in shadow, making him impossible to read. We’d been in the same friend group for a year, but I don’t think we’d ever exchanged more than a dozen words. Kissing him felt less plausible than flying to the moon. “Chloe, this is your shot! Don’t blow it!” Mia hissed in my ear. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But how could I? As if finally sensing the weight of two dozen stares, Noah slowly looked up. His gaze drifted from me to the card in my hand. His expression remained a perfect blank. My nerve broke. “Maybe we should just skip it…” I mumbled. “I’m fine with it.” My voice died in my throat. Noah cut me off, his eyes lifting to meet mine. His face was still passive, but his voice was steady. “I don’t have a problem with it.” 2 The room exploded. Mia’s laughter reached a pitch I can only describe as demonic. Propelled by the roar of the crowd, I leaned toward Noah, my heart hammering against my ribs with every inch I closed the distance. The second my lips brushed against his, I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. His lips were warm. And incredibly soft. I remembered seeing an anonymous post on the campus confession page once, debating who had the most kissable lips. Noah’s name had come up more than once. The verdict was that they looked like they’d be perfect to kiss. They were. The rumors were true. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, but for a split second, I thought I felt the corner of his mouth twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. Is he… smiling? My heart went into overdrive. The dizzying rush of it all was so intoxicating that it wasn’t until Mia practically fell off the couch laughing that I snapped back to reality. I couldn’t bring myself to deliver the “passionate” part of the dare. A simple, soft press was all I could manage before I pulled back so fast I bumped into Mia. “That’s it?!” she screeched, snatching the card from my hand. “Where’s the passion?” “That’s enough, that’s enough,” I mumbled, my face burning. I couldn’t look at anyone. Mia sighed with the dramatic frustration of someone whose favorite TV show just got canceled. 3 After a few minutes, when my pulse had returned to something resembling normal, I realized the spot beside me was empty. Noah had moved. He was now sitting at the far end of the sectional, alone. I watched him, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Why did he move so far away? He looks… annoyed. What’s he thinking? He regrets it! I ruined his night! He hates me! My mind spiraled. I was debating whether I should go over and apologize when a familiar voice echoed in my ear. She kissed me. What? That was Noah’s voice. I scanned the room, but he was still in the corner, perfectly still. He hadn’t moved his lips. Did I imagine that? I stared at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. A second later, the voice came again, clearer this time. Her lips are so soft. Noah blinked, a slow, deliberate motion. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. What. The. Hell? 4 I sat frozen, trying to process what had just happened, until Mia, fresh from another round of the game, nudged me. “What’s up? Cat got your tongue, or are you just blissed out?” “Did you…” I started, choosing my words carefully. “Did you hear Noah say anything just now?” “Noah?” Mia frowned, glancing over to the corner. “He hasn’t said a word since… you know.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Chloe, are you drunk?” She patted my head like I was a child. “Just chill here for a bit, okay honey?” And with that, she was dragged back into the game, leaving me to drown in my own confusion. Was I really just hearing things? It felt so real. My thoughts were interrupted by a new wave of cheering. “Alright, make way, make way! Evans is getting in on the action!” I watched as one of the guys scooted over, creating a space on the couch. Right next to me. Noah got up from his corner seat and, with that same infuriatingly calm expression, sat down in the empty spot. My heart skipped. His last thought, the one I’d supposedly imagined, came rushing back. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. 5 Once the game started again, Noah was on an incredible losing streak. He had to chug his drink three times in a row. Even his friend, Ryan, looked baffled. “Dude, when did you get so bad at this game?” Noah just shrugged, his expression cool. “Bad luck, I guess. Deal me in.” Predictably, he lost the next round too. This time, though, he didn’t reach for his drink. He eyed the deck of dare cards on the table. Ryan caught his drift and, with a theatrical flourish, swept the cards into a messy pile. “Let’s see what fate has in store for my man Noah! C’mon, something good, like a lap dance for a stranger!” Noah’s face was a mask of indifference. He stared down at the cards, as if weighing a decision of immense gravity. Then, I heard it again. That voice. His voice. I have to pick the one with the crease. My eyes shot to the pile of cards on the table. A crease? Which one had a crease? He was taking his time. Ryan nudged him. “C’mon, man, pick one.” Noah’s gaze swept over the cards one last time before locking onto a single one near the edge. A flicker of something—relief?—crossed his features before being instantly erased. He reached out and tapped it with his finger. “This one,” he said, his tone casual. Ryan snatched it up, his eyes widening as he read it. A huge, knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, man. Oh, you guys are not gonna believe this.” He held the card to his chest, milking the suspense. Mia, never one for patience, was about to lose it. “What is it? Spit it out!” “This card… this card is just…” Mia balled her fists. “Ryan, I swear to god, I will punch you!” After a few playful jabs from her, he finally gave in. His eyes darted between me and Noah, that stupid grin still plastered on his face as he revealed the grand prize. He flipped the card over. I leaned in to see. And then I froze. It was my card. The exact same one. The words 【Kiss the person next to you. Passionately.】 stared back at me. As I looked closer, I saw it—a tiny, almost imperceptible crease in the bottom right corner. My heart rate skyrocketed. Ryan nudged Noah, his voice dripping with insinuation. “What a coincidence, huh, man?” “Yeah,” Noah said, his expression completely flat as he glanced at the card and gave a small nod. “A real coincidence.” He said it, and then his eyes lifted and met mine. My breath caught. His eyes were dark, intense. He held my gaze for a few seconds in the dim light before asking, his voice quiet and even. “Is that okay with you?” 6 My brain went completely blank. Okay with… what? Was this really happening? Mia muffled a squeal, her eyes bouncing between the two of us. After a moment, she exploded with laughter and, leaning over, pushed my head forward in a nod. “Yes! Yes, it’s okay! We are all law-abiding citizens who respect the rules of the game!” Noah shot her a quick glance before his eyes returned to me, waiting. As if sensing my hesitation, he added quietly, “I was fine with it before.” The implication hung in the air. I played along for you. It’s only fair that you do the same for me. “I… I mean…” Before I could finish, a hand shoved my shoulder, and I stumbled forward, right into Noah. I gasped, but a pair of strong hands caught me, steadying me. The next thing I knew, my lips met his. Warm. Soft. I looked up and found him already looking down at me. His eyelashes were so long. From this angle, I could see them flutter as he blinked slowly. And then, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He was smiling. 7 This was going to kill me. Kissing my crush twice in one night had my heart doing gymnastics. I was suddenly wide awake, my body temperature rising like a furnace. If I stayed there one second longer, I was going to spontaneously combust. I scrambled off him and mumbled something about the bathroom, practically fleeing the room. The shock of cold water on my hands did little to cool the fire on my face. The feeling of his lips lingered, a phantom warmth I couldn’t wash away. His lips. His smile. And his thoughts. Stop it, Chloe. Just stop. I think I stayed in that bathroom for a century. When I finally returned to the living room, I overheard Ryan talking to Noah. “I don’t know, man,” Ryan said, squinting at him suspiciously. “I feel like you’ve been smiling this whole time.” Noah looked up. “Have I?” “Yeah,” Ryan insisted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ever since you ‘lost’ that last round.” He grinned, waiting for a denial. “Hm,” Noah said, not even looking up. “Guess I have been.” Ryan just stared, his mouth hanging open. The heat rushed back to my cheeks. I took a few deep breaths and found an empty corner to sit in, hoping to become invisible. The party was winding down, and people were scattered around, chatting quietly. That’s when I heard it again. How do I get closer to her? She’s sitting so far away. My eyes darted toward Noah. He was sitting on the couch, lost in thought. After a moment, his gaze landed on Ryan, who was still trying to process their earlier conversation. Noah tapped him. “Why aren’t you smoking?” Ryan blinked. “Huh? Why would I be smoking?” Noah paused for a beat. “You look cool when you smoke.” “I do, don’t I?” Ryan preened, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. But just as he lit it, Noah let out a single, sharp cough. It was just loud enough for everyone to hear. Then he stood up and started walking away. Ryan stared, the cigarette frozen between his fingers. “What the hell, man?” Noah’s voice was flat. “Can’t stand the smell of smoke. Got to get away from you.” Ryan was left looking utterly baffled. My whole body tensed. I watched, paralyzed, as Noah calmly walked across the room and sat down in the armchair directly across from me. 8 That night, I couldn’t sleep. I crawled into Mia’s bed. “Hey,” I whispered. “Can being drunk make you hallucinate?” “Like, hearing things?” Mia was more wasted than I was. She grunted from beneath her comforter. “Yeah, Chloe. What’d you hear?” I clutched my phone and leaned closer. “I heard… Noah’s voice.” “Huh?” Mia cracked open one bloodshot eye. “I heard him thinking… that he needed to find a way to kiss me.” The eye that had struggled to open slammed shut. She rolled over, her back to me, and was instantly asleep. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t believe me.” A muffled voice came from the blankets. “No… just… go to sleep. We’ll deal with it in the morning.” “Deal with what?” “Your daydreaming.” I kicked her under the covers. 9 To prove I wasn’t crazy, Mia’s plan the next morning was to drag me past Noah’s usual haunts. But we’d barely left my dorm when we heard Ryan’s booming voice. “Seriously, dude? Do we have to eat at this dining hall? It’s a million miles from our dorm.” Ryan was rubbing his eyes, looking like death warmed over. “It’s fine,” Noah’s calm voice replied. His gaze flickered toward our dorm building. “The food is better here.” Is it, though? I thought. Mia and I froze. We turned and saw the two of them heading toward the dining hall. “Well, speak of the devil,” Mia grinned, pulling me along. “Hey! Ryan! Morning!” Ryan and Mia were two of a kind. He waved back with equal energy. “Yo! Fancy seeing you here.” As Mia dragged me over, she whispered, “Okay, at breakfast, try to see if you can hear him again.” Before I could ask how we were all supposed to eat together, Mia was already asking. “Hey, since we’re all here, want to grab a table together?” Ryan was about to agree when he remembered his company. “Ah, probably not. Noah’s not really a fan of eating with… you know, other people.” “Next time,” Ryan said, patting Mia’s arm. “We’ll do it next time.” Just then, I saw Noah’s eyes flick almost imperceptibly in my direction. “I don’t mind,” he said. Ryan stared at him. Noah continued, his tone perfectly even. “I enjoy eating breakfast with people.” Ryan’s jaw dropped. 10 Ryan looked like a zombie all the way into the dining hall. He grabbed Noah’s shoulder, his voice a numb whisper. “When did you start enjoying eating with people?” Especially girls? was the unspoken question. Noah’s expression was serene. “Just now.” 11 Inside, Ryan and Mia immediately split off toward their favorite food stations. I stood behind Noah, silently deciding to just get whatever he was getting. But he wasn’t moving either, apparently still deciding. I worked up the courage to speak. “What are you getting?” He looked over his shoulder. “Haven’t decided.” Okay. After a moment of awkward silence, I gave up and headed for the pancake line. The second I moved, so did he. He followed right behind me, stopping at the same station. He ordered the exact same thing I did. And he sat down at the same table. He never said a word, but his thoughts were a constant stream flooding my mind. I want to eat the same thing she is. She looks so sweet when she’s focused. I need to figure out an excuse to eat with her again. I kept my head down, focusing on my pancakes, feeling my ears grow hotter by the second. After they left, Mia leaned in close. “So? Did you hear anything?” “…Yeah.” “For real?!” Her eyes were wide. “You can hear his thoughts? What was he thinking?” I paused, the heat rising in my face again. “He said I look sweet.” Mia stared at me. “And that he needs to find an excuse to eat with me again.” Mia looked at me like I’d just announced I was moving to Mars. “Chloe, are you listening to yourself?” 12 Mia insisted it was absurd. She was convinced my crush had metastasized into full-blown delusion and suggested a trip to the campus health center. Did Noah, with his perpetually cool and distant expression, seem like the kind of guy who would think things like that? Honestly, she had a point. If I hadn’t heard it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it either. But why was he trying so hard to get closer to me? My phone buzzed, shaking me from my thoughts. It was Mia, texting to say the results from the piano competition last month were in. I got first place. Not a huge surprise, but nice to hear. As I was about to put my phone away, it buzzed again. A friend request. With a profile picture I recognized instantly from the campus confession page. The name read: Noah Evans – Computer Science.

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