Chapter 1: The End of Eighteen Years

From kindergarten through my senior year of college, I had a crush on Mason Carter for so many years.

Back then, I remember the way my heart would skip whenever Mason walked by on the playground—the sharp slap of sneakers on the blacktop, the laughter of kids echoing around us, the humid air thick with the smell of freshly cut grass. His hair was always sticking up in the back, his sneakers perpetually untied. It was the sort of crush that colored every school dance and every summer barbecue, the kind that made me doodle his name in the margins of my spiral notebooks.

I never imagined there’d come a day when I’d stop loving him.

It felt impossible, like saying the sky could turn green or the Mississippi would run dry. I’d built so much of my life around Mason, I thought letting go would be like losing a part of myself. The idea of not loving him felt as unreal as waking up in someone else’s life.

But the truth is, I really could break up with him and not feel a thing. Even I didn’t understand myself—maybe I’m just numb now, or maybe I was always a little cold.

Or maybe, after years of trying and hurting, I’d finally run out of hope. Maybe you just get tired, eventually, of being the only one holding on. Maybe heartbreak just wears you down until you’re empty.

"Got something going on tonight. Go see the movie by yourself. I already bought your ticket."

Looking at Mason’s text, I let out a sigh and tossed my phone onto the bed, the corners of my mouth curling into a cold, detached smile. My eyes stayed blank, unmoved.

It was almost comical, the way he tried to sound considerate while making it clear he didn’t want to be there. The little blue bubbles on my phone screen felt colder than the winter wind outside, the glow of the display as harsh as a neon sign at midnight.

If this had been before, I’d have acted like a private investigator, blowing up his phone: Where are you? Who are you with? Why can’t you come with me? When will you be back?

I’d have scrolled through his Instagram, checked his Snap Map, maybe even stalked his TikTok likes or checked his Venmo for clues. I’d have called his friends, pressed them at our favorite hangout, or tried to catch him at the local Starbucks. I’d have been relentless, desperate for any scrap of reassurance.

Sometimes, just to check if he was telling the truth, I’d even go looking for him.

I remember once, I showed up at the rec center unannounced, just to see if he really was playing pickup basketball with Ryan. I felt ridiculous hiding behind the vending machines, listening to the squeak of sneakers and the echo of the scoreboard buzzer, but I needed to know.

I’d work myself into a frenzy, making my whole life revolve around him, as if the world would end without him.

I skipped out on girls’ nights, missed family dinners, and let my grades slip—all for the chance to be wherever Mason was. My friends called it devotion, but looking back, it was just plain exhausting—like scrolling endlessly through someone else’s highlight reel, never measuring up.

But now, I realized I didn’t feel a thing.

It was like a switch had flipped inside me. The anxiety, the ache, the hope—they were all gone. My hands felt cold, but there was a strange weight lifting from my chest, leaving just a quiet emptiness behind.

I closed his chat, tapped the pinned contact right below his, and sent a photo of the two movie tickets I’d just picked up.

The reply came almost instantly.

"I’ll be right there."

Julian’s texts always had a way of lighting up my screen. There was no waiting, no second-guessing, just a simple certainty that he’d show up—like the warmth of a hoodie fresh from the dryer.

The movie had just ended when I got another message from Mason.

"Gonna play basketball with Ryan later. Don’t call or bug me, okay?"

I glanced at Julian Torres, who was walking beside me, and let out a sarcastic laugh.

Julian shot me a look, his eyebrows raised. I shook my head, tucking my phone into my pocket. The night air was crisp, the glow from the theater marquee casting long shadows and making everything feel a little surreal, like a scene from a coming-of-age film.

Mason really had it rough—he even remembered when my movie would end and texted on purpose.

Guess my old habit of pestering him left a mark—now he’s learned to report in advance to avoid drama. It was almost funny, if it didn’t sting so much.

"Where to now?" Julian slung an arm around my shoulders, letting his hand rest lightly and comfortably. He leaned in, his touch casual, almost brotherly, the kind of friendly gesture you’d see in a college quad. He glanced at my lit-up phone, his posture relaxed, the faint scent of cedar and cheap aftershave drifting from his hoodie.

I purposely held my phone closer to his face. "Guess who he’s with right now?"

Julian said nothing.

He looked away, jaw tight, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. My shoulders stiffened, and the silence between us stretched, heavy with things unsaid. I felt the tension in my chest, as if the night itself was holding its breath.

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. "You really don’t have the guts—even now you can’t admit he’s with Savannah."

My laughter echoed down the sidewalk, sharp and brittle. A couple walking past glanced over, and I shrugged, not caring how I looked. I felt the cool bite of the evening, the hum of distant traffic, and the weight of old habits dying.

He suddenly let go and pulled away. At 6’2", he looked pretty intimidating, his frame casting a long shadow under the streetlights.

His expression was hard to read. "Sorry."

His apology hung in the air, awkward and unfinished. I crossed my arms and looked away, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words got stuck somewhere between us.

Being stared at made me a little uncomfortable, so I rubbed my nose, walked around him, and kept going.

I shoved my hands into my hoodie and kept my gaze on the sidewalk, counting the cracks as I walked. The night felt colder than before, the wind picking up and carrying the scent of rain and distant pizza.

Savannah Reed really is something.

She was the kind of girl who’d get voted Homecoming Queen without even trying. Even strangers wanted to be better just by walking into a room with her. People talked about her like she was made of stardust and magazine covers.

Looking up at the night sky, I couldn’t help but sigh.

A crescent moon hung above the campus, pale and distant. I wondered if Savannah ever looked at the sky and felt ordinary, or if she always saw herself as the center of the universe.

She’s Julian’s girlfriend, and also Mason’s unreachable crush—the dream girl both the most popular guys at Crescent State put on a pedestal. She has a great family, looks, grades—practically perfect.

It was like she’d been designed in a lab: the perfect GPA, the perfect smile, the perfect parents who showed up at every awards ceremony. Even her Instagram was flawless—sunny brunches, candid laughter, perfect hair. She made the rest of us feel like background extras.

I spent eighteen years with Mason, and no gossip could make me give up on him.

I’d weathered every rumor, every sideways glance. I’d convinced myself that love was about persistence, about staying even when it hurt. I clung to the idea that effort would eventually pay off.

But Savannah only needed one sentence to make me let go completely.

She had a way of making you feel invisible with just a look, like you were a footnote in her story. One glance from her and I felt erased.

Last weekend was Savannah’s birthday.

She invited me.

I stared at the text, thinking maybe she’d sent it to the wrong Ellie. It felt like a trap, but curiosity (and pride) got the better of me. The invitation felt like a dare.

I thought it was odd. We weren’t close—our only interactions were about Mason or Julian. Every time we met, it felt like we were rivals, each wanting the other gone. Why invite me?

Her invitation was handwritten, all loopy letters and little hearts. It made me wonder if she was trying to play nice or just showing off her perfect penmanship.

But since Mason would definitely go, even if she hadn’t invited me, I would have shamelessly tagged along.

I’d have shown up in the background, pretending I just happened to be there. It was pathetic, but I didn’t care. I was used to being the extra.

Back then, wherever Mason was, you’d find me.

I was the shadow at his heels, the extra ticket to every event, the girl who always said yes. I didn’t know how to be anything else.

"What are you doing here?" In the noisy bar, Mason frowned at me.

His voice was clipped, the way it always got when he was annoyed. The bar was packed with Savannah’s friends, all of them laughing too loudly over overpriced cocktails and the sticky smell of spilled beer. The speakers pumped out top 40 pop, making conversation almost impossible.

"Celebrating Savannah’s birthday."

I ignored the impatience in his eyes, pretended not to care, and showed him Savannah’s invitation.

He glanced at it, face cold, didn’t look at me again, and walked toward the private room on the third floor.

I watched him go, feeling like a stray dog chasing after a car that would never stop. My chest tightened, but I kept my head high.

"Hey…" I reached out to grab his arm but missed.

He didn’t even slow down, just kept moving like I was invisible. My hand fell to my side, empty and cold.

Watching his indifferent back, I patted my cheeks, pulled myself together, and then cheerfully caught up, grabbing his arm tightly with both hands.

I pasted on my best party-girl smile, pretending everything was fine. The floor was sticky under my shoes, the pop music blared, and my grip on his arm was desperate, but I told myself I was just being affectionate.

I could feel the muscles in his arm tense, the way he tried to shake me off without making a scene. I held on tighter, determined not to let go, even as he struggled subtly to break free.

After a while, he let me hold on—maybe he realized he couldn’t shake me off, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to fight anymore. Either way, I took it as a win, small as it was.

Through the thin sleeve, I could feel the warmth of his skin. I couldn’t stop smiling, even though I knew it was a lie.

It was such a tiny thing, but it made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I mattered to him.

It had been almost three months since he agreed to be with me, and the most intimate thing we’d done was hold hands after my confession.

That tingling, electric feeling from holding his hand—I still remembered it clearly. My palm was sweaty, my heart racing, time slowing down. It was like being shocked, and I clung to that spark like it was proof we were real.

Suddenly, he pushed me away.

Caught off guard, I fell backward. If Julian hadn’t caught me, I would have hit my head.

Julian’s arms steadied me, his grip surprisingly gentle for someone so tall. The thump of bass from the private room vibrated through the floor, making my head spin. The smell of beer and cologne was thick in the air.

Once I regained my balance, I looked at Mason.

He didn’t even notice me. His attention was entirely on Savannah, who stood at the private room door. I caught the way he looked at her—nervous, hopeful, explaining himself with a shaky voice.

"I… she—there’s nothing between us."

His voice was so soft, so earnest. I’d never heard him sound like that with me.

In that moment, my heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water.

The humiliation burned, but the cold settled in deeper. I felt like a ghost, haunting a party where no one remembered inviting me.

Once I was steady, I gestured for Julian to let go, but he still held me tightly, as if trying to stop me from falling apart.

His hand lingered on my arm, and for a second, I wanted to scream. Instead, I just smiled and shook him off, determined not to let anyone see me cry. Not tonight.

Mason is my boyfriend. It’s only natural for us to be together. Why should I care what anyone else thinks?

I straightened my shoulders and walked forward, telling myself I had every right to be here. I was tired of feeling like an outsider in my own relationship.

"Mase, why aren’t you going in?" I walked up to Mason, stepping between him and Savannah.

I could feel the tension crackle in the air, like a thunderstorm about to break. Savannah’s perfume was cloying, and Mason’s cologne mixed with it, making me dizzy.

His eyes instantly went cold. The gentleness he’d just shown Savannah vanished, and he brushed past me into the room.

"Happy birthday," I heard him say softly to Savannah.

The words were so tender, I almost wondered if I’d imagined the coldness he’d shown me.

"Thank you. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble—it’s enough that you came."

Her voice was like honey, sweet and practiced. I could tell she was used to being adored.

He must have given her a gift.

I couldn’t help but remember my own birthday. I had to remind him, and he ordered a cake on Amazon for me to pick up and eat by myself.

I’d waited all day for him to text me, and when the notification came, it was just a pickup code. No card, no balloons, not even a phone call.

No other effort, just the standard "Happy Birthday" written on the cake—handwritten by the bakery girl. Pretty, but cold.

I couldn’t even get a real birthday greeting from him, let alone a gift.

It was the kind of thing you’d do for a coworker, not a girlfriend. I’d tried to tell myself it was enough, but it never was.

"Aren’t you going to let Ellie in?" Savannah asked sweetly, pulling me from my thoughts.

Her tone was syrupy, but her eyes were sharp. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Ignore her. Today’s your birthday—you’re the most important."

Mason’s tone made it sound like he was talking about a stranger. I smiled bitterly, heart aching, but my face showed nothing.

I’d gotten good at hiding my feelings, at pretending I didn’t care when I was breaking inside.

Sometimes I asked myself, what’s so great about Mason? Why couldn’t I let go? Wasn’t it exhausting?

The answer was always the same: habit. I was addicted to the pain, to the hope that maybe he’d change.

But every time I wanted to give up, I felt unwilling.

It was like I was afraid of what would be left if I stopped loving him. Maybe nothing at all.

I always thought, since Mason agreed to be with me, if I just tried harder and treated him better, maybe he’d notice me and forget Savannah.

I kept telling myself that love was about patience, that the right amount of effort would win him over. It never did.

The voices behind me faded away.

The music and laughter from the party became a distant hum. I felt like I was underwater, everything muffled and slow.

Mason left me behind again.

It was becoming a pattern—me chasing, him running. I wondered how much longer I’d keep playing this game.

"Ellie, see? I told you not to come, but you insisted. Now you’re upset, right?" A mocking male voice came from behind. I looked up.

Julian was leaning against the neon-lit bar wall, watching me like he was enjoying a show.

His posture was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his eyes. He always seemed to know exactly when to appear.

He stood in a spot where Savannah couldn’t see him, and he couldn’t see her either. Maybe he did it on purpose so he wouldn’t feel embarrassed.

He was always careful to keep up appearances, never letting anyone see his cards.

"You’ve got a visitor, and it’s not the pizza guy!" I shot back, annoyed at the nickname—like I was some weed, everywhere and invisible, just a background character.

It stung, being reduced to a punchline. I rolled my eyes, refusing to let him get the last word.

"Alright, alright, my bad," Julian said, standing up straight, as if I was being unreasonable.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning like he’d won something.

I braced myself to argue, but he suddenly came over, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me inside.

His grip was firm but not painful, like he was trying to anchor me to the present.

His big hand was burning hot.

It sent a jolt up my arm, and for a second, I forgot why I was angry.

"Fine, but don’t touch me. I have a boyfriend, you know," I said, shaking him off in disgust.

I tried to sound tough, but my voice wavered. I hated how easily he could fluster me.

He didn’t care, rubbing his fingers, and stepped two paces to my left, like he was hiding something.

He always had a way of making me feel like I was missing the punchline to a joke only he understood.

I tiptoed, trying to peek over his shoulder.

He smacked me down, then hooked his arm around my neck and steered me to the table, handing me a slice of cake.

His touch was gentle, almost protective. I wondered if he did this for everyone, or just me.

I’d come straight from class and hadn’t eaten all day—I was starving.

My stomach growled loudly, and I tried to laugh it off. Julian just grinned and slid a napkin toward me, teasing, "Don’t inhale it all at once, Ellie."

I took it without hesitation and started eating, not caring how messy I looked.

The frosting smeared on my lips, but I didn’t care. It tasted better than anything I’d had in weeks—rich chocolate from the local bakery, with a hint of espresso in the cream.

Julian sat next to me for barely two minutes before leaving with his phone. I figured he’d been scared off by my eating.

I watched him go, feeling oddly disappointed. He was always coming and going, never staying in one place for long.

Normally, I was always elegant in front of Mason, but around others, I just did whatever felt comfortable.

It was a relief, not having to perform. Around Julian, I could just be Ellie—messy, hungry, unfiltered.

Halfway through eating, I remembered Julian’s odd behavior when we came in.

Something about the way he’d positioned himself kept nagging at me. I set my fork down, curiosity winning out.

I put down the cake and walked to the left side of the entrance.

The hallway was dim, the music muffled by thick walls. My shoes squeaked on the polished floor, and the air smelled faintly of spilled beer and cheap perfume.

This private room was unusually large, with two side rooms besides the main area for drinking and karaoke. The right was the restrooms.

As for the left…

Just as I approached, I heard soft panting from the not-quite-closed door.

My heart pounded, and I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to know what was happening inside.

"Mason… mm… don’t…"

I bit my finger, trying not to gasp.

That sweet, soft voice was unmistakably Savannah’s.

Her tone was breathy, pleading. I felt sick to my stomach.

"Savvy, sorry, I can’t hold back anymore. Seeing you smiling next to Julian every day drives me crazy with jealousy."

Mason’s usually deep, magnetic voice was now husky and low.

He sounded nothing like the boy I’d known all my life. I barely recognized him.

I couldn’t fool myself anymore—the people inside were definitely Mason and Savannah.

My hands shook as I realized the truth I’d been avoiding for so long.

I pushed the door open a little more, and saw the two of them kissing.

"Creak—"

The sound startled them, and they looked over together.

Their faces were flushed, lips swollen. Savannah’s hair was mussed, Mason’s shirt untucked.

"Go."

A low voice brushed my ear, and suddenly Julian’s hand clamped over my mouth, dragging me away before I could make a scene. The world spun, my heart hammered, and I struggled to catch my breath as he pulled me into the next room.

By the time I realized what was happening, Julian had pinned me against the door.

His eyes were wild, his jaw clenched tight. I’d never seen him look so fierce, his hand still steady on my shoulder.

"Who was that just now? Mason, we can’t get caught!"

Savannah’s panicked voice came from outside.

I could hear the fear in her voice, the way she clung to Mason for reassurance.

"Don’t be scared. I’ll take responsibility. If we’re found out, just blame it all on me—I won’t let you get hurt."

Listening to Mason’s solemn promise, I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore.

They fell hot and fast, blurring my vision. I pressed my fist to my mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

From start to finish, he never considered how his girlfriend might feel if things went wrong. Or maybe, he never cared about me at all.

I’d always been the afterthought, the fallback plan. It hurt more than I wanted to admit.

"Don’t waste your tears on him—he’s not worth it."

Julian’s voice was gentle, his thumb brushing away my tears. He looked at me like he understood, like he’d been here before.

His words were soft, but there was steel underneath. I could see the anger simmering in his eyes.

Julian lifted my chin and gently wiped away my tears with his thumb.

His touch was warm, grounding. I let myself lean into it for a moment, just to feel something other than pain.

"Why did you stop me just now? You get cheated on and don’t get angry—don’t stop me from venting."

His frustration was palpable. I could see the muscles in his jaw working as he tried to hold himself back.

I slapped his hand away, my eyes red. "How could I not be angry?"

My voice cracked, betraying the hurt I’d tried so hard to hide.

Julian stared at me, his dark eyes icy. "He got you, didn’t cherish you, and still fools around. What a jerk!"

He and Mason were roommates, and I’d known Julian for a while, but this was the first time I’d heard him swear. He must really be angry.

His words hit me harder than I expected. I realized I wasn’t alone in my pain. The realization brought a strange sense of relief, a flicker of camaraderie in the middle of all this mess.

It also showed he truly cared about Savannah. Or at least, he cared enough to be hurt by her. We were both casualties of someone else’s love story.

No love, no hate.

Both of us heartbroken, I softened toward him, no longer giving him the cold shoulder. My shoulders dropped, and I let the fight drain out of me. We were just two broken people, trying to make sense of the wreckage.

"Let me go. I want to leave."

I pushed Julian.

My voice was small, but insistent. I needed air, needed to get away from all of this.

"Ellie, don’t you want to get back at Mason? He made you feel so wronged and upset—don’t you want to see him regret it?"

He grabbed my wrist, his dark eyes fixed on me. His grip was desperate, like he was clinging to the only lifeline he had left.

His words stunned me.

I even forgot to retort about the nickname, just stared at him blankly.

It was like he’d read my mind, voicing the dark thoughts I’d tried to bury.

"How do we get back at him?"

He smiled, the dimple at the corner of his mouth coming alive. His voice was low and seductive. "Be with me."

A breeze blew, and I shivered involuntarily.

The air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of grass and distant barbecue smoke. I hugged myself, wishing I’d brought a jacket.

"Still trying to act cool in this wind?"

Julian caught up from behind, nagging like my mom.

He draped his varsity jacket over my shoulders, the fabric warm from his body. I inhaled the faint scent of laundry detergent and something uniquely Julian.

"I…" I was about to say I hadn’t dressed up for him, when his jacket landed on my head, carrying a faint scent of laundry soap.

I fumbled with the sleeves, feeling both ridiculous and oddly comforted.

By the time I pulled it off and put it on, Julian was already ahead.

He walked with his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune I didn’t recognize. I watched him, wondering when things had gotten so complicated.

Looking at his tall, lean back, I wondered why I’d agreed to his plan that day.

Now everything was half-finished and unclear. Every time I saw Mason, I felt guilty.

The guilt gnawed at me, making it hard to sleep. I wondered if revenge was worth feeling this empty.

Before, everything was Mason’s fault, and I could blame him. Now I felt like the one in the wrong.

I missed the simplicity of righteous anger. Now, all I felt was lost.

The satisfaction of revenge was gone, and I felt even more lost.

I kind of regretted getting involved with Julian.

He deserved better than to be someone’s rebound, and I deserved better than to be stuck in the past.

"Ouch—what are you doing?"

My forehead was knocked hard. I covered the red spot, annoyed. "Are you stupid? It’s a red light."

Julian sounded irritated.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of concern in his voice.

I looked up and realized we were at the busy street in front of the theater.

The crosswalk signal blinked, and cars idled at the curb, headlights glaring. The smell of street food—hot dogs, popcorn—drifted from a nearby cart. Horns honked in the distance.

"Let’s go."

The light turned green, and Julian pulled me across.

He walked briskly, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. I had to jog to keep up, the city lights flashing past us.

I squirmed uncomfortably.

"Don’t move. They already kissed, and you’ve been with me almost a week. Why are you still acting like you’ve never seen the world?"

Julian, with his back to me, started nagging again, his tone softer, more teasing than accusatory.

His words stung, but there was a strange comfort in his familiar teasing.

After crossing, I shook off his hand.

I needed space, needed to remember who I was without anyone else’s shadow looming over me.

The theater is near Crescent State, so it’s easy to run into classmates.

I scanned the crowd, half-expecting to see Mason or Savannah at any moment.

"What’s wrong? Still like Mason? Afraid he’ll see you?"

Maybe he noticed my hesitation. Julian’s face darkened. He stepped forward, trapping me between a white traffic pole and himself.

His eyes searched mine, looking for an answer I wasn’t sure I could give.

I looked into his questioning eyes, not understanding why he thought I still liked Mason.

Eighteen years of obsession had ended last week when I overheard him with Savannah. If I kept chasing after that, I’d really be a fool.

I straightened my spine, determined not to let anyone question my choices.

"Why aren’t you saying anything? So you admit it, huh?"

Julian grabbed my chin, his tone forceful.

His touch was rough, but his eyes were pleading. I could see the hurt behind his bravado.

"What does it matter to you whether I like him or not?"

His grip hurt, so I snapped back, bent my knees, ducked under his arm, and walked away.

I tossed his jacket back, the fabric slipping from my fingers as I put distance between us.

Being with him was just for revenge—what right did he have to question me?

I told myself I didn’t owe him anything, but a small part of me wondered if that was true.

I tossed his jacket back and walked off without looking back.

I could feel his eyes on my back, the weight of his gaze like a silent question I wasn’t ready to answer. It took everything I had not to turn around.

At the campus gate, I couldn’t help but glance back.

Under the distant red light, Julian in white stood out in the night, unmoving, watching me like an abandoned puppy.

His silhouette was framed by the glow of the streetlamp, and for a moment, I almost went back. But I didn’t.

I shook my head, cleared my mind, and walked into campus.

I told myself I was done with all of it—Mason, Savannah, even Julian. It was time to start over.

What happens to Julian has nothing to do with me.

He used to like Savannah, I liked Mason.

Now, because our partners betrayed us, we got together for revenge—nothing more.

But some things, after all, got tangled up without me noticing.