Chapter 1: The Morning After Betrayal

When my parents called to tell me I should go over to my childhood friend’s house to help out with his blind date, my childhood friend was sleeping soundly right beside me.

My heart skipped a beat, a flash of panic shooting through me. The buzz of my iPhone vibrated on the nightstand, sunlight striping the rumpled comforter. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to laugh out loud—because, seriously, this felt like some twisted sitcom gag.

I thought it had to be a joke. I leaned over and whispered, “Ethan, your parents say they’ve set you up on a blind date.”

He mumbled, “Mm,” and lazily pulled me into his arms. “Be a pal, Nat—help me pick out something decent later, yeah? And maybe fix my hair if I look like crap.”

His voice was warm, husky with sleep—the kind of sound that always made Saturday mornings feel safe. The words sounded so casual it almost hurt—like we were still teenagers, like nothing had changed.

I stayed frozen, my breath caught in my chest. Ethan cracked one eye open and smirked:

“What’s up with you? Aren’t we just friends with benefits? Don’t tell me you thought I’d actually marry you?”

He said it so offhand, so cocky, that it stung even deeper. The edge in his tone was sharp enough to slice right through any leftover warmth in the room.

For a moment, I was at a loss for words.

My throat closed up, my face prickling. I felt like a high school kid caught sneaking out after curfew, except worse—because I should’ve known better. My hands twisted the hem of my T-shirt as I tried to steady my breathing.

All I could do was fumble around awkwardly.

My heart pounded in my chest, embarrassment burning my cheeks. I stared hard at the old hardwood floors, the cool wood biting at my bare feet as I searched for my scattered clothes. The faint scent of Ethan’s cologne lingered on his pillow, making it impossible to forget where I was.

I didn’t dare look at Ethan. After pushing him away, I picked up my clothes from the floor and threw them on carelessly.

The silence between us was thick, broken only by the sound of my zipper and the faint hum of traffic outside his window. My fingers fumbled with the fabric, my vision blurry with unshed tears.

“Natalie, look at me.” Ethan propped his chin on his hand, his gaze playful.

He looked so damn relaxed, sprawled across the bed like a model for a Calvin Klein ad. I tried to ignore the way my pulse skipped when he said my name like that.

“You didn’t really think we were boyfriend and girlfriend, did you?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy and humiliating. My hands trembled, a cold sweat prickling down my back.

My mind was stuck on the word ‘bedmate,’ and my hands shook a little. I couldn’t even fasten my bra properly. And then, like a cruel flashback, I remembered the first time he called me ‘buddy’—the morning after we’d slept together for the first time. I’d laughed it off, but the word stung, hollowing out something inside me. This wasn’t the first time he’d dismissed what I felt; it wouldn’t be the last.

The word echoed around my brain like a bad song stuck on repeat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so small.

Ethan lifted the comforter, revealing his lean, toned waist, and half-knelt on the bed.

He reached out, deftly helping me with the clasp.

His fingers brushed the small of my back, sending a jolt of electricity through me—one I desperately wished I could ignore. He moved so easily, so intimately, as if none of this mattered to him.

I lowered my head. “Who’s the blind date?”

I forced a bitter laugh. “Don’t tell me Mr. Harris just found someone on a dating app.”

The taste of self-deprecation was bitter in my mouth, and I tried to cover it up with a forced chuckle, like that would somehow make this less real.

Seeing the red marks all over my body in the mirror, my legs still weak, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of humiliation.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hide the evidence. The old mirror above Ethan’s dresser caught everything—the bruises, the tangled hair, the look of defeat on my face. For a second, I hated him. I hated myself more.

Ethan, wearing only gray sweatpants, leaned in, burying his head in the crook of my neck:

“It’s Lauren.”

The name landed with a dull thud in my chest, like a textbook dropped on a desk. I braced myself for the rest.

He raised those mischievous, fox-like eyes and repeated:

“That senior from the art department in college—Lauren.”

He drew out her name, almost savoring it. My stomach twisted.

“Honestly, I’m actually a little nervous about meeting her.”

He said it with a sheepish grin, the kind he saved for when he was genuinely excited. I suddenly felt invisible, like I was fading out of the picture.

My hand, holding my lipstick, froze. Of course I remembered.

Ethan had liked her before, but before he could confess, she’d moved to Europe.

The memory was as sharp as ever: late nights in the dorm, Ethan talking about Lauren’s laugh, her sketches. I’d hated how much he liked her back then. I guess I’d convinced myself that was ancient history.

I thought that was all in the past…

But nothing ever really stays in the past, does it? Not in small towns like ours, where every story circles back sooner or later.

Ethan stared at me, lips pressed together. “Natalie, you’d better not get any weird ideas about me.”

He said it like a warning, like I was some lovesick puppy he had to keep at bay. My cheeks burned hotter.

“We grew up together, practically running around naked. And though you… are definitely gorgeous, I’ve always seen you as one of the guys.”

“You’re my best pizza buddy, road trip partner, bedmate…”

Each label felt like another slap, another way of erasing everything I’d hoped for. My insides twisted.

It felt like a punch to the gut. My whole body went cold. Looking at Ethan’s smile, I forced myself to curve my lips up slightly.

I tried to play it cool, acting like it was all a joke to me too—like my heart wasn’t falling apart right in front of him.

He continued, “Besides, I know exactly what you wear and when, even your underwear—I can guess which set you’ll put on.”

“Honestly, it’s boring.”

He shrugged, like that was supposed to make me feel better. It only made me want to scream.

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, see you sleeping next to me, and get freaked out—”

“Freaked out that if we really did what our families joked about and got married, my whole life would be over in an instant?”

As he spoke, he actually shivered.

Just thinking about it seemed to send a chill down his spine.

I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself not to cry.

The pressure in my chest built, threatening to spill over. I bit the inside of my cheek, focusing on the pain. If I lost it now, I’d never forgive myself.

“I have something to do.”

With that, I wrapped myself in a coat and hurried out, fleeing like a deserter.

I didn’t even bother to tie my shoes properly, just grabbed my keys and slammed the door behind me. As I rushed to my car parked on the street, my hands shook so badly I fumbled with the keys, dropping them onto the cold pavement. “Damn it,” I muttered, cursing under my breath, blinking back tears as I finally managed to unlock the door. The cold morning air stung my skin as I slid into the driver’s seat, heart hammering.