#affection as control

The low hum of the factory machinery buzzed in my ears as I sat in the breakroom, staring at the sad sandwich I’d slapped together this morning. How did I end up here? After years of hard work and late-night study sessions, my Finance degree didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Instead of crunching numbers and living the life I’d dreamed of, I was here—packaging cardboard boxes and watching my future slip away.

I glanced down at my phone, a knot forming in my throat. Rent was coming up in two weeks, and I had no idea how I was going to scrape the money together. The thought of moving back in with my parents twisted my stomach in knots. No way could I go back to their judgmental looks, the snide remarks about my life choices, or their constant need to belittle everything I’ve done. I'd rather sleep on a park bench than deal with that.

My phone buzzed on the table, jolting me from my thoughts. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart sink a little deeper.

Sharon.

Of all the people who could be reaching out, she was the last person I expected—or wanted—to hear from. We hadn’t spoken since graduation, and that was by design. Things between us hadn’t ended well, and the fact that she was contacting me now couldn’t mean anything good.

With a sigh, I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Wow, you actually picked up," Sharon's voice dripped with that same smugness that always made me grit my teeth. "I wasn’t sure if you were still alive."

I rolled my eyes, immediately regretting answering. "Yeah, still kicking. How are you?" I shot back, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

"Fabulous, of course." Her voice was so sugary sweet it made my stomach churn. "Anyway, I’ll get to the point. A few of us are going on a trip—Maldives. One-month private villa. You should come."

I blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. A month-long vacation in the Maldives? Out of nowhere?

"Uh… I don’t think I can," I muttered, the discomfort rising up my spine. "I’m working right now, and I can’t afford a trip like that."

There was a brief silence, followed by Sharon’s familiar, annoyed huff. "Steve’s paying for everything, so don’t worry about that."

As if money was the only issue. I shook my head, feeling my frustration rise. "It’s not just about money. I can’t take off from work for two months."

"Why not?" she snapped, sounding genuinely confused, like the concept of having to work to survive was foreign to her. "Just quit."

I almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. "I can’t just quit, Sharon. I need this job. Some of us actually have bills to pay."

"Whatever," she sighed, clearly losing interest. "Look, if you change your mind, you’ve got three months to figure it out. We’re leaving in July."

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a smart remark. "I’ll let you know."

And with that, she hung up.

I stared at the phone, my mind spinning. Why now? Why was Sharon suddenly interested in inviting me on this extravagant trip after all this time? After everything that happened?

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I shook off the nagging feeling. Whatever she and her clique were up to, I wasn’t about to fall for it. Not this time.

I had more pressing things to worry about—like making it through the rest of my shift without falling apart.

***

Three weeks after Sharon’s call, I found myself standing in the manager’s office, trying to make sense of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Budget cuts,” Diane said flatly, as if that explained everything.

“But I’m the only one being fired,” I pointed out, confusion mixing with anger. “How does that make sense?”

Diane shrugged, clearly uninterested. “It’s just how things are.”

I knew better than to push back too much, but it still gnawed at me. Budget cuts? No way. This factory wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, but I’d seen plenty of new hires lately. So why me?

As I walked out of her office, I thought back to the time I’d corrected Diane on… well, something trivial. She’d been going on about a new process we had to follow, and I’d pointed out a mistake in her instructions. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I remembered she’d gone all red in the face, tight-lipped, and I could tell she didn’t appreciate being corrected, but it seemed like she was over it.

Did she have something to do with this? It didn’t make sense. I was practically invisible at the factory. Why would she care?

Still, it stung. Whatever the real reason, I was out of a job.

A few weeks later, my luck hadn’t changed. I spent every waking moment job hunting, praying something would come through before the end of the month. But it didn’t.

When it became clear I couldn’t afford my rent anymore, I had to make a decision: drown in debt or swallow my pride and move back in with my parents.

I hated the idea. But bills were piling up, and the pressure was too much, so I chose my parents.

The moment I walked through the door with my boxes, my mom took it upon herself to help me unpack—which, of course, meant a nonstop commentary on all the poor decisions I’d made in life.

“I told you this would happen,” she said, folding one of my shirts with military precision. “You never listen. You should have stayed closer to home, gone into something practical. But no, you wanted to follow your dreams.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap. It was always the same speech: how I should’ve done this, should’ve done that. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already. But I stayed quiet, nodding along while she reminded me just how incapable I was.

I’d been living with my parents for a month and a half now, and I was at my breaking point. Their constant nagging, the tension, the way they hovered over me—it was driving me insane. I needed out.

One week before Sharon and the girls were set to leave for the Maldives, I caved. Desperation took over, and I found myself texting Sharon, asking if there was still space for me on the trip.

Honestly, I didn’t expect her to respond. But then, there it was: a yes. Along with a list of things to pack and an address of where to meet them.

I stared at my phone in disbelief for a second. I was actually going to do this. Anything to get away from my parents.

When I told them about the trip, their reaction was immediate approval. Of course, the second they heard Sharon and Steve would be there, they were practically pushing me out the door.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” my mom beamed. “Sharon’s such a successful young woman. You should really try to get back on her good side.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course they loved Sharon. She was everything they wanted me to be—successful, put together, and always in the right circles. And Steve? They practically worshiped the guy. The heir to a tech empire. Who wouldn’t?

“Just make sure there’s no more falling outs this time,” my dad added, like I’d ever intentionally ruined things with Sharon.

I remembered the first time I told them about our fallout. They acted like I’d told them I was addicted to drugs, and they never really forgave me for it.

Now, it seemed I was being given a second chance to make everything “right.”

And honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but at this point, I’d do anything to get away from here.

***

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole trip might be some elaborate prank. I half-expected to show up and find a hidden camera crew waiting to embarrass me. But here I was, standing in front of a private jet, struggling with my heavy luggage.

“Need a hand?” a man’s voice cut through my thoughts. Before I could even respond, he was already taking my bags, prying them from my grip with an ease that felt almost dismissive.

"Uh, thanks," I muttered, watching him haul the luggage up the steps of the jet. Was this even real?

Inside, Sharon was waiting, her bright smile as fake as I remembered. “Kiwi! Oh my God, look at you!” Her eyes swept over me, lingering on all the wrong places. “Still… you,” she added, her tone too sharp to be anything close to nice.

“Yeah,” I replied, biting back the instinct to roll my eyes. Same old Sharon. Still poking at me for being shorter and curvier than the rest of them. “Still me.”

I looked to Natasha, Jane and Pepper and waved before following them into the Private Jet.

Sharon smirked, gesturing toward the jet's sleek interior. “Welcome aboard. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve ridden in anything like this?”

I didn’t bother with a response. There were a million reasons why I didn’t fly on private jets, one being that I couldn’t afford too, but it wasn’t worth the energy. I followed Sharon inside, catching sight of the group lounging around like they belonged there.

Steve was the first to greet me, his golden hair practically glowing in the soft light as he flashed that easy smile. “Hey, Kiwi,” he said, patting the seat beside him. His tone was friendly—maybe a little too friendly—but I hesitated. Before I could move, Natasha grabbed my arm and steered me toward a different seat.

“We saved you a spot over here!” Natasha chimed, squeezing my arm with just a bit too much excitement. She shot a quick glance at Steve, then back at me, like there was something I wasn’t picking up on.

Peter was already seated across from me, leaning back with a casual confidence that made me uncomfortable. His dark eyes met mine for a split second, and he gave a small nod. There was nothing awkward or out of place about him—if anything, he looked like he belonged here. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Glad you could make it,” Peter said, his voice smooth and low. There was something about the way he said it, something that felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The conversations around me were light, but every now and then, I’d catch something—a quick glance between Steve and Peter, a soft chuckle from one of the boys, or Sharon’s eyes sparkling with something that wasn’t amusement. It felt like they were all in on something, like the air was thick with an inside joke I wasn’t a part of.

I tried to brush it off, joining in on the small talk and ignoring the strange tension. But with every shared look between the boys, every lingering gaze from Sharon, that unease just kept creeping back.

It was like they were waiting for something.

Something I wasn’t in on.

***

I stirred awake to the gentle shake of my shoulder and a soft voice calling my name. “Hey, Kiwi, we’ve landed,” Natasha said, with a small grin, wiping her own hands on her lap. “You’ve got a little drool there.”

Still groggy, I wiped at the side of my mouth, feeling my face flush as I tried to erase the evidence of my nap. I sat up, blinking a few times, trying to get my bearings. When I looked around, I noticed the plane was emptier than before.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

Natasha stretched, her arms raising above her head. “They already headed to the villa. I guess they didn’t want to disturb you.”

I glanced over at Peter, still slouched in his seat, eyes closed, completely knocked out. The soft rise and fall of his chest made him look so peaceful, like the weight of the world wasn’t even a concern. He hadn’t noticed anything either.

Natasha smirked, shrugging. “I felt bad leaving you two alone, so I stayed back.”

I looked between Natasha and Peter, my stomach twisting. “Oh… right,” I muttered, feeling a familiar awkwardness settle over me. My head dropped slightly. It wasn’t the first time I felt like an outsider with these people, but moments like this seemed to make it worse.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she gave me a look, one that spoke volumes without needing words. Then she moved toward Peter, giving him a nudge. He jolted awake, eyes wide as if he had no idea where he was. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

Natasha repeated the same thing she told me, though this time, there was a teasing edge to her tone. “They left for the villa, but I didn’t want to leave you two sleeping on the plane.”

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, giving a lazy stretch before standing up. I wondered if I was overthinking things, but Natasha’s earlier look stayed in the back of my mind.

“Alright, let’s catch up,” Peter said, flashing that easygoing smile of his.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, the warm, salty air hit me, carrying the scent of the ocean and sun. Waiting outside was a sleek black car, ready to take us to the villa. Peter led the way, while Natasha shot me an encouraging smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking but wouldn’t say it out loud.

But once we got in the car, the excitement that had been bubbling inside me during the plane ride started to fizzle. Reality was sinking in, fast. I stared out the window as the scenery blurred by, and that familiar, sinking feeling crept in.

What am I even doing here?

Every part of me was screaming that this was a mistake. I didn’t belong here. These people had made me feel out of place back then—why would now be any different? I had spent so much time trying to distance myself from them, so why was I here now, in the same circle that made me feel like I wasn’t enough?

Was it going to be like this the entire trip? A constant feeling of not fitting in? The idea of spending two months like this, constantly questioning why I came, made my chest tighten.

I imagined stopping the car right there, getting out, and figuring out a way to go home. But how? I came here with them, and I was stuck until they decided to leave. There wasn’t exactly an easy way out.

I sighed, feeling a knot form in my throat as the tears threatened to well up. But I fought them back, forcing myself to take a deep breath. ‘Hold it together,’ I told myself. There was no way I was going to fall apart in front of Peter, Natasha, or anyone else.

I stared out at the horizon, the villa still nowhere in sight, trying to clear the anxious storm swirling inside me. I would just have to figure this out somehow. I always did.

***

When Natasha, Peter, and I finally arrived at the villa, the others had already claimed their rooms. The place was breathtaking—open spaces, stunning ocean views, and a luxurious atmosphere that screamed money. I was almost tempted to be impressed until Sharon appeared, smug as ever, pointing to the far side of the villa.

"Natasha, Peter, your rooms are down the hall," she said with a wave of her hand before turning to me. Without a word or explanation, she just motioned to the other side of the villa, not even bothering to look me in the eye.

I stood there for a second, waiting for...something. Maybe an explanation, a reason for the sudden isolation, but nothing. No one said anything. Natasha gave me a quick, apologetic glance, but even she stayed quiet.

“Guess I'm on my own then.”

I walked in the direction Sharon had pointed, my suitcase bumping against my heels as I made my way down the corridor. The villa was massive, sprawling in all directions, but as I got closer to my room, I noticed how much plainer and utilitarian the space became. The opulence of the rest of the villa seemed to vanish the farther I went.

And then I found it—a small, one-off room that looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought. My stomach twisted as I stepped inside. It didn’t have the same elegance as the other rooms I’d seen. The furniture was basic, the decor minimal, and there was no sign of the luxury that was displayed on the other side of the villa.

It looked like a remodeled servant’s quarter. I knew the vibe all too well. Being around people like Sharon, I had seen enough servant quarters to know what one looked like, no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

I stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. There had to be at least one or two other rooms left over in this massive villa, but I wasn’t given one of those. No, this room was chosen specifically for me. The message was loud and clear: *Know your place. *

I set my suitcase down with a sigh, biting back the frustration swelling in my chest. I should have expected this. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the invite.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my half-unpacked suitcase, trying to figure out a game plan for the next two months. The thought of spending all that time with these people—people who barely knew me, or worse, remembered me only for what I wasn’t—made my stomach twist. I didn’t want to be ignored the entire trip, but becoming a complete recluse would probably just make things worse. What if they just... left me behind?

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got. The walls seemed to inch closer, squeezing the air out of the room. My anxiety gnawed at me from the inside. Was this really worth getting away from my parents?

Before I could spiral any further, a light knock on the doorframe jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see Natasha standing there with a soft smile and a casual “Hey.”

I forced a smile in return. "Hey," I said, trying to sound less flustered than I felt.

Natasha stepped inside, looking around the room before glancing back at me. “Nice room,” she commented.

I glanced at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. Was she being serious? Because this room—my room—was anything but nice. It was clearly the smallest, most tucked-away space in the entire villa. My little corner of the world, far from everyone else.

“Yeah,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

“They’re about to get ready for lunch in like two minutes,” Natasha added, a little too breezily, as if she hadn’t noticed how awkward this all felt.

"Okay," I said, figuring that was her cue to leave. But instead of leaving, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze still fixed on me, like she was waiting for something.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next. “Was there… something else?” I asked, hesitantly, trying to figure out what this impromptu visit was really about.

Natasha took a deep breath, still staring me down before stating “Sharon invited you to keep Peter busy.”

  I froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief as Natasha’s words settled in. "Wait… what do you mean I was invited to keep Peter busy?"

Natasha’s shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze for a moment before facing me again "Look, it wasn’t meant to be a big deal. Sharon didn’t want things to be awkward, you know? If you didn’t come, there would've been an odd number, and Steve didn’t want to leave Peter behind."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, I was invited to… what? Be Peter’s distraction?”

She shrugged, looking almost apologetic. "Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. You two are both nice people, right? It’s not like it was meant to offend you or anything"

I stared at her, still trying to process this. Peter? Then it hit me.

"What about Clementine?" I asked, my curiosity spiking. Last I heard, she and Peter were still together. Sure, she hadn’t been on the plane, but I figured maybe she was meeting up with us later. They were inseparable, after all.

Natasha shrugged again, but there was something uneasy in her eyes this time. "I don’t know. Sharon thinks they broke up, but…"

"But?" I pressed, sensing there was more to it.

She sighed, glancing away. "Clementine kind of just… disappeared. She stopped coming around, and Peter stopped talking about her. It’s weird, though. I don’t think anyone really knows what happened."

The room suddenly felt colder, and the walls seemed to close in again. Clementine disappeared? And now I was supposed to… what? Be Peter's distraction? None of this made sense, and yet, it felt like I was being pulled into something I wasn’t ready for.

I stared at Natasha, my mind spinning as she casually shrugged off the fact that Clementine had just disappeared. Clementine wasn’t the kind of girl to just vanish without a trace. She was... put together. Confident, smart, driven. The kind of girl who had her entire life mapped out from the moment she could walk.

Clementine had been a scholarship kid, just like me, but that’s where our similarities ended. She had that type of grace and poise that people like me only dreamed of. I remember seeing her around campus, always looking so polished, so in control, even though she came from a background as modest as mine. She had Peter wrapped around her finger—he adored her. At least, that’s what I’d always thought. They were practically inseparable.

The last time I heard anything about her, she was starting some fancy job after graduation, and Peter was supposedly gearing up to propose. That’s what people like Clementine did. She climbed the ladder, no matter where she came from, and she always seemed to have everything fall perfectly into place.

I couldn't wrap my head around this. How did she go from being Peter’s "forever" to just... disappearing? And now *I* was here? Supposed to "keep Peter busy" like some sort of replacement? None of this was making any sense.

Natasha’s voice brought me back to the moment. "Yeah, it was weird, right?" she continued, leaning back casually. "Peter just stopped mentioning her, like she never existed. He’s been pretty chill about the whole thing. But Sharon thinks they broke up, and... I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s why you’re here."

I shook my head, trying to process. "Clementine wouldn’t just disappear. She wasn’t like that. She had a plan, she was going to—"

Natasha cut me off. "Well, plans change, right? Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as you think. People always hide stuff. Maybe Peter saw something in her that no one else did."

The idea didn’t sit right with me. Clementine always seemed untouchable, like she had everything figured out. Now, she was just… gone. And here I was, caught in some ridiculous plan to "keep Peter busy."

I started gearing up to confront Sharon, but Natasha quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me before I could make it to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

"I just want to have a little chat with Sharon," I replied, trying to sidestep her. But Natasha moved again, blocking me. She lowered her voice, clearly not wanting to make a scene.

"You're being ridiculous. Just calm down and think about this." Her eyes darted around nervously. "This is supposed to be a vacation. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could still enjoy yourself, Kiwi."

I paused and turned to face her, frustration bubbling up. "That was always the plan, but why did you have to tell me about Sharon’s little setup with Peter?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was sharp.

"I was just giving you a heads up," Natasha said softly, her eyes pleading.

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I couldn’t just let it go. Without saying another word, I turned and marched toward Sharon and Steve’s room, Natasha trailing behind me, still begging me to think it through.

When I reached the door, I didn’t hesitate—I slammed it open. There, on top of Steve, was Sharon, practically tangled up with him. She scrambled off him the second she saw me, her face flushed. Steve, on the other hand, just stayed where he was, smirking like the whole thing was a joke to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sharon snapped, straightening out her clothes.

I didn’t flinch. "I want to go home."

I thought about calling her out right then and there, exposing the whole plan about setting me up with Peter. But I couldn’t do that—not without throwing Natasha under the bus. As much as I was irritated with her, I wasn’t ready to burn that bridge. So I kept it simple.

"This whole trip has been uncomfortable for me since I got on the plane. If it’s going to be like this for a whole months I don’t want to stay."

Sharon's expression shifted, her irritation melting into a smirk. "Sure, whatever."

Just as I was about to turn and leave, Steve’s deep voice cut through the air. "No."

I froze, watching as Steve got up from the bed, his frame towering over me. It was then that I realized how much bigger he was compared to me. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine.

"Why not?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave me a cold, calculated smile. "The itinerary is already set, Kiwi. We can’t just change everything around because one person is feeling a little uncomfortable."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay you back," I offered, even though I knew it was a desperate move.

Steve laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You have over a hundred grand to pay back?"

My stomach dropped as he kept going. "I heard you were working at some factory for, what, twenty bucks an hour? I’m guessing since you suddenly had time for this trip, you lost that gig, huh?"

I could feel my face flushing as I tried to think of a way out. "I don’t need a private jet home," I said quietly. "Just a ride and an economy seat. I’ll figure it out."

Steve shook his head, stepping even closer. "You still owe me for your part of the trip," he said, his voice cold and final.

The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped, and Steve was making damn sure I knew it.

Steve’s eyes softened as he stood in front of me, his posture relaxed, like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat. He moved to block my way, but not in an intimidating way—it felt more like he was trying to keep me from making a mistake.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost coaxing. “I get it, Kiwi, I really do. But leaving right now? That’s not what you really want.”

I frowned, crossing my arms, my defenses already up. “I’m uncomfortable, Steve. Why would I stay?”

He sighed softly, brushing a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Look, I get that things have been a little weird, but think about it. Going back home, what’s waiting for you there? Things weren’t exactly great, were they?”

I blinked, surprised by his words. It was vague, but it still struck a nerve. My chest tightened at the reminder of how suffocating life at home had been.

Steve stepped closer, but there was no malice in his movements. If anything, his presence felt like it was wrapping around me, enveloping me in something familiar yet foreign.

“Why rush back to all that?” he asked, his voice low, almost tender. “You’ve got a chance here to take a break, to really breathe.”

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. He wasn’t exactly wrong. I hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of going back to my parents’ house—being treated like I’d failed, like I was just in the way.

“That’s not the point,” I muttered, my voice not as strong as I wanted it to be. “I didn’t come here to feel like an outsider.”

Steve’s expression shifted, softening even more. He moved closer, but not threateningly—just enough to let me know he was serious. “You don’t have to. No one here is against you, Kiwi. You’ve got space here to be free, to enjoy yourself. You’re not stuck.”

His words, smooth and almost too perfect, started to chip away at my defenses. He wasn’t wrong. There was a kind of freedom here that I didn’t have back home. No hovering parents, no endless job hunt. Just sun, sand, and a chance to let go of the chaos.

“I just want you to give it a shot,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “If, after a week, you still feel like this… I’ll make sure you get home. Personally. But for now, just relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

I hesitated, my mind a tug-of-war between the stress and frustration that had been building and the calm that Steve was offering. He seemed so reasonable, so understanding. Was I just being paranoid? Maybe I needed to take a step back and see if things improved.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice soft. “I’ll stay. But just for a week.”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, his satisfaction clear, though he tried to hide it behind his cool demeanor. “Good. I knew you’d see things my way.”

He stepped back, giving me space, and for a moment, I felt the weight lift just a little. Natasha, who had been quietly watching, caught my eye, but her expression was hard to read. Maybe I wasn’t seeing the full picture. Or maybe I was just overthinking everything.

Am I making the right call? ***

Steve moved me out of the servant’s quarters and into a small, luxury room. It wasn’t anywhere near the others, but it was closer to the pool in the back, so I figured I could make do. At least it didn’t feel like a forgotten corner of the house.

As I unpacked, Natasha stayed with me, folding clothes and organizing things like she was trying to smooth over the mess from earlier.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not entirely sure if I believed her or if she was just trying to stay on good terms. The side-eye I gave her must’ve said enough because she added, “Seriously, Kiwi. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s fine,” I muttered. "Just... don’t spring shit like that on me again."

Natasha nodded, her expression softening. “I promise. I just want you to enjoy the trip. We all do.”

Enjoy the trip. Right. That’s what I kept telling myself. I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what. To hell with everyone else. To hell with Sharon’s power plays and the thinly veiled insults. To hell with my parents, and their endless nagging about how I should’ve been more like Sharon. To hell with all of it.

I glanced around my new room, taking in the sleek design, the comfortable bed, and the view of the pool. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could actually breathe for a while. Just focus on enjoying the sun, the beach, the space.

"Clem, please come see me. Come and meet your niece," Mandarin pleaded over the phone.

It had been a couple of months since I escaped my personal hell to move in with Peter. Life since then has been nothing short of amazing. I quit my work-study job at the library, and now my tutoring client list is down to one person: Carrot.

I occasionally tutor Peter only when he insists he needs some "practice." Otherwise, my focus is solely on my studies, and acting as Peter’s unofficial girlfriend.

We never formally made it official, but peer pressure forced me to bear the title. Living with a guy who takes me on dinner dates and introduces me to his high-society friends at fancy galas practically screams "relationship." At this point, it’s easier to just go with it.

My parents called twice since I moved out. The first time, my mom berated me for not paying rent, even though I wasn’t living there anymore.

I hung up on her.

Peter, ever the problem-solver, offered to help with their bills. But when I told him they weren’t strapped for cash, he was confused, then shocked. Once he realized my parents made me pay rent despite not needing me to, he offered to ruin their lives. I had to give him a side-eye before calming him down and explaining that I didn’t want revenge.

The second call was from my dad, asking if I wasn’t coming back. When I told him no, he sounded genuinely guilty. But that guilt wasn’t enough to make me care.

Mandarin hadn’t called me at all, at least not until now.

She was practically begging me to meet her newborn, born earlier that morning at 2 a.m.

“I’m hanging up now,” I replied flatly.

Honestly, I had no intention of reconnecting with my family. I figured they felt the same, so Mandarin’s sudden outreach was surprising and irritating.

“Her name is Morgan,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “She’s so small and cute, and I honestly think you’d love to meet her.” She sniffled, clearly on the verge of tears.

I sighed. “Mandarin, we don’t exactly have the best relationship. So tell me, especially after the last time we saw each other, why you’d want me to meet your daughter. Or why you think I’d want to.”

“Please,” she whispered, hiccupping. “I need you. Morgan needs you.”

“Then call Mom and Dad,” I snapped. “They seem to have all the time and love in the world for you.”

“They’re not here. None of my friends are around, and I feel so alone,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

Rolling my eyes, I relented slightly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

As soon as I hung up, I decided I wasn’t going. Life was too good right now, and I’d be damned if I let Mandarin drag me back into the chaos.

“Was that Mandarin?” Peter asked from the couch.

“Yeah,” I said.

“What did she want?” he asked, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“She wants me to meet her baby,” I said.

“Are you going?” he asked, his tone curious as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

“No,” I replied firmly.

He smirked. “Probably for the best. Considering.”

He kissed my temple.

I’d told Peter a lot about my childhood with Mandarin. It was…therapeutic, and he was a great listener. However, now, he seemed to have his own quiet vendetta against her and my parents.

Which wasn’t my intention. But I had to appreciate the fact that he had my back.

Right?

He turned me around to face him, the widest grin spreading across his face. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss.

His hands slid over my hips and down to my bottom, giving it a gentle squeeze before pulling me closer. When we pulled apart, he whispered, "So, when do I get to see the outfit you plan to wear to Tony’s event tonight?"

"Why? So you can ruin it like you did the last one?" I teased.

"Ruin it? Is that what I did?" he asked, feigning innocence.

I rolled my eyes. "I don’t even have it right now. Gerald insisted I get it tailored, so it should be ready in a couple of hours."

"Damn," he said with a smirk, "I was hoping to practice all the ways I’d take it off you."

I slapped his arm lightly and pulled away, gathering a few things as I moved toward the door. "I have to get to class to present this final project. Afterward, I’ll pick up the dress. Do you want just to meet me at Tony’s?"

"Never," he said, quickly closing the distance between us to plant another kiss on my lips. "I’ll be waiting for you right here."

When I arrived to class, I sat down and waited for presentations to begin. My phone buzzed with a text from Mandarin.

She’d sent a picture of baby Morgan. I had to admit, the baby was one of the cutest I’d ever seen. Still, I rolled my eyes, saved the photo, and closed the message.

Switching to a group chat with Carrot and Nikki, I saw Nikki had been sending pictures of potential outfits for Tony’s event. I decided to send Mandarin’s baby photo to the chat with the caption: Baby Morgan made it into the world.

Carrot replied almost immediately: OMG, she’s so cute!😍

Nikki added: Isn’t she? I’m planning to visit tomorrow. Are you coming, Clem?

Before I could think of a response, I heard my name.

Looking up, I saw Professor Xavier staring at me expectantly. I quickly put my phone away, stood up, and walked to the front of the class to start my presentation. Nikki’s question faded into the back of my mind as I focused on the task at hand.

"So, you never told me how the presentation went," Peter said.

We were on our way to Tony's event, running a bit late because Peter couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His distractions had pushed us back by at least half an hour. While Peter insisted it would be fine, I couldn’t shake my nervousness. I had only met his group of friends and associates once before, never all at once. I didn’t want this to set a bad precedent, especially considering how affluent and influential everyone there would be.

"It was fine. I’m pretty sure I passed," I replied.

Peter chuckled. "You definitely passed. I had to sit through that presentation a hundred times before you felt like it was perfect."

I rolled my eyes. "It wasn’t a hundred times."

"It felt like it," he teased, placing a hand on my thigh.

As we came to a stoplight, his hand started to inch toward my inner thigh, creeping up my skirt. I grabbed it and held it firmly in my own.

"Nope," I said firmly. "You already got what you wanted back at the apartment. We’re not doing this again."

"Oh, come on, just a taste," he smirked, clearly amused by my reprimand.

"No," I repeated, raising an eyebrows at him. "Be a good boy, and we’ll see how the night goes."

He gave my hand a gentle squeeze and sighed in mock defeat. "Alright," he conceded, though the mischievous twinkle in his eye told me he wasn’t done testing my resolve.

When we arrived at the party, Peter handed his keys to the valet with a casual smile, and we were greeted by coat check at the door.

As we were led through the grand halls of Tony Stark's mansion, I couldn’t help but gape in awe at the opulence surrounding us. The sheer size of the place was overwhelming, but it was the details that really got to me. The intricate woodwork, the polished marble floors, and the art—oh, the art.

“Wow,” I murmured as we passed a hyperrealistic statue of a nude woman holding a child. Her expression was serene, almost otherworldly. I glance at the name of the piece: ‘Love’s Secret Child’

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Peter commented, catching the direction of my gaze. “Tony loves to be extra.”

I looked back at him, catching his grin, and chuckled. “I can tell.”

We continued walking, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor as we approached what could only be the grand hall. As we entered, my breath hitched. The room was dazzling, crystal chandeliers bathed everything in warm, golden light, and the crowd was a sea of expensive suits and glittering gowns. Servers moved through the room with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, and the hum of conversation filled the air like a low, luxurious symphony.

Immediately, my eyes found Nikki. She stood in the middle of the room, wearing a stunning dark teal floor-length gown with a deep plunge at the neckline, the perfect balance of elegance and allure. A small crowd of men surrounded her, captivated by her every word, their laughter rising above the hum of the room. She looked radiant, commanding attention with effortless charm.

“She got comfortable fast,” Peter commented with a smirk.

I couldn’t help but grin. Of course, she did. Nikki had a way of fitting in wherever she went.

Carrot couldn’t make it tonight—she’d come down with something and decided to rest—but I was relieved Nikki was here. Out of everyone I knew, she was by far the most sociable and outgoing. If anyone could thrive in a setting like this, it was her.

Peter’s hand found the small of my back as we moved further into the room, grounding me amidst the grandeur. “Ready to mingle?” he asked, his voice low and close to my ear.

I nodded, drawing in a steadying breath. 

“Peter!”

A high-pitched voice rang out, cutting through the murmur of the room.

We both turned toward it, and there was Pepper, walking toward us with a bright smile and her arms open in greeting.

“Peter, it’s so good to see you,” she said warmly, leaning in to kiss his cheek before turning her attention to me. “And you must be Clementine.”

I nodded. “Yes, nice to meet you.”

“Of course, I remember seeing you at Mandarin’s baby shower,” she said, her expression brightening as recognition dawned. “You’re her sister, right?”

I nodded again, glancing briefly at Peter, who gave me a reassuring rub on my back. The gesture was subtle, but it calmed my nerves a bit.

“How is Mandarin?” Pepper asked, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, my tone neutral. “We haven’t spoken much lately, but from what I hear, she had her baby.”

Pepper gasped softly, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, that’s wonderful news! When?”

“This morning, I think,” I replied, leaning slightly into Peter’s touch.

“Really?” she said, a delighted smile spreading across her face. “I simply must go see her sometime this week.” She paused as if expecting me to say something more.

“You definitely should,” I said politely, maintaining a pleasant tone.

“Well, enjoy the evening!” she said with a graceful wave before whisking away to greet someone else who had just entered the room.

When I was sure Pepper was out of earshot, I turned to Peter.

“That was weird, right?” I asked.

He tilted his head, his expression puzzled. “What was weird?”

“How did she not know Mandarin was having her baby, or already had her baby?”

“Maybe they’re not that close,” he said with a shrug.

“She was at the baby shower, Peter.”

He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

I studied his face, but he looked genuinely confused. Maybe I was overreacting. I had decided I didn’t want anything to do with my immediate family, and yet here I was, grilling Peter about something he probably had no idea about.

“I’m sorry,” I said, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“No need to be sorry,” he replied, giving me a quick peck on the lips.

As the evening wore on, I chatted with Nikki, who was having the time of her life, mingled with a few more of Peter’s friends, and eventually found myself in a cozy lounge room with Tony and Peter.

Tony sat in a large armchair, a drink in hand, and a selection of bottles sprawled out on the small bar cart next to him. Every now and then, he poured himself another, sometimes without even finishing the previous one.

The two of them were deep in conversation about business, tossing around inside jokes and banter I didn’t understand. Tony’s laugh was loud and infectious, but there was something about the way he kept refilling his glass that made me uneasy. He didn’t seem drunk, just... restless.

I sipped my drink quietly, letting their dynamic play out, until Tony turned to me and asked,

“You’re Mandarin’s sister, right?”

Surprised by his acknowledgment, I turned to Tony before nodding.

“Yeah. Pepper told me she had her baby this morning... Morgan, right?” he asked.

That’s right. Mandarin’s baby’s name was Morgan.

I nodded again, taking a sip of my drink. “Yeah, Morgan.”

Something felt off.

“Or at least, that’s what Pepper told me,” Tony added, his tone casual but his gaze sliding over to Peter.

I followed his line of sight, turning to Peter. For a brief moment, I caught an unfamiliar look in his eyes. It vanished so quickly, I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it. My stomach tightened, and I carefully placed my drink down on the table.

“Excuse me,” I said abruptly, my voice steady despite the unease building inside me. “I have to use the washroom.”

As I turned to leave, Peter reached out to grab my hand, but I stepped out of his reach before he could stop me. My heart was pounding as I made my way back to the large hall, scanning the crowd. The buzz of conversations and laughter felt muffled, distant, as my eyes landed on Nikki.

Without hesitation, I rushed toward her, grabbing her hand and leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“I need you to take me to Mandarin.”

Nikki paused to get a good look at me, concern etched on her face, before grabbing my hand and pulling me through the crowd.

We stepped outside, and Nikki went straight to the valet, not even bothering with coat check.

“What happened?” she asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice calm despite the whirlwind of emotions beneath. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Clementine!” Peter’s voice called out as he rushed down the steps toward me. “Babe, listen—”

“No,” I said firmly but evenly, cutting him off. “I’ll see you at home.”

I gave him a look, one that told him not to push, and to my surprise, he stopped in his tracks. “Okay,” he said after a pause. “I’ll see you at home.”

The valet pulled up with Nikki’s car, and we climbed in. The ride to the hospital was quiet, eerily so. Nikki didn’t press me, and for once, my mind was completely blank. I wasn’t panicking or overthinking. I felt… tranquil, almost numb.

When we arrived, Nikki handled the visitor badges for us both, her efficient demeanor snapping me back into reality. Together, we headed up to Mandarin’s room. When we stepped inside, Mandarin’s face lit up, a smile spreading across her features.

“Hi!” she greeted, her voice tired but warm.

She looked rough.

In all my years of knowing Mandarin, which was my entire life, I had never seen her look anything less than flawless. Even in the depths of drama or chaos, she always managed to have every hair in place, and her makeup impeccable. Seeing her now, hair disheveled, bags under her eyes, was unsettling.

Nikki wasted no time. “Oh my goodness, is that Morgan?” she gushed, her voice full of excitement.

Mandarin nodded, holding up the tiny bundle in her arms. Nikki stepped forward eagerly. “You don’t mind if I hold her, do you?”

Mandarin smiled weakly and carefully passed Morgan over. Nikki immediately became a cooing mess, swaying gently with the baby cradled in her arms.

Meanwhile, I stood near the door, my arms crossed and my eyes locked on Mandarin.

“Hey, Clem,” she said, her tone cautious.

I didn’t return the greeting. Instead, I asked flatly, “Is Tony Stark the father?”

The smile on her face froze. For a moment, it was so quiet you could hear an ant fart.

Mandarin’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. I could see the wheels turning in her head, the way her expression flickered between shock and panic.

“Well?” I pressed, my tone sharper this time.

She stammered, “W-What kind of question is that?”

“A reasonable one,” I said, stepping closer. “Answer it.”

I could see Nikki swaying baby Morgan back and forth, her earlier cooing replaced by wide-eyed silence as she watched me unload Mandarin’s mess.

“Mandarin,” I said, my voice firmer now. “Please just be honest with me.”

She hesitated, biting her lip before finally asking, “How did you know?”

“Tony,” I said flatly.

Nikki, still holding Morgan, chimed in, “We were just at an event he and Pepper hosted.”

Mandarin’s face paled, her guilt clear as day.

“He’s engaged to Pepper,” I said, each word deliberate and biting.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“What do you mean, you know?” My voice rose, sharp with disbelief, though I tried to remain mindful of the newborn in the room. “And you still slept with him?”

“It just happened…” she started, but her weak excuse only fueled my anger.

“Oh really?” I snapped, crossing my arms. “You just tripped and fell right on his dick?”

“It happened,” she said, her voice cracking. “And now I’m stuck.”

“Stuck?” I repeated, incredulous. “You’re stuck because you made the choice to mess with a man you knew was engaged to another woman.”

Tears welled in Mandarin’s eyes, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far, Clem. I didn’t plan this.”

“Clearly,” I retorted, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve managed to not only screw up your life but potentially wreck someone else’s too. Do you even care about what this could do to Pepper? To Morgan!?”

Mandarin looked down, avoiding my gaze. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, congratulations,” I said coldly, gesturing toward Morgan, who was still peacefully swaddled in Nikki’s arms. “Because it looks like you’ve done a fine job of making a mess out of everything.”

“Hey, Clem, cut her some slack,” Nikki said, her tone soft but firm.

“Why should I?” I shot back.

“Because she just had a baby,” Nikki replied, carefully placing Morgan into her bassinet. “I get where you’re coming from, but this is neither the time nor the place for this.”

Nikki stepped closer to me, lowering her voice. “She’s clearly going through a lot right now, and berating her while she’s still probably feeling the aftereffects of her vagina being ripped open isn’t doing anyone any good.”

I glanced at Mandarin, her head buried in her hands as she tried, and failed, to stifle her sobs. A pang of guilt hit me, and I sighed, deciding to back off, at least for now.

The tense atmosphere had died down a bit and awkward silence was slowly taking its place.

“Can I hold her?” I asked.

Mandarin lifted her head, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked at me for a moment before nodding silently.

I made my way over to Morgan’s bassinet, carefully lifting her tiny form into my arms. Looking down at her for the first time, I couldn’t help but think how much cuter she looked in person. Her little face was soft and peaceful, her delicate features making my heart ache in a way I didn’t expect.

“Hi, Morgan,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’m your auntie Clementine.”

When Nikki pulled up outside Peter’s building, I hesitated before getting out. The lights in his apartment were on, a warm glow spilling through the curtains, beckoning me back inside. But I couldn’t shake the knot in my stomach.

"Want me to come up with you?" Nikki asked, her voice softer now.

I shook my head. "No, I need to do this on my own."

She nodded, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "Whatever happens, just remember you deserve honesty and respect. If you don’t feel that here, then you walk. Simple as that."

I nodded, her words giving me a small surge of confidence. I grabbed my bag and stepped out, feeling the weight of uncertainty press on my shoulders as I made my way inside.

When I unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment, Peter was already waiting for me, pacing in the living room. He turned the moment I entered, relief washing over his face.

"Hey," he started, his voice gentle but unsure. "I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come back."

I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I took off my shoes and coat, setting them neatly by the door before walking into the living room. I sat down on the couch, crossing my legs and arms.

He followed standing in front of me, waiting for me to say something.

 "I’m here. Now explain why you didn’t tell me Tony was Morgan’s father."

Peter’s face dropped slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit I’d seen a hundred times before. "Clementine, it’s not that simple."

"Really? Because it seems pretty simple to me," I countered, my tone sharper than I intended. "You knew, didn’t you? You’ve known this entire time."

He sighed, walking toward me cautiously. "Yes, I knew. But—"

"But what?" I interrupted. "What possible reason could you have for keeping that from me?"

Peter hesitated, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "Tony swore me to secrecy. He didn’t want this getting out, and I was stuck in the middle. I didn’t know how to tell you without betraying him."

I scoffed, my disbelief bubbling over. "So his reputation was more important than my trust? Good to know where your priorities lie."

"It wasn’t about choosing him over you," Peter said, his voice pleading. "I was trying to protect you, Clem. I didn’t want you dragged into this mess."

"Protect me from what, Peter? The truth?" My voice cracked, and I hated how vulnerable I sounded.

"From all of it," he said, stepping closer. "You don’t know Tony like I do. He’s powerful and ruthless when it comes to protecting his image. If you got caught up in this, he wouldn’t think twice about using his influence to hurt you, your family, your education…everything."

I stared at him, gauging whether this was genuine or just another excuse. His eyes were earnest, but the damage was already done.

"So you lied to me because you thought you knew what was best for me?" I asked, my voice quiet but biting.

"I didn’t lie," Peter said quickly. "I just-"

"You just omitted the truth. Got it," I cut him off, my words dripping with sarcasm.

Peter’s desperation hung thick in the air as he knelt before me, his hands firmly resting on my thighs as he pleaded his case. His eyes were wide, his face painted with genuine fear. "Clem, please. I know I messed up, but everything I’ve done has been to make your life better. You’re thriving here. You’re finally away from all the crap your parents put you through. Don’t let this ruin what we have."

I took a deep breath, leaning back into the couch, my body tense as I weighed his words. "What we have? How can I trust anything we have when you kept something like this from me?"

Peter’s pleading eyes locked onto mine as his hands rested firmly on my thighs, carefully uncrossing my legs, a mix of desperation and resolve in his voice.

"I’ve done everything I could to give you peace, to make you feel safe," he said. "I can’t lose you over something that doesn’t even involve us. You mean too much to me."

He pushes my dress up, as his fingers creeping in between my thighs.

I hesitated, searching his face for any hint of manipulation, but his expression was raw, almost pained. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, but something about his logic still felt off.

"You kept something from me that you knew would hurt me," I said, my voice steady but strained. "That doesn’t feel like safety to me, Peter. That feels like control."

He pauses his movements flinching at my words, a flicker of guilt crossing his features.

"I wasn’t trying to control you," he insisted. "I was trying to protect what we have. I didn’t want to risk you seeing me in the same light as Tony or thinking I’m like him. You’re the only person who makes me feel... real."

I softened slightly, caught off guard by his vulnerability. He pushes forwards with his movements, and before he can get to my most intimate area, I grab hold of his hands, trying to move them away, but he won’t allow it.

"Protecting what we have means being honest with me, Peter. I can’t trust someone who can’t even be honest with me.”

He releases a long, shaky sigh “Please, I just want you.”

Peter swatted my hands away with ease, gripping my thighs and lifting them over his shoulders as if I weighed nothing. It caught me off guard, and my breath hitched as I tried to process what was happening. The look in his eyes was intense, almost primal, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

"Peter," I started, my voice uncertain, but he cut me off with a firm, determined tone.

"Let me show you how much you mean to me," he said softly, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

His hands gripped me securely, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to make me forget about the whirlwind of emotions swirling in my head. It was overwhelming, the way he focused on me entirely, like I was the only thing that mattered in the universe.

I was stuck, what do I do? What could I do? But submit to him.

I felt him push my panties to the side, the cool air grazing my skin for only a second before his mouth replaced it. A sharp gasp escaped me as Peter’s tongue explored with deliberate, unrelenting intent. My fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands as a wave of heat coursed through me.

"Peter," I whispered, my voice trembling, though I wasn’t sure if it was meant as a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

He groaned in response, the vibration sending a ripple of pleasure through my body. His hands gripped my thighs tighter, holding me in place as he worked with a precision that made my head spin. Every stroke, every flick of his tongue, seemed designed to pull me further from reality and into a haze of sensation.

I arched my back, my breaths turning into soft, helpless whimpers. The emotions I’d been wrestling with earlier, anger, betrayal, confusion, felt so distant now, replaced by a fire that consumed every part of me. It was maddening how he knew exactly how to unravel me, piece by piece.

"Peter, please," I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for anymore.

My legs trembled, the tension in my body building until it felt unbearable. Every nerve seemed to spark under his touch, his tongue and lips working me over with an expertise that left me breathless. My hands tightened in his hair, as I felt myself teetering on the edge.

"Peter-" My voice broke as my entire body tensed. The knot in my core unraveled all at once, sending a rush of white-hot pleasure through me. I gasped, my head falling back as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over me, leaving me shaking in his grasp.

Peter didn’t stop, his movements softening but still intentional, drawing out every last bit of my release. I felt my body melt into the couch, boneless and completely spent.

When I finally opened my eyes, Peter was looking up at me, his lips curved into a satisfied smile. His hands slid down my thighs, grounding me as my breathing began to steady.

"Still mad at me?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

I blinked at him, my mind still hazy from the high. "You’re impossible." The only response I could muster.

Peter leaned up, planting a gentle kiss on my lips. "And yet, you’re still here."

I started to settle in more than I thought I would. The awkwardness from the first week wasn’t as obvious anymore. It didn’t happen overnight, but gradually, things started to feel less forced. Daily activities like yoga on the beach, lounging by the pool, and group dinners became easier. I found myself laughing more, sharing more, and getting used to the rhythm of this strange little bubble.

Sure, they were still spoiled rich kids, but there was more to them than I’d initially thought. While I wasn’t entirely convinced about Sharon and her sway over the group, it was becoming harder to see them solely as the superficial snobs I had first assumed them to be.

That morning, after yoga, I was ready to return to my room and have some alone time. But Steve wasn’t having it. “Why don’t you stay out here with us?” he asked, flashing me one of his playful grins. “Hang with the crew?”

Something in his voice made it clear it wasn’t really a suggestion, so I felt the need to give in and sat down on a couch in the living room. Steve wasted no time sliding into the seat beside mine, his leg pressing against mine. The closeness threw me off a little, but no one else seemed to notice or care.

I guess this was normal for them.

Sharon was still holed up in her room, recovering from whatever had her down. I worried for her but pushed it to the back of my mind. She had plenty of people to take care of her. I didn’t need to be that person.

To ease the awkwardness I felt from Steve sitting so close, I pulled out my phone and opened the book I’d downloaded the day before, hoping it would be a good distraction.

Steve glanced over his breath against my face. “Is that the book you were talking about?”

I blinked, a bit surprised he even remembered. “Yeah, this is it.”

“Nice,” he said, nodding approvingly before returning his attention to the TV. He casually placed his arm behind my head, resting it on the couch acting so casually.

I tried to focus on my book, but it was hard. Everyone was so nice and considerate of me, much different from when we were in university when they’d either be outright rude or ignore me. Despite everything, maybe this trip wasn’t so bad. Maybe I was just overthinking things.

Sharon was starting to act... off. By the middle of the second week, it was impossible not to notice. She was constantly tired, missing yoga three times a row, skipping meals, and staying shut in her room. For someone like Sharon, who thrived on being the center of attention and orchestrating everything, it was bizarre. And yet, she was barely keeping up with the group. 

One afternoon, we decided to keep it simple and go to a beach nearby. I had already gotten comfortable in the sand, watching Natasha and Pepper chat while Thor, Peter, and Bruce waded into the water. Tony opted to stay on the beach and tan. But Sharon kept to herself, not saying much. But when I looked at her, she was pale, and I could see the sweat collecting at her temples. Something wasn’t right.

She stood, aiming for the cooler, stumbling along the way. 

I stood up immediately, but she waved me off with a shaky hand. "I’m fine, just tired," she mumbled, but even from where I stood, it was clear she wasn’t. No one else moved to help her, not even Steve, who was just lounging, watching the scene unfold before him.

Seriously?

 I felt my frustration spike but now wasn’t the time. I didn't want to let her collapse on the beach. “Do you need to sit down?” I asked, catching her just as she was about to lose her balance completely.

Steve didn’t budge. He just kept lounging, watching with his casual look, before he got up and headed toward the water like everything was normal. I clenched my teeth but focused on Sharon. Whatever Steve’s deal was, it wasn’t helping right now.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the villa,” I said, looping my arm around her waist to support her. Sharon leaned into me, too weak to even protest. I glanced back a few times, hoping someone would come around to help, but no one did.

Back inside the villa, I helped Sharon sit down and grabbed her some water. She looked rough, her face flushed, and her eyes half-closed, as if she were fighting to stay conscious. She took small sips of the water, her embarrassment evident.

“Thanks,” she murmured, clearly not used to being this vulnerable. For a second, I saw something past the confident, borderline cruel persona she usually showed.

I nodded, not saying much. Despite everything between us, I wasn’t the type to let someone suffer, even if that someone was Sharon. 

“I’ll be fine,” she said after a while, waving her hand like she wanted me to go. But I didn’t leave right away. Something wasn’t right, and I wasn’t about to leave her alone, especially after Steve just... bailed.

 I sighed, sitting there with her, knowing I wouldn’t feel right unless I saw this through.

Sharon was getting worse, fast. I tried to get her to drink more water, but she barely sipped, her words coming out all slurred and jumbled. Panic crept up my spine as I watched her skin turn clammy. And then, without warning, her eyes fluttered shut, and she slumped forward, completely out.

My heart leaped into my throat. “Shit,” I whispered, bolting out of the room like my life depended on it. I practically sprinted toward the others by the shore.

"Sharon needs help! She needs a doctor!" I shouted, breathless, my voice shaky, as my lungs tried to keep up. 

Steve barely glanced up from where he was lounging. “Are you sure she’s not just being dramatic?” he asked, annoyed, like I was overreacting.

 I grabbed his hand and rushed him back to the villa without thinking. When he saw Sharon unconscious on the floor, his face went pale. "Oh shit."

 Finally. he rushed over to her, kneeling beside her, and placed his hand on her forehead. Bruce was close behind, calm as ever, entirely in control of the situation.

 Bruce crouched next to Sharon, checking her pulse like he’d done it a hundred times before. After what felt like an eternity, he looked up, his expression serious. “She’s severely dehydrated.”

 I shook my head, my chest tightening. “But she’s been drinking water. I’ve been making sure of it!” 

Bruce stayed focused on Sharon but nodded. “Her body’s not absorbing it. It could be heat exhaustion or something else. We need to get her fluids, fast.”

 Pepper was already on the phone with emergency services, and Bruce carefully turned Sharon onto her side, ensuring she stayed breathing.

 “We need to cool her down,” Bruce added, glancing at Steve. “Get some towels soaked in cold water. We’ve got to bring her temperature down.”

 Steve didn’t hesitate this time. He darted out, leaving me standing there, feeling completely useless. I hated being helpless and standing on the sidelines while everyone else knew what to do.

 Bruce glanced at me, his voice calm and steady. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine once they get her some fluids.”

 I nodded, but the knot in my chest refused to loosen. I wasn’t going to relax until Sharon opened her eyes again.

 Sharon had been out cold for 16 hours straight. I stayed with her the entire time, only leaving once to shower quickly and change back at the villa. Steve was there, too, leaning against the wall. His usual laid-back attitude was gone, replaced with genuine concern, hopefully feeling guilty for ignoring Sharon's state.  

When Sharon finally stirred, her eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was Steve. There was this glimmer in her eyes like his presence was some kind of comfort to her. But then she spotted me, and that glimmer quickly vanished, replaced with tears.

 Medical staff rushed in to check her vitals, making sure everything was stable, but her tears didn’t stop. She turned to me, her voice shaky and almost resentful. "This must make you happy."

 I blinked, completely thrown off. "What?" I asked, genuinely confused.

 "You…seeing me like this. It must make you happy," she repeated, her words cutting deeper than I expected.

 For a second, I didn’t even know how to respond. Was she serious? Then, as disbelief turned into frustration, I shook my head. "Never," I said more firmly than I intended. "Sharon, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve only ever helped you. Every time." My voice softened a bit, but the truth in my words was undeniable. "You’re the one who’s thrived on watching me fall apart."

Sharon didn’t say anything for a while; she just stared at me with her lips pressed together like she wanted to argue, but something held her back. Finally, she sighed and sank back into her pillow.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, barely audible, but it was there, a reluctant kind of gratitude.

I nodded, but the air between us was thick, the tension still hanging. "You're welcome," I replied quietly, wondering if this little moment of honesty meant anything to her or if she’d just return to her old ways the second she recovered.

Two days passed, and things finally came to a head. I sat in Sharon’s hospital room with Tony and Pepper, chatting idly. Sharon still looked pale but was doing much better, which was a relief. She broke the quiet, her voice firm.

"I want to go home."

I glanced at Thor, expecting him to talk her out of it, but he nodded like it was no big deal and pulled out his phone. "Okay," he said, already texting Steve.

I was a little surprised. I mean, I figured Steve would push back or suggest Sharon stay a bit longer to rest up. I thought the medical scare would have him in protective mode, but apparently not. Maybe it did get to him, and he just wanted her home, safe and sound.

Maybe. 

Back at the villa, Natasha and I helped Sharon pack. We were in her room, folding clothes and zipping up suitcases. It was almost too quiet, with this weird tension hanging in the air. I kept thinking about what Sharon had said earlier. Sure, she was always dramatic, but something felt… off.  

Once everything was packed and ready, Sharon paused and gave Natasha a look, almost like she was sizing her up. Then, out of nowhere, she hugged me. And not the usual Sharon hug, either. This was tight, like she meant it. I was so thrown off I barely hugged her back. While we hugged, she leaned in close and whispered, “Be careful.”

I froze, unsure of how to react. I mean, what? What was I supposed to do with that? But before I could even process it, Sharon had already pulled back and moved on to hug Natasha.

“Take care,” she said to Natasha, sounding casual. 

Steve was waiting by the door, ready to walk Sharon out like the doting boyfriend, but Sharon, true to form, brushed him off. “I’m fine,” she said, barely looking at him. She kissed him on the cheek like she was going through the motions.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip,” she said, her tone neutral. But when her eyes flicked to me, I saw something else. Concern? A warning? I wasn’t sure, but the look stuck with me.

And then she was gone. I didn’t know what to think. Was I supposed to read into all that? Or was Sharon just being Sharon?

Everyone seemed to fall back into their usual routine in no time, but I couldn’t shake what had happened to Sharon. How quickly she’d spiraled, how fast she was just… gone. It stuck with me, swirling in my head while I sat in my room trying to make sense of everything. Natasha was sitting next to me, doing her best to comfort me, saying Sharon would be okay, I didn’t need to worry so much, and I should continue enjoying my vacation.

 It eventually went quiet, and Steve was standing at my doorway when I looked up.

Natasha gave me a quick look, then stood without a word and left, leaving me alone in the room with him. He didn’t hesitate, walking over to sit beside me on the bed, his usual confident demeanor softened.

“The last few days were pretty scary, huh?” Steve said, his voice calm. “But at least we can all have peace of mind now, knowing Sharon’s okay.”

I nodded, trying to push away the uneasiness still clinging to me. “Why did you let her go?” I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. 

Steve glanced at me, his eyes soft but steady. “She’s not well, Kiwi. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her here, away from home” 

His reasoning was precisely what I expected, but I still didn’t like it. 

Steve stood, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. “Come on, everyone’s going shopping,” he said, his voice warm and persuasive. “You should come. Take your mind off of all this.”

I hesitated for a second but then nodded. “Okay,” I agreed, letting him lead me out of the room and into the main area, where everyone else was already waiting, ready to head out.

Sharon was still on my mind, but if she was going to be okay, maybe I could try to enjoy the rest of this trip. It was what I came here for, after all.

A few days after Sharon left, I finally got a text from her.

–Feeling much better. Thanks for everything.

That was it. No long explanations, no dramatic thank you, just that simple message. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Knowing she was okay should’ve given me peace, but I couldn’t shake this odd sense of... detachment. The days here at the villa were starting to blur together, each feeling like the last.

Morning yoga, lounging by the pool, and fancy dinners were like living in some beautiful, surreal bubble. But I couldn’t help feeling like I was drifting through it all, like none of this was real, and I was just waiting for something to snap me back to reality.

Maybe it was because Sharon wasn’t here anymore. Or perhaps it was because I couldn’t help but wonder if things would change now that she was gone.

I don’t know exactly when it started, but over the next few days, Steve got a lot more comfortable around me, too comfortable, if I’m honest. It wasn’t just the casual arm draped over my shoulder anymore or how he’d guide me by the small of my back. Now, it was more.

One afternoon, after a long day by the pool, Steve came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me slightly off the ground. I squealed, surprised, but he just laughed and set me down, pressing a ‘playful’ kiss on my cheek.

“Hey, you!” he said, that usual charming grin on his face as if this kind of intimacy between us was completely normal.

I blinked, frozen in place for a second, trying to process what had just happened. No one seemed to care or even notice. Peter and Natasha were too engrossed in some heated conversation by the pool. Bruce was off somewhere with Jane, Thor, and Pepper.

What the hell was that? I thought. But I smiled back, brushing it off like it was nothing.

Another day, during a group hike, he held my hand the entire time, something he hadn’t done before. It wasn’t like we were lagging behind or needed help climbing; he just... held it, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I remember feeling that odd, familiar discomfort creeping back in, but no one said anything. Not Natasha, not Peter, not anyone.

Then came the moment that threw me off. We were all gathered outside around the fire pit one evening, laughing about something silly Tony had said, and Steve, turned to me, all giddy from whatever had amused him so much,  peppering kisses all over my face, forehead, cheeks, nose, all in this overly affectionate, playful way.

“Steeeve!” I protested, trying to push him away, but I was laughing, shocked at the sudden intimacy. He was grinning ear to ear like a little kid, completely unbothered by my attempts to squirm out of his grasp.

“Come on, it’s just a little love!” he teased, finally letting me go, still beaming like he’d won some game.

I sat there, feeling a little off-kilter. What the hell was going on? Since when had we gotten to this level of closeness, and why wasn’t anyone calling it out?

I glanced around, half-expecting someone to call us out or ask if I was okay with it. But there was nothing, just more laughter and easy conversation. It was like this was normal, like Steve’s sudden affection wasn’t something to question.

I didn’t know how to respond to it, didn’t know if I wanted to respond to it. 

After a wild night with the group, I practically stumbled into my room, still feeling the effects of my drinks. I barely remember hitting the pillow before I was out cold. The following day, this unfamiliar warmth was beside me, and I could hear the softest snoring in my ear.

I blinked, groggy and confused, slowly turning my head to see Steve, lying in my bed. His arm was draped over me, and he was shirtless. My breath caught in my throat. What the hell?

Carefully, I inched out from under his arm, moving as slowly as possible so I wouldn’t wake him. My mind raced, trying to remember if I had invited him into my bed last night. Had I? No, I couldn’t have. I didn’t do stuff like that. Or, at least, I didn’t think I did. But everything was fuzzy.

I tiptoed out of the room and into the hallway, my heart still pounding as I tried to make sense of the situation. By the time I made it to the kitchen, I was practically shaking.

Natasha was already there, casually sipping her coffee like any other morning. Like nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

 I also bonded with Natasha in a way I hadn’t expected while on this trip. She started opening up more, dropping her usual aloofness, and I realized she wasn’t as hard to read as I’d initially thought. We talked more about life, and awkward moments and even shared a few laughs that made me feel a little more at ease while on this trip.

We sat together eating breakfast, and Natasha seemed more relaxed, telling me about how exhausting it could be keeping up appearances with their friend group, especially with Steve and Sharon always in the spotlight.

“I get it,” I said, nodding. “It’s like you’re always on, you know?”

Natasha smiled, but it was tired as if the weight of those expectations had never fully gone away. It made me feel a little less out of place, knowing that even within their circle, not everything was perfect.

We continued chatting about random things when I decided to ask the question that had been on my mind for days. “Hey, is it just me, or is Steve... I don’t know, acting different? Like, friendlier than usual?” 

Natasha shrugged it off, barely looking up from her plate. “Oh, he’s like that with everyone. Real touchy-feely. It's just Steve.”

I don’t remember him being like that back in University.

I frowned. Sure, Steve was always friendly, but this was different. Before I could push it further, Steve appeared in the doorway, shirtless, his pants barely buttoned like he had just rolled out of bed. He looked at us with a grin. “You guys started breakfast without me?”

I froze as he bent down and kissed my cheek quickly, then moved over to Natasha and gave her a peck on the top of her head. She stiffened before reverting to a more relaxed position. She looked at me, her expression almost smug as if to say, See? Told you.

But I wasn’t buying it. The entire interaction was already so weird. Too familiar. Too uncomfortable. But I kept my doubts to myself. 

By the afternoon, everyone had scattered to do their own thing, and the villa felt a little too quiet for my liking. Needing a breather, I wandered out for a walk, hoping the fresh air would help me clear my head. No destination in mind, just the need to escape for a bit.

As I strolled along the path near our villa, I noticed a man lounging on the porch of the neighboring property, casually sipping from an iced coffee. He caught my eye and waved me over with a lazy smile.

"Afternoon," he greeted, his voice carrying a teasing edge. "You look like someone who's just been subjected to one too many rich-people conversations. Tell me, how long until you snap and start throwing caviar at their faces?"

I snorted, surprised at his bluntness. "Oh, I’m, uh… actually with them."

I wasn’t wearing a uniform, but I guess my clothing didn’t look as fancy as everyone else I was with.

“Lloyd”, he introduced himself. He raised an eyebrow, eyes covered by sunglasses pretending to clutch his chest dramatically. "No! Say it ain’t so. You’re one of them? And here I was, thinking I’d found a sane person in this gated paradise."

I laughed nervously, unable to help myself. "I guess I blend in well, then?"

He smirked. "Sure, if ‘blending in’ means looking like you’d rather be elsewhere. Let me guess, they’re already planning which island to buy next while you’re just trying to figure out how not to roll your eyes?"

"It’s not that bad," I replied, though my smile probably gave me away.He chuckled. "Don’t worry, I’m not judging. I’ve met their type. The kind who consider ‘roughing it’ to mean forgetting their designer sunglasses. God forbid they experience a single unfiltered moment."

“Aren’t you one of them?” I asked. Crossing my arms. It seemed like he was here with his own personal Villa, so I had no reason not to believe that he was no better than the ‘rich kids’, I’d been spending time with.

“Only half,” he responds. “I lived with my mom in Brooklyn, New York, for most of my life, and Papa Bear decided he wanted to be a father. Turns out he’s loaded.”

I raised my brows, not expecting that. 

He smiled, his mustache was almost endearing. “Well, don’t just stand there, come have a seat.” He pats the chair next to him, the invitation as casual as his grin. I hesitate for a second, but then the thought hits me—what’s the harm in learning more about my temporary neighbor? I needed a break from everybody else and it was refreshing to meet someone outside of that.

I step forward and sit, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and ease.

I wasn’t sure when my light flirting with Lloyd had turned into actual interest. Maybe it was his dark humor, or maybe it was just that he was so different from everyone else in my life, grounded. He wasn’t part of Steve’s wealthy, entitled world. It felt refreshing, something I didn’t even know I needed until now. 

 He leaned back, eyeing me thoughtfully. " What’s the story? How’d you end up with the royal brats?"

Before I could answer, a familiar voice called out my name. I looked up to see Steve, standing in front  me with his usual confident grin, though there was something more possessive in the way his eyes clung to me.

"Lunch is almost ready," Steve said, not even glancing at Lloyd. "We should head back." He point over his shoulder to our villa.

I was caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone, but I quickly introduced them, trying to ease the awkwardness. "Oh, uh, Steve, this is Lloyd. He’s renting the villa next door."

Lloyd stood and offered his hand, smirking as they shook hands. "Nice to meet you. So, you must be the one keeping our girl here trapped in luxury hell."

Steve’s expression didn’t change, but there was a noticeable tightening of his jaw. "Something like that," he replied, his tone smooth but clipped.

Their handshake lingered a second too long, each of them standing tall, as if silently sizing each other up. Lloyd didn’t back down, though his grin stayed playful, almost like he enjoyed ruffling Steve’s feathers.

Steve’s turned toward me "We should go. Don’t want to miss lunch."

I barely had time to say goodbye to Lloyd before Steve was pushing me back toward the villa dropping his arm over my shoulder on the way there. As we walked, Steve leaned down, whispering, "You’re too sweet for your own good."

I frowned, confused. "What do you mean by that?"

He didn’t answer, just gave me a look that sent a small shiver down my spine, before we continued walking, leaving me wondering what had really just happened.

The drinks were definitely stronger that night. I could feel the warmth spreading through me, my head swimming just enough to make everything feel a little too slow, a little too blurry. The laughter around me was still loud and bright, but I was barely holding on. Steve must have noticed because, without saying anything, he stood up and gently pulled me to my feet, guiding me back toward the house.

I barely remember the walk inside. My body felt like it was made of lead, each step heavier than the last. By the time we made it to my room, I collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even think about changing into pajamas. I just rolled over, letting my eyes close. Sleep was right there, pulling me under, but something made me crack an eye open.

Steve was pulling off his shirt, tossing it aside with his sandals. His movements were casual, like this was normal for him, like he belonged here. The lights clicked off, and before I could say anything, I felt the bed dip beside me as he climbed in.

“Steve… go to your room,” I mumbled, trying to form the words properly, but they came out thick and slurred. I knew I should’ve been pushing him out, but I couldn’t make my body cooperate. Then his arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest. His warmth was overwhelming, and every part of me knew this wasn’t right.

But I was so tired

 My brain told me to fight it, to deal with him, but my body refused to move. I’d deal with this tomorrow, I promised myself. I’d give him hell in the morning.

For now, though, I’ll just closed my eyes and let the exhaustion take over

The next morning, I woke up alone, feeling groggy with a mild headache and my body aching in a way I hadn’t expected. For a second, I forgot Steve had been in my bed last night, but the room's quiet made me realize I was alone now. I groaned as I sat up, my head pounding a little too loudly, and all I could think about was finding some Tylenol and going back to bed.

Except I didn’t have any Tylenol. Of course, I didn’t think I’d drink this much on this trip, so I hadn’t packed anything for a hangover. I could ask one of the girls. Pepper seemed like the type to be prepared, but we weren’t exactly close, so I decided to go with Natasha. Maybe she’d have something.

I dragged myself out of bed and over to Natasha’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and soft music was coming from inside. I hesitated momentarily, not wanting to barge in, but I needed something for my head, so I nudged the door open.

 And immediately regretted it.

There, in the middle of the bed, were Natasha and Bruce, naked as the day they were born and completely entangled in each other. My brain barely had time to process what I saw before I quickly closed the door, my heart racing. I stood there momentarily, holding my breath, praying they didn’t see me. The lack of any sudden movement or panic behind the door told me I was in the clear.

I shut the door as silently as I could, ensuring they had their privacy, and retreated to the kitchen. My headache still pounded, and now I was too embarrassed to ask for anything. I figured I could make myself some tea instead and hope that would help.

As the tea brewed, I searched the villa for any kind of pain relief—Tylenol, ibuprofen, Vicodin, anything. But I came up short. Of course, this fancy villa didn’t have any necessities like that. By the time I finished rummaging through the place, my tea was ready, and I grabbed it, deciding to take it outside for some fresh air.

I stepped out by the pool, hoping for a quiet moment to rest my head. But someone had already beaten me to it.

Peter.

He was sitting by the water, looking out at the horizon. I felt awkward, like I was interrupting something, so I mumbled an apology, ready to leave him to his thoughts.

"Don't worry," Peter said, turning his head to look at me. "You can sit with me if you want."

I hesitated for a second, but then I decided to stay. I sat across from him, sipping on my tea, and we fell into some small talk. Nothing too deep, just idle conversation about the villa, the weather, the usual. 

But the more we talked, the more curious I became. My mind kept circling back to something nagging at me since I arrived. Finally, I couldn’t help myself.

“Whatever happened to Clementine?” I asked.

The moment the name left my lips, Peter’s entire demeanor changed. His head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing slightly. There was a stiffness in the air now, thick with tension.

I remember when Peter came to university with a girlfriend, MJ. But they’d broken up, and then there was Clementine. I remembered how inseparable they seemed, always affectionate, always together. It was hard to picture them apart, and yet, Clementine hadn’t been around this trip. No one had mentioned her.

I quickly added, noticing how tense Peter had become, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The air between us hung heavy with the weight of my question.

Peter sighed and waved off my concern. "No problem," he muttered. Then, almost casually, he added, "She went crazy."

I blinked, unsure what to say, but he continued before I could ask.

“When we both graduated, I was supposed to start mentoring under my father, you know? And Clementine, she landed a job right out of university. Everything seemed to be going great. Then, I proposed.” He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “She rejected me. She said she wanted us to be more ‘stable,’ which didn’t make sense to me because we were both financially secure. But apparently, there were other types of stability we didn’t have.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the frustration evident in his voice. “A month later, she breaks up with me. At first, I just let it go. We were done, right? But then I started hearing these rumors about how she lost the lease on her apartment and got fired from her job. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. We weren’t together anymore. It wasn’t my problem.”

Peter’s gaze drifted away, his voice quieter now. “Next thing I know, I get a call from her parents. They were begging me for help. She’d ended up in a psych ward, and they couldn’t afford the treatment, and they made too much money for government assistance but not enough to cover her medical bills. So, I stepped in.”

He glanced at me, his eyes darkening with the memory. “You should’ve seen her, Kiwi. She’d lost so much weight; it was like she was disappearing from the inside out. I couldn’t just leave her like that. So, I took custody, her parents transferred her power of attorney, and Now, she lives with me at my place.”

I stared at him, shocked. I had no idea things had gotten so bad with Clementine. It was the complete opposite of the girl I remembered.

Peter ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “The thing is, she can’t talk to anyone else. I seem to be one of the only people she can communicate with. So, I’m careful when I bring others to my place. I don’t want to upset her.”

“Peter, I’m so sorry,” I said softly, unsure what else to say. It felt the wrong thing to say, but it was all I had.

He gave me a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. She’s doing better now, but... she still finds it difficult to leave the house. I’ve been doing everything I can, but I get pretty protective myself. Probably too much, honestly. I’m working on it.”

I didn’t know what to think. I hadn’t expected any of this. It was hard to imagine Peter caring for Clementine like that, to think of her in such a fragile state. The whole situation felt like a punch to the gut, and I couldn’t help but feel a wave of sympathy for him.

Peter’s place wasn’t at all what I had imagined—not that I’d given it much thought before. The two doormen at the front should have been my first clue that this wasn’t your average apartment. When he opened the door and led me inside, it felt like I had stepped into one of those homes featured in Architectural Digest. The kind reserved for the ultra-wealthy, not for a regular college student.

The entryway alone was impressive, with sleek marble floors and modern art hanging on the walls. As we walked further, I found myself surrounded by so much space that it was almost unsettling. This wasn’t just an apartment; it was a penthouse.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Peter asked, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’ve got tea, coffee, soda, juice... water?” He gestured toward a hall that seemed to lead to the kitchen.

“Water’s fine,” I said, following behind him, unsure whether I felt impressed or out of place.

“Make yourself at home. The living room’s just through there,” he said, pointing to an open space before disappearing into the kitchen.

The living room was intimidating in its own way. Sleek leather furniture and glass tables gave it a bachelor pad vibe, but the carefully curated touches—plush throw pillows, elegant vases, and soft lighting—hinted that an older woman had been involved in decorating. Maybe his mom or grandmother.

Massive windows overlooked the city skyline, offering a breathtaking view that felt surreal.

“Your place is huge,” I called out, still taking everything in. Did he really need this much space? It felt excessive, even for someone like Peter.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping out of the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a mug in the other. “My parents insisted. They were worried about my safety and comfort.”

I raised an eyebrow as I took the water from him. “Comfort? What do they think happens in dorms, survival of the fittest?”

He laughed lightly, settling into the couch, placing his mug onto the coffee table and motioning for me to join him. “Something like that. They wanted me to have my own space so I wouldn’t have to deal with, you know, the usual college stuff.”

I couldn’t help but scoff. “You mean other people?”

“Exactly,” he said with a smirk.

I sipped my water, my eyes wandering around the room again. Everything about this place radiated wealth, from the subtle branding on the throw blankets to the polished wood paneling lining the walls. It was impressive, but it was also a stark reminder of the enormous gap between Peter’s world and mine.

I couldn’t even get my parents to call a plumber to fix the leak in the basement they dumped me in, and here was Peter, living a life of luxury at his parents’ insistence.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, watching me carefully.

“It’s... a lot,” I admitted “Not what I expected.”

He tilted his head slightly. “And what did you expect?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Something more lived-in. This feels like a catalog.”

Peter chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “You’re not wrong. My Aunt May and her decorator had way too much fun with this place. I’m usually always out, so I haven’t really marked this place as my own.”

I nodded, unsure of what else to say. This world he lived in was so far removed from mine that I couldn’t even begin to relate, but at least he seemed self-aware.

As I sank into the couch, I let myself relax for the first time in months.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" Peter asked, his voice casual but his expression anything but. The look in his eyes told me he didn’t want the night to end, and if I were honest with myself, neither did I.

Tomorrow was Saturday, my usual routine of leaving early for the library, attending an afternoon class, and then tutoring Peter himself. For once, the thought of lingering felt more appealing than rushing back home.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

Peter shrugged, flashing an easy grin. "I’ve got Netflix, Hulu, HBO, Disney Plus, anything you want. And if I don’t have it, I can get it."

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. "Your house, your pick."

"Ah, but you’re the guest, so you have to pick," he countered, his grin widening.

I chuckled softly. "Seriously, I don’t care. I’m just happy to finally relax for once. Whatever you put on is fine with me."

Peter nodded and scrolled through Netflix before selecting something from the top picks. He stood to dim the lights, the glow of his massive TV illuminating the room as he settled back onto the couch, this time a little closer.

I took a sip of my water, setting it on the small end table beside me. For a while, we sat in silence, the sound of the movie filling the space. I felt his arm shift behind me, casually resting on the back of the couch.

I wasn’t oblivious. I knew Peter had an interest in me, it had been clear for some time now. But I also knew it would be in both our best interests to keep him at a distance. Yet, as I glanced over at him, something was different. Maybe it was the soft glow of the screen highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline or the way his smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he caught me looking.

“What?” he asked, his voice teasing.

I hesitated, my mind racing. Was it the vulnerable place I was in mentally, after months of unrelenting stress? Or was it the fact that, for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel entirely hopeless?

I decided to set the bait.

And if he didn’t take it, I’d leave.

Leaning forward, I pressed a quick, soft peck to his lips. His eyes widened in surprise, confusion flickering in them as he searched mine for an answer.

I leaned in again, this time lingering a little longer. He hesitated at first, his posture stiff, but then he leaned in too.

Just as I started to pull away, his arm moved from the back of the couch to cradle the back of my head. He deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding to my waist as he pulled me closer. The warmth of his touch contrasted sharply with the cool indifference I’d been holding onto for so long.

For the first time in weeks, I let myself stop thinking.

Peter’s hands slid to my hips, guiding me over him until I was straddling his waist. The shift in position made me acutely aware of the hard bulge pressing against me through his jeans. A mix of nerves and curiosity shot through me, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I shifted slightly, pushing against him experimentally.

Peter broke the kiss with a sharp hiss, his head falling back against the couch. His hands tightened on my hips, holding me still as if he was trying to rein himself in. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath me.

"This feels like a dream," he murmured, his voice low and filled with awe, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening.

Leaning forward, I brushed my lips against his ear, my voice a soft whisper. "Then let’s try not to wake up."

His hands gripped me a little tighter, and before I could pull away, he tilted his head back toward me, capturing my lips in a kiss that felt more intense, more consuming. It was as though he was afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t hold onto it tightly enough.

Carefully, Peter stood, still holding me in his arms, and gently laid me back on the couch, positioning himself over me. His eyes searched mine, almost as if asking for permission one more time without words. I answered by reaching up, pulling him closer, and reconnecting our lips.

Clothes began to come off in a flurry of hurried hands and nervous excitement. When we were finally bare, Peter paused, breaking the kiss to look down at me. His expression was soft, almost reverent, as he traced a hand lightly over my cheek.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and steady, but the slightest tremor of vulnerability cracked through.

I nodded, my breath hitching. "Yes."

He let out a deep, shuddering breath, his body visibly relaxing as if he’d been holding in the weight of the world. Then, with deliberate care, he aligned himself and slowly entered me. A gasp escaped my lips, a deep sigh of pleasure as the sensation of fullness took over. His lips found mine again, soft and reassuring, before moving to trail kisses along my jawline and down my neck.

He held me close, his movements tender but deliberate, each stroke sending waves of pleasure rippling through my body. The Netflix movie we’d been watching was now just a forgotten hum in the background, white noise to accompany the symphony of our breathing and soft moans. Peter moved with an unhurried rhythm, his confidence smooth but not overbearing.

I wrapped my legs around him instinctively, drawing him closer, urging him to go deeper. He responded immediately, his pace quickening, his control slipping as his movements grew more erratic. The heat between us built steadily, the pressure mounting with each thrust.

I could feel it. The end creeping closer, a tantalizing edge calling me to leap. My breath came in shallow gasps, my body trembling under his as Peter’s own resolve began to waver. His grip on my body tightened, his head dipping to press his forehead against mine as we both climbed higher, lost in the moment.

When the climax finally hit, it was like a tidal wave crashing over me, leaving me breathless and weightless all at once. My fingernails dug into his back as a sharp cry escaped my lips, my body arching into his. Peter followed seconds later, his own release washing over him with a deep, guttural groan. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his body trembling as he shuddered through the intensity of his orgasm.

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, letting the aftershocks subside. Peter lifted his head, his eyes searching mine with a softness that made my chest ache.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but filled with genuine concern.

Still dazed and recovering from the high, I gave him a dopey smile. "I’m perfect."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he leaned down to plant another kiss on my lips. "Yes, you are," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face before pulling me into his arms.

The next morning, I woke up in Peter’s arms, both of us completely nude. The events of the night before had stretched well into the early hours, culminating in us finally crashing in his bedroom.

Peter held me close, and I found myself focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the light rhythm of his breathing. Outside of the pleasant soreness in my body, this was easily the best sleep I’d had in weeks.

I turned my head toward the clock on his nightstand. I’d already missed my morning study session, but if I hurried, I could still make it to my afternoon class. Groaning softly, I shifted to sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and stretching to shake off any lingering exhaustion.

The movement roused Peter. He stirred, blinking at me groggily before giving me a lazy, lopsided smile.

“Hey, you,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “How are you feeling?” He stretched his arms overhead, letting out a satisfied yawn.

“I’m feeling great, actually,” I replied, smiling despite myself. “Better than I have in a while.”

“Good to hear.”

He leaned in to kiss my temple, his lips warm against my skin, before pulling back the blanket covering him and hopping out of bed.

“So, I was thinking,” he started, standing stark naked in front of me without a hint of self-consciousness, “we could order in for breakfast. Maybe have a chill morning?”

It was then I remembered my plans for the day. “About that,” I said hesitantly, still clutching the blanket around me, as I stood to face away from him and his nudity. “I actually have to go home and get ready for my afternoon class. And…” I added, pointing toward his general direction with my finger, “we still have a tutoring session later, don’t forget.”

Peter moves to stand in front of me, an amused grin on his face as he stepped closer. “You don’t need to go home for that.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He placed his hands lightly on my hips, making it impossible not to look at his face. “I had Gerald pick up a Plan B pill for you this morning—”

“Wait, who’s Gerald?” I interrupted.

“My butler,” he said nonchalantly. “He’s from a legacy of butlers. He handles the house and anything else I might need.”

I blinked. A butler? A legacy of butlers? How absurd.

“Anyway,” he continued, as though he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell, “he also grabbed some clothes for you, so if you want, you can stay here, take a shower, and head straight to class. The university’s only twenty minutes away on foot, but I can drop you off myself if you’d prefer.” he starts rubbing his thumbs into my hips “Save you about 15 minutes or so.”

“I still need to get my laptop from home.”

“Do you use cloud storage for notes and texts?” he asks

“Well, Y-yeah, b-but.”

“I have iPad’s, laptops, and tablets. Take your pick and just login.”

How convenient. I hesitated, trying to decide if I was comfortable with this level of generosity.

Peter leaned in closer, his hands still firmly on my hips, his face softening into an imploring expression. “Please? Stay for breakfast.”

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my lip. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” he said smoothly. “You were invited.”

When I looked up, he was giving me the most ridiculous set of puppy dog eyes. I sighed, feeling my resolve crumble under his gaze.

“Alright,” I relented, laughing softly. “I guess I can stay a little longer.”

“Perfect,” he said, his grin brightening as he leaned down to kiss me, warm and lingering.

The kiss caught me off guard. It wasn’t like we hadn’t been intimate all night, but something about the softness, the casual affection of it, left me feeling... awkward. Maybe it was because, for all the physical closeness we’d shared, this moment felt unexpectedly intimate in a way I wasn’t used to.

Peter moved toward a drawer near the corner of the room, rummaging through its contents while I stood there clutching the blanket to myself, unsure what to do. He pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, walking back to hand them to me.

“Here,” he said with a small smile. “Figured you wouldn’t want to walk around the house naked.”

I nodded, taking the clothes from him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he replied, turning back to find something for himself in the same drawer.

“Uh, Peter?” I started, hesitating.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I added quickly, not wanting him to misinterpret my question. “I need to use the bathroom,” I clarified, hoping to wipe away any doubts about my comfort. I didn’t need him thinking I was regretting anything.

The uncertainty on his face disappeared instantly, replaced by that easygoing grin. He pointed to a door adjacent to the bed. “Right there.”

“Thanks,” I said, shuffling toward it, still clutching the blanket as if it were my armor. I stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind me and making sure the lock clicked into place before exhaling deeply.

The bathroom was massive, sleek, and impossibly clean—practically showroom-ready, save for a hamper overflowing with clothes in one corner, a toothbrush and toothpaste perched on the counter, and a half-filled garbage bin. The cool marble tiles underfoot and the sheer size of the space made the bathroom look like a utopia.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, running a hand through my disheveled hair. For a moment, I let myself take in the surrealness of it all. The previous night, I was curled up on a couch in my parents’ home, dreaming of a way out. Now, I was standing in a bathroom big enough to fit my entire makeshift room in the basement.

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. Dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything. After relieving myself and tidying up, I grabbed Peter’s t-shirt and boxers, slipping them on. They were far too big, but the soft fabric and faint scent of his cologne were oddly comforting.

When I emerged, Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed, now fully dressed in a fitted shirt and grey sweatpants, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I stepped out, his smile warm and immediate.

“You look good,” he said, gesturing to his clothes on me.

I laughed lightly, tugging at the hem of the oversized shirt. “Thanks. Not exactly high fashion, though.”

“High fashion is overrated,” he quipped. “You pull it off.”

His casual compliment left me a little flustered, but I quickly changed the subject. “So, breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” he confirmed, standing and offering me his hand. I hesitated for a second before taking it, letting him lead me out of the room.

I walked out of my afternoon class and headed toward the campus café to grab a Gatorade, still marveling at the outfit I was wearing. Luxury from head to toe—Prada dress, matching purse, and even a pair of designer shoes that felt like walking on clouds. It wasn’t that I’d never worn or seen luxury items before, but having them bought for me, on a whim, was something else entirely.

When Peter’s butler, Gerald, handed me the bag this morning, I half-expected to find something generic from Macy’s—a simple one-size-fits-all dress. Instead, I’d been met with pure couture, along with a small assortment of fancy shower items, as if I were a visiting dignitary.

Compliments followed me all day, even on a relatively empty campus. A few lingering looks from passing students, nods of approval, and whispered envy. It was new, and while part of me enjoyed it, another part felt a little exposed.

Gerald, for his part, had been exactly what I expected from a butler: stoic and professional. Yet, he had this warmth to him, calling Peter "Master Peter" and me "Miss Clementine," which took me completely by surprise. Hearing someone older and wiser address me so formally was jarring, but oddly, it didn’t feel patronizing. Just... proper.

As I left campus, heading back to Peter’s place for our tutoring session, I heard a familiar beep. Peter was parked at the curb in his car, waving me over.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said as I opened the passenger door and slipped in.

“Of course, I did.” He grinned, his boyish charm on full display. “Aunt May would’ve killed me if she found out I made a girl walk all the way back to my apartment.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, by the way,” he added, “the frat guys found Nikki’s keys. Turns out they were in the punch bowl.”

I wrinkled my nose. “How unsanitary.”

“Tell me about it. But don’t worry, Gerald and I got her car back to her safe and sound. I also grabbed your things.”

He gestured to the backseat, where I saw my bag and some books neatly stacked.

“What about Carrot’s stuff?” I asked.

“Got hers back to her too,” he said nonchalantly.

“How?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, Nikki’s address was on her car insurance card. As for you and Carrot, I... might’ve snooped a little to figure out what belonged to who.”

Weird, but practical.

I blinked, unsure how to feel. “I guess I’m just not used to people going out of their way like that.”

Peter’s smile softened. “Well, you should get used to it. Gerald’s cooking steak tonight, by the way. Any chance you’d want to stay for dinner after our tutoring session?”

How odd but steak sounded good. I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

The tutoring session went smoothly as usual. Gerald busied himself in the kitchen while Peter and I worked through the material at the dining room table. When we finished, I couldn’t resist asking a question that had been lingering in my mind.

“Why do you keep requesting tutoring sessions with me when you clearly don’t need them?”

Peter’s face flushed pink as he fumbled for an answer. “Well—”

“Because of me, Miss Clementine,” Gerald interrupted, appearing with two plates. He set them down in front of us before continuing. “Master Peter is the heir to a very important company, and I believe that no matter how much he may already know, nothing beats consistent practice. In fact, I’m the one who hired you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Tony Stark didn’t finish school. He seems to be doing fine running, at least half, of the company without all this extra tutoring.”

Gerald placed his own plate at the table and sat down. “What works for one may not work for another, Miss Clementine. Mr. Stark had to step into his role prematurely after the tragic demise of his parents. Had they lived, I assure you, he would have completed his education.”

Peter’s blush deepened, and I couldn’t help but smirk at his embarrassment.

When dinner was finished, Gerald collected the plates, and I packed up my things, returning a tablet I’d borrowed from Peter earlier.

“Why don’t you stay a bit longer?” Peter asked, his voice tinged with something hopeful.

“I need to get home,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

“Gerald made banana pudding? ” Peter teased, his grin widening.

From the kitchen, Gerald called out, “Best banana pudding you’ll ever have, Miss Clementine.”

I hesitated. Banana pudding was my weakness, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.

“I don’t know...”

Peter’s expression softened. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, but you seem miserable at the idea of going home. Stay here for a bit. You’re not doing anything tomorrow, right? And honestly... I really like the company.”

I raised an eyebrow, pretending suspicion. “Is it just my company you like?”

He flushed again. “Among other things,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, “but yes, your company is at the top of the list.”

I chuckled. “Fine. I’ll stay a little longer.”

The third week of the trip had started to blend into the rest, but the jet skiing adventure gave me a brief escape. The sun was high, the ocean stretched out like a never-ending canvas, and everyone else was way ahead, weaving through the waves like they were born on the water. I hung back, as usual, taking my time and keeping my speed steady.

But just as I started to feel a little more confident, the engine sputtered. My heart dropped as my jet ski slowed to a crawl, then died altogether, leaving me stranded in the middle of the ocean.

"Seriously?" I muttered, pressing a few buttons, trying to restart the engine. Nothing. Great.

I glanced around, hoping someone from the group would notice, but they were all too far ahead. I felt a wave of frustration rising through me. That’s when I spotted a familiar figure cutting through the water in my direction. Lloyd.

He pulled up next to me, his ever-present smirk in place. “Run out of juice already?” he teased, clearly amused by my predicament.

I rolled my eyes with a smile “Obviously.”

Lloyd chuckled and glanced around, his eyes scanning the empty stretch of water. “Well, lucky for you, I’m a gentleman,” he said, patting the back of his jet ski. “Hop on. I’ll give you a ride.”

 “Alright, thanks,” I quipped

Since that first night we met, I’d been texting Lloyd more than I thought I would. At first, I was convinced he was just like the rest of them, another one of those rich kids I claimed to be wary of, another piece of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit with my life. But something about Lloyd was different. Maybe it was the way he joked with that dark humor of his, or the fact that he never seemed to take anything too seriously. Whatever it was, I found myself enjoying our late-night conversations more than I expected to.

When I wasn’t too drunk from another round of drinks with the group, I’d call him. It wasn’t anything deep, just simple talks about random things, how he hated how out of place he felt here, how I felt like I was stuck in a life that didn’t quite belong to me. In a weird way, we got each other, even though we came from completely different worlds. There was something about him that made me feel grounded, like I wasn’t completely adrift.

The more we talked, the more I started to look forward to his texts. It was like a small escape from the chaos around me.

As soon as I settled in, his next question caught me off guard. “So… where’s Steve?” His voice was casual, but the question made me stiffen.

Before I could respond, Steve’s jet ski came roaring up to us, cutting through the water with a spray of mist. The second he spotted me on the back of Lloyd’s jet ski, his entire demeanor shifted. The easygoing smile he usually wore vanished, replaced by something tighter. Possessive.

"Lloyd! What are the chances?" Steve called out, his tone too friendly, his voice louder than necessary as he pulled up beside us. His eyes flicked between me and Lloyd, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to grit his teeth through a smile.

"Yeah, what are the chances?" Lloyd echoed, though the smirk on his face remained firmly in place.

Steve’s gaze lingered on where I was holding onto Lloyd's waist, his hand twitching on the handlebar of his jet ski. The tension in the air was unmistakable, and for a second, it felt like I was intruding on some unspoken battle between the two of them.

"Kiwi," Steve said, his tone softening as he turned to me. "Your jet ski ran out of fuel?"

I nodded, feeling a little awkward now that I was the center of attention. “Yeah, it just... died. Lloyd was helping me out.”

Steve’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he responded. “Appreciate that, Lloyd.” He paused, his gaze hardening as it flicked back to Lloyd. “But I’ve got it from here.”

Without waiting for a reply, Steve reached over, his hand brushing my arm as if to help me off Lloyd’s jet ski. I stopped him.

"Hey, Steve, don’t worry about me," I said, forcing a smile, my heart beating a little faster than I’d like. "I think I’m gonna hang out with Lloyd a little bit."

Steve’s brow arched, and I saw his jaw clench ever so slightly. "You sure?"

I nodded, trying to play it off casually. "Yup. I’ll meet you guys back at the villa."

Steve’s eyes lingered on me for a beat too long, but before he could say anything, Lloyd piped up from behind me. "Cowabunga!" he shouted, revving the jet ski’s engine and speeding off, away from Steve.

The sudden burst of speed made me grip Lloyd’s waist tighter, laughing as we raced across the water. The wind whipped through my hair, the salty spray of the ocean splashing against my face. It was exhilarating. Everything with Lloyd felt easy, carefree, like I could just let go of all the tension and overthinking that usually bogged me down.

We zigzagged through the waves, occasionally catching small jumps that made me laugh even louder. Lloyd would glance back at me with that goofy, boyish grin of his, and I couldn’t help but smile every time.

At one point, he slowed the jet ski down, letting us coast along a more peaceful section of the coastline. The sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow over the water, turning everything soft and warm. We pulled up near a secluded beach, far enough from the main tourist areas that it felt like we were in our own little world.

Lloyd turned around, still grinning. "Not bad for a day out, huh?"

I chuckled, adjusting my grip on his waist. "Yeah, not bad at all. Way better than being stuck at the villa."

We sat there, just drifting along, talking about nothing and everything.

"You know, Kiwi," he said after a while, leaning back slightly so I could hear him over the gentle sound of the water, "I’m glad we’re doing this. I’ve been stuck in my own head since I got here, and you’re kinda making this whole thing... fun."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the sun. "Same here, Lloyd."

The rest of our little jet ski date felt like a blur of laughter, jokes, and moments where we just sat in comfortable silence, watching the ocean stretch out in front of us. For once, I wasn’t worried about Steve or what he thought. I wasn’t thinking about any of the baggage that usually weighed me down.

It was just me and Lloyd, two people who found a little bit of peace in each other’s company.

When I finally made it back to the villa, the air inside felt thick with tension the second I stepped through the door. Steve was lounging on the couch, but there was nothing relaxed about his posture,his jaw was tight, arms crossed, and his eyes locked on me the moment I entered. Natasha was pacing near the kitchen island, her lips pressed together in a thin line. The usual carefree atmosphere of the villa had been replaced by something... colder.

"Where the hell have you been?" Natasha snapped before I could even say anything, her voice a little too sharp.

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility. "I was with Lloyd," I replied, trying to keep my tone even, though I could feel Steve’s gaze drilling into the side of my head. "We went jet skiing. I told Steve."

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and she threw a quick glance in Steve’s direction before focusing back on me. "Lloyd? You barely know him, Kiwi! He’s a stranger. We don’t know anything about him, and you’re just running off with him like it’s nothing?"

I felt my pulse quicken, a defensive heat rising up my chest. "He’s not just some random guy. We’ve been talking since we met at the villa. He’s... he’s fine."

"Fine?" Natasha stepped closer, shaking her head. "Kiwi, you don’t know what people are capable of. You can’t just trust someone because they seem nice or make you laugh a few times." Her voice softened a little, but the frustration was still there. "You have no idea what his intentions are."

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my cool. "I’m not some naïve little girl, Natasha. I can take care of myself. I know when someone’s bad news, and Lloyd isn’t it." My voice wavered slightly as I spoke, but I held her gaze, unwilling to back down.

Natasha hesitated, glancing again at Steve. He hadn’t said a word, but his silence spoke volumes. He was pissed, that much was clear. The quiet anger radiating off him made me feel uneasy, like I had just walked into a trap I wasn’t even aware of. Natasha, noticing Steve’s lack of response, seemed unsure of how to proceed.

Steve finally stood up, and the movement sent a ripple of tension through the room. His eyes flicked to Natasha, silently dismissing her. She stepped back, arms folded, still watching me with that mix of concern and frustration.

Steve walked toward me, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. When he finally stopped in front of me, his expression was hard to read. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was going to explode or just brush the whole thing off.

"You need to be careful, Kiwi," he said, his voice low, controlled. "I don’t want you getting hurt. People aren’t always what they seem."

It felt like a warning, like something unsaid was lingering beneath his words. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "I know," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

Steve studied me for a moment longer, his eyes scanning my face like he was looking for something, an answer, maybe, or some kind of reassurance. Then, without another word, he turned disappearing into his room.

The door clicked shut, and the silence in the villa felt suffocating. Natasha let out a long breath, rubbing her temples. "Look, just... be smart, okay?" she muttered, her earlier fire gone, replaced with a kind of resignation.

I didn’t say anything. I just nodded and headed to my own room, my mind swirling with thoughts I couldn’t quite sort out. Steve’s warning echoed in my head, but more than that, the way he looked at me, like I was fragile, like I needed protection, made my skin crawl.

It wasn’t until I was alone in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, that I realized something felt off. The way Steve and Natasha had reacted to Lloyd.

As I lay down, pulling the covers over myself, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the carefree freedom I’d felt with Lloyd earlier that day was slipping through my fingers.

By the end of the third week, Tony got wind of a party happening at one of the nearby villas, and just like that, we were off.

The villa was buzzing with energy that night, music thumped through the walls, laughter spilled out from every corner, and the air was thick with the scent of tropical drinks and perfume. It was another party, another scene I never quite felt I belonged in, but I went along with it, trying to blend in with the group.

Steve, of course, had stuck to my side all night, possessively hovering like a shadow, making sure I didn’t stray too far. It was exhausting. I excused myself to grab another drink, slipping out from under his watchful eye and wandering into the crowd.

That’s when I saw him, Lloyd, standing near the back patio, his easy smile lighting up his face as he spoke to a group of strangers. He spotted me, and that smile only widened, sending a warmth through me that I hadn’t realized I needed.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite jet ski partner," he teased as I approached, his voice dripping with the playful sarcasm I’d grown to enjoy.

I chuckled, the tension I’d been carrying with me all night melting away in his presence. “You better watch it,” I replied. “I might start to think you actually like me.”

Lloyd’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement, his crooked grin making my stomach flutter. “Maybe I do,” he said, his tone low but light. His teasing was always edged with something deeper, something that made my heart race in ways I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We wandered off to the quieter section of the party, near the beach where the sound of the waves mixed with the distant hum of the party.

“So, how’d you end up with Steve and the wealth squad?” Lloyd asked, half-smiling, his tone playful but curious. “I’ve been wondering that since we met,”

“University,” I answered, not really thinking about it. When he paused, waiting for more, I sighed and gave in to the full story. “I shared a class with Sharon. We sat next to each other, and she needed help with her assignments. So, I helped. Help eventually turned into me actually doing her assignments, and eventually Jane and Pepper’s.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.

“Natasha never needed help,” I added, almost like it mattered somehow. “Anyway, Sharon thought she could trade friendship for completed homework. And me, being as foolish as I was, allowed it.

Lloyd tilted his head, studying me for a moment. I could feel his gaze, but I kept talking, needing to get it all out.

“During my last year at University, I was overwhelmed, exams, projects, papers. You name it. And for some reason, Sharon couldn’t understand that I needed to prioritize myself. She felt betrayed, like I was supposed to keep sacrificing my sanity for her. So, she dropped me, just like that.”

Lloyd frowned, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece it all together. “That sucks, but… why are you here with them now?”

I shrugged, feeling the familiar weight of the answer pressing on me. “Sharon called me out of the blue, invited me on this trip. I declined at first, but things… weren’t going so great at home. I lost my job, had to move back in with my parents, and they were driving me insane. So, I caved. Figured one month in the Maldives was better than staying at home.”

Lloyd nodded slowly, leaning back against the railing, “Seems like you’ve been through it.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, glancing back at the crowd inside. “I guess you could say that.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting when I told Lloyd everything. Maybe I just needed someone to hear it without judgment. Without the baggage of knowing all the players involved. And somehow, Lloyd, with his laid-back charm and sharp sense of humor, made it easier to say out loud.

The silence between us lingered for a moment, comfortable yet loaded, before he spoke again. “Well, for what it’s worth, you don’t seem like the kind of person who needs to be hanging out with people like them.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah, well, sometimes you just… end up where you are, I guess.”

At one point, he leaned in, brushing a lock of hair away from my face, his fingers grazing my skin. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, and for the first time in a while, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

Before we could go further, I felt it, the shift in the air, like a dark cloud had rolled in. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Steve.

His presence was suffocating, a heavy weight that pressed down on me the moment he appeared. “Lloyd, what a coincidence,” Steve greeted him with that smile that didn’t reach his eyes. There was something colder, more calculated in his tone. He stepped closer, his gaze locked on me. “Mind if I borrow Kiwi for a second?”

"Does she want to be borrowed?" Lloyd’s voice was calm, yet irritated but the tension between them was almost palpable. I could feel his eyes on me, silently asking for confirmation.

The truth? I didn’t. I didn’t want to go anywhere with Steve. But deep down, I knew that Steve had no problem escalating a situation if it didn’t go his way. And I didn’t want to drag Lloyd into that mess. So, I laid my hand on Lloyd’s arm, a silent apology in my eyes as I told him, “I’ll be back.” I threw Steve a dirty look, hoping he'd understand this wasn't going to go the way he wanted.

Before I could move, Steve’s hand was already around my wrist, his grip firm, almost possessive. He pulled me aside, his expression unreadable, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the calm exterior he was trying to maintain.

I yanked my arm back, glaring at him. Steve didn’t flinch, his grip tightening just enough to remind me who held the power.

“What are you doing with him?” Steve’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge that made my skin prickle. His grip on my wrist didn’t loosen.

I yanked my hand back, glaring at him. “I’m just talking to him, Steve. What’s your problem?”

“He’s not good for you, Kiwi-” His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly. As if he was holding back.

I stared at him, anger rising in my chest. “You don’t get to decide who’s good for me, Steve. This isn’t your call.”

Steve’s smile returned, but it was colder now, the kind that sent chills down my spine. “Okay,” he said lightly, stepping back. His voice was casual, too casual. “I won’t get in your way.” He gave me a short nod before turning and walking back toward the villa.

I watched him go, relief washing over me, thinking that the confrontation was over. But deep down, something felt off. Steve had let it go too easily.

I returned to Lloyd, “Seems, like he needs a good pegging.” He said his humor cutting through the tension like a breath of fresh air, and I managed to shake off the strange encounter with Steve. For the rest of the night, I focused on Lloyd, laughing and joking as we wandered along the beach. It felt good…natural. For once, I didn’t feel like I was being suffocated by Steve’s presence.

But a few days later, everything changed.

Lloyd stopped texting. No calls, no messages. I tried reaching out, but my calls went straight to voicemail. It was like he’d vanished.

Worried, I went back to his villa, hoping to get some explanation. But when I got there, it was empty. A neighbor mentioned he’d left abruptly, something about family issues overseas, but it didn’t sit right with me. I wanted to believe it was just bad timing, but the nagging feeling in my gut told me otherwise.

Steve didn’t miss a beat. He swooped back into my life, acting as though nothing had happened, as though Lloyd’s sudden disappearance was just a coincidence. He was all concerned and caring, making sure I was "okay." His concern seemed genuine, but deep down, I knew the truth.

That night, I drowned my guilt in bottles, one after another, trying to numb the sick feeling churning in my stomach. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lloyd. What happened to him? Questions swirled in my mind, but the alcohol silenced them for a while, turning everything into a hazy blur.

Eventually, the weight of the night pulled me under, and I passed out, letting the booze take over completely.

When I woke up, my head was pounding, the light creeping through the curtains like needles stabbing at my skull. I groaned, rolling over in bed, but the movement made me realize something was off. My body was stiff, every muscle sore like I’d been through a marathon I didn’t remember running, and my skin felt so sticky.

I tried to stretch, but even that felt like a challenge, my limbs heavy and resistant. My mind was still foggy, disoriented from the drinks and... something else.

Sitting up slowly, I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to will the pounding headache away. The room was spinning slightly, the events of last night scattered like broken puzzle pieces in my brain.

I was in my own bed, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

I flopped back down on my bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, trying to shake off the throbbing headache pounding through my skull. Staying in seemed like the best option today. I just hoped Steve wouldn’t give me a hard time about it, especially with how overbearing he’d been lately.

A knock came at the door, and before I could respond, Steve walked in holding a bowl of what looked like soup. I sat up slightly, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Peace offering,” he said with a small smile, placing the bowl on the nightstand for a moment. “I wanted to apologize... for, you know, how I’ve been acting on this trip.”

I blinked at him, unsure where this was going. My headache was making it hard to focus, but his tone seemed genuine.

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just... I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Kiwi. You’re a good friend, and I guess I’ve gotten a little... overprotective. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

He was full of so much shit. I wasn’t sure what to say, and in the haze of my headache, I couldn’t really be mad at him. I just needed to make it through this trip, since he refused to let me go back home, so I just played nice.

I gave him a tired smile, the best I could manage with my pounding head. “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate that.”

“Let me feed you,” he said suddenly, picking up the bowl of soup again.

“What?” I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to, just put it on the nightstand. I’ll drink it when I’m ready.”

Steve shook his head, already pulling up a desk chair beside me. “Nah, it’s best when it’s still warm. You need to get it in you now.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but honestly, I didn’t have the energy to argue. My head felt like it was splitting in two. I just sighed and let him lift the spoon to my lips. The soup was surprisingly good, and with each sip, I felt the warmth spread through my chest, easing the discomfort.

After a few spoonful’s, I glanced up at him. “Why don’t you take care of your other friends like this when they’re hungover?”

He chuckled. “Because hangovers aren’t a common thing for you, Kiwi. Figured you’re not used to this.”

I nodded. He wasn’t wrong. I rarely drank, and when I did, it was never enough to leave me like this. Reluctantly, I let him keep feeding me until the bowl was empty. My exhaustion was creeping in fast, making it hard to keep my eyes open.

“Get some rest,” Steve said softly, tucking the blankets around me and leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Things are about to get busy soon.”

I drowsily nodded, already half-asleep, as I felt the weight of the day pull me under. I drifted off, wondering what he meant by that, but too tired to care for now.

Our final week in the Maldives felt like a blur. I was constantly drifting in and out of consciousness, my body heavy, my words thick in my throat whenever I tried to speak. Everything felt... off. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but Bruce chalked it up to lethargy.

“You’re just not used to prolonged rest, Kiwi,” he explained one morning when I asked why I felt so sluggish. “This vacation has you in a constant state of rest. Once you get home and start working again, everything will balance out.”

I nodded weakly, hoping he was right. But something deep down told me this wasn’t just about too much rest. I felt trapped in my own body, like I was dragging myself through every day, unable to fully engage with anything or anyone.

Steve, ever the attentive one, waited on me hand and foot, giving me these green energy smoothies every morning. "It’ll help pick you up," he’d say with that confident smile of his. But after days of drinking them, I didn’t feel any better. In fact, I felt worse. I told him as much one day, mentioning what Bruce had said about lethargy and how this constant dragging feeling couldn’t be good for me.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replied smoothly, brushing off my concerns as he squeezed my hand. He kept that hand-holding thing going all week, dragging me around like I was some ragdoll. And I let him. I didn’t have the energy to resist. The thought of doing anything on my own felt impossible. I was just waiting for the vacation to be over, to escape the fog that had settled over me.

At night, I slept like a rock. But when morning came, my body still felt heavy, weighed down like someone had filled me with stones. The soreness lingered, making even the simplest movement feel like a chore.

Before I knew it, the vacation was over, and I was sitting next to Steve on his private jet, heading back home. I stared out of the window, my eyes glazed over, the hum of the plane’s engine doing nothing to soothe the anxiety bubbling inside me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it home. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to stand once we landed, let alone call an Uber or deal with my parents.

The plane landed, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My body felt so heavy, and everything around me seemed to swim in and out of focus. I felt myself being shifted, my body moving without me fully realizing it. Someone was lifting me, but it was all so hazy, like I was watching it from somewhere far away.

“It’s okay, you’re fine,” a voice whispered near my ear. Steve’s voice.

I wanted to say something, to ask what was happening, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Everything was slipping away from me, and I could only hope that whatever was happening... I’d wake up from it soon.

When the fog finally lifted, I found myself in a bed that wasn’t mine, in a room I didn’t recognize. The fancy digital clock on the nightstand glowed 10:53 a.m., and before I could fully comprehend what was happening, a pair of arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a warm body. My heart raced as I turned to see who it was, and there was Steve, eyes closed, snoring softly, his face inches from mine.

I blinked, trying to shake off the remaining haze. “Steve?” I called out, nudging him slightly. “Steve, wake up.”

He stirred, stretching with a loud yawn before cracking open one eye. "Morning," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Where... where am I? What’s going on?” I asked, my voice still groggy but clearer than it had been in days.

Steve stretched again, his arm lazily draping across me. “You knocked out on the plane,” he explained. “So, I brought you to my house. I didn’t know where you lived.”

I sat up a little, still disoriented. “Why didn’t you just look at my ID?”

There was a pause, then a look of realization flashed across his face. “You know, I didn’t think of that.

I blinked at him, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and clarity wash over me. Something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I glanced down, suddenly noticing that I was wearing one of the nighties I’d packed for the vacation, with no underwear, sticky skin and sore muscle. My eyes darted to Steve, and that’s when I realized he was only in his boxers.

“Steve...” I started slowly, “who changed my clothes?”

He gave me an incredulous look, raising an eyebrow as if the question was ridiculous. “You did,” he said matter-of-factly.

I froze. I didn’t remember that. Not even a little. But what reason did I have to doubt him? My mind still felt like it was piecing itself back together after the past week.

I swallowed hard, nodding slightly, though the knot in my stomach grew tighter. “Okay... then why are you in your boxers?”

Steve smirked, giving a nonchalant shrug. “I usually sleep naked when I’m in my own bed. But I put on the boxers, you know, as a courtesy.”

I nodded again, more out of reflex than understanding. “Right...” I muttered, pushing the covers off me and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Steve pointed lazily to a door in the corner of the room, where the window met the wall. I wasted no time getting up and heading toward it, my head buzzing with too many thoughts to process.

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind me, I leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I felt a panic rising in my chest. I didn’t remember changing. I didn’t remember much of anything after that last week. And now I was in Steve’s house, in Steve’s bed... with Steve.

I pressed my palms against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a mess, and my eyes were still heavy with exhaustion.

I blinked a few times, trying to process everything. How did I end up here? And in my nighty, no less? It didn’t add up. The last clear memory I had was from the plane. Everything after that was a foggy blur.

"Okay, Kiwi, calm down," I whispered to myself. "You can figure this out."

I shook my head, trying to focus. I needed to get out of here. I needed to clear my head and figure out what was really going on. But as I stared at my reflection, my gut twisted with uncertainty.

I couldn’t just ignore the way Steve had been acting over at the Maldives, how close he had gotten, how possessive he seemed. And now this? Him brushing off that he didn’t know where I lived? When I was sure it would take nothing to figure out.

I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wake me up from this strange feeling  that seemed to linger. I had to get a grip on the situation.

When I walked back out, Steve was still lying in his bed, stretched out, looking way too comfortable. "You, okay?" he asked, his voice lazy, like none of this was out of the ordinary.

I forced a smile. "Yeah, just needed a minute."

"Good," he replied, sitting up and stretching. "We’ve got breakfast downstairs if you’re hungry."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more.

Steve moved from the bed, stretching his arms with a casualness that made my skin crawl. He grabbed a robe from a nearby chair and slid it on before turning to me, his eyes lingering on me just a second too long. It wasn’t subtle, he looked me up and down before pulling out another robe and handing it to me.

“Here, put this on,” he said, his tone soft but something about it made me feel like I didn’t really have a choice.

I slipped it on, trying not to think too much about his gaze. The fabric was smooth, probably the most expensive thing I’d ever worn. But it didn’t feel comforting; it felt like a reminder of just how far out of my element I was.

Before I could say anything, Steve was by my side, grabbing my hand in a way that was far too intimate. His grip was firm, not forceful, but it left me no room to pull away. He led me out of the room, his massive mansion unfolding before me as we moved through the wide corridors.

The grand staircase was as intimidating as it was beautiful, spiraling down into what felt like the heart of the house. My mind was still spinning from everything, how I’d ended up here, the fog that had clouded my memory for what felt like weeks, and now, Steve’s hand holding mine felt like it was tethering me to this strange reality.

We descended into the dining room, which was, of course, massive. The table was already set, food arranged like we were about to attend a banquet. I could smell eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and some other dishes I didn’t even recognize. It all looked like something straight out of a magazine.

Steve pulled out a chair for me, still holding that unreadable expression on his face. I sat down slowly, trying to process everything. He slid into the chair right next to me, far closer than necessary, and for a second, I felt the weight of his presence more than the meal in front of me.

“Go ahead,” Steve said, gesturing to the food. “You need to eat after the week you’ve had.”

I swallowed hard, my appetite completely gone despite the feast in front of me. But I picked up a fork anyway, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. I had no idea how I was going to make it through this breakfast, or what Steve expected from me next.

Steve picked up a small tart and brought it toward me. I reached out to grab it, but just as my fingers brushed it, he pulled it away, holding it in front of my mouth instead, his eyes expectant. The gesture was so casual, like this was normal, so I awkwardly leaned forward and allowed him to feed me. The tart was sweet, but I barely tasted it, my discomfort overpowering everything else.

He set the other piece down and resumed eating his own meal as if nothing strange had just happened. I, on the other hand, felt my shoulders tense up as I silently chewed, trying to make sense of what this morning was becoming.

After a few moments of silence, Steve spoke again, this time in a tone that made me wary. "So, I have news."

I glanced at him, unsure what to expect. "Okay..." I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I spoke to my father," Steve began, "and unfortunately, he's not interested in hiring for any entry-level positions in his finance department right now."

The news hit me like a brick. My stomach dropped, I had forgotten that I asked him to do that, and though I knew it was good that I didn’t have to stick around Steve, I really could have used that job. My shoulders slumped as that familiar wave of defeat washed over me.

But before I could sink any deeper into that feeling, Steve’s hand was on my cheek, gently caressing my skin. “Hey, don’t look so down. I’m not done yet,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “I managed to get you an opportunity elsewhere. Proper salary, full benefits.”

I perked up, my heart lifting at the words. “Really?” I asked, excitement creeping in. I hadn’t expected a follow-up.

Steve smiled, the kind of smile that felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time. “Yeah, really. You know my father’s been mentoring me to take over his company, right? Well, next quarter, I’ll have a proper position. And with that position, I’m going to need a few resources.” He paused, his smile widening. “Congratulations, you’re going to be my new PA.”

I blinked, the words not quite sinking in at first. “Personal assistant?” I repeated, taken aback. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I thought of a job with a ‘proper salary.’ But then again, I was in no position to be picky.

“Personal assistant,” he confirmed, nodding.

I sat there, unsure of how to feel. The idea of working directly under Steve made me uneasy, especially after everything that had happened on this trip. But at the same time... I couldn’t afford to turn this down. Not now. Not with my parents breathing down my neck, and no other job prospects on the horizon. Maybe, just maybe, this could lead to something more. Soon, enough I’ll find myself in a position where I’ll no longer need Steve and I could just leave.

“So,” Steve said, interrupting my thoughts, “what do you think?”

I hesitated, taking a deep breath before nodding. “Okay,” I finally said, unsure of whether I was convincing him or myself.

Steve clapped his hands together, his excitement palpable. “Awesome. We’ll get you set up before the start of the new quarter, then.”

He picked up the rest of the tart he’d fed me earlier and brought it to my lips again. I leaned forward to take a bite, but a small drop of fruit glaze fell onto my chin. Before I could react, Steve wiped it away with his thumb and, without breaking eye contact, licked it off.

The basement smelled worse than usual that morning. I rolled over, groaning as my back protested against the mattress beneath me. The faint glow of my phone screen told me it was barely 6:00 AM, and I had to be on campus for my work-study shift in an hour. No time to think, just move.

I dressed quickly, brushing off a speck of lint from my cardigan and mentally bracing myself for the day ahead. As I pushed the door open, it creaked, and Mandarin, laughing from the living room, greeted me. I tried not to listen, but her voice carried quickly through the house.

“She said we should register for a diaper warmer. Who even uses those anymore?” Mandarin’s laugh was shrill and carefree. “Nikki’s bringing one anyway, I’m sure of it.”

Mom chimed in with her agreement, her tone saccharine as always when it came to Mandarin. I grabbed my bag from the kitchen counter, ignoring the cheerful chatter as I slipped out the door. My life didn’t leave room for long breakfasts or casual conversations, anymore.

By the time I reached campus, I was running on fumes. My morning shift at the library had passed in a blur of organizing shelves and redirecting confused students, leaving just enough time to scarf down a granola bar before my tutoring session with Carrot.

Carrot was already waiting for me at our usual spot in the campus café, a notebook open in front of her. She looked up and waved with a smile that reached her bright eyes. “Hey, Clementine!”

“Morning,” I said, sliding into the seat across from her. “What’s giving you trouble this week?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, frowning at the pages in front of her. “It’s this proof in discrete math. I’ve tried every way I can think of, but it’s not clicking.”

Carrot was one of my favorite students to tutor. She only booked sessions when she genuinely needed help, and she was always eager to learn.

As we worked through the problem, I found myself relaxing a little. Carrot focusing on my explanations and examples. Her sounds of understanding filled the space between our calculations until it finally clicked for her.

As we wrapped up the session, Carrot gathered her books, a satisfied smile on her face. “Thanks, I think I’ve got it now.”

“Good.” I smiled back, slipping my notes into my bag. “Let me know if you run into any other roadblocks.”

She hesitated, her expression shifting slightly. “Hey, uh… are you free this weekend?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Depends. Why?”

Carrot fiddled with the edge of her notebook; her tone tentative. “Just thought we could grab coffee or something. You always seem so busy—I figured you could use a break.”

I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to hang out with her, but free time wasn’t exactly a luxury I could afford. Still, something about her hopeful expression made me pause.

“It’s just... my brother keeps telling me I should try to go out more and make friends,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant. “It’s a little hard for me, but I figured... since we already know each other from all the tutoring, and we get along so well, maybe we could be friends?” She looks at me, almost fearful of my answer.

“How about this,” I offered. “My older sister’s baby shower is this weekend. It’s not exactly exciting, but I could use some moral support if you’re up for it.”

Carrot’s eyes lit up. “Really? That sounds fun. I’d love to come.”

I didn’t mention the tension bubbling beneath the surface of these family gatherings or how Mandarin’s shower would likely turn into another exercise in biting my tongue. For now, I just nodded, grateful for the chance to have at least one friendly face in the room.

When Saturday rolled around, I found myself in the kitchen, frosting cupcakes while Mandarin lounged at the dining table, scrolling through her phone. Mom bustled around, directing me on which trays to use and what decorations needed adjusting.

“Clementine, don’t forget to pick up the balloons from the party store,” Mom said, not bothering to look up from the cake she was decorating. “They need to be here before the guests arrive.”

“I’m not even ready,” I said, glancing at the clock. “Can someone else, do it?”

Mandarin let out a theatrical sigh, her hand resting on her rounded belly. “I’d go, but you know…” She gestured vaguely. “The baby.”

I bit back a retort and grabbed my keys. “Fine. I’ll be back soon.”

By the time I returned with the balloons, Carrot had arrived, standing awkwardly near the living room entrance. She smiled when she saw me, relief washing over her face.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “This place is... lively.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I muttered, handing off the balloons to Mom. I quickly sat her down, provided her a refreshment and rushed upstairs to get ready.

When I got back Uncle Roody was sitting next to her, making her noticeably uncomfortable. I head toward her, greeting my Uncle before giving her my attention “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Nikki.”

Nikki was already holding court in the corner of the living room, her boisterous laughter ringing out as she regaled a small group of family members with one of her signature stories. When she spotted me, her face lit up.

“Clem!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a quick hug. “And who’s this?”

“This is Carrot,” I said. “She’s... a friend.”

Carrot gave a small wave, her smile polite but reserved. Nikki’s gaze softened, and she leaned closer to me. “Good to see you’re making friends,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “You deserve people in your corner.”

I roll my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong.

During my last year of high school, Mandarin hacked into my social media account and posted some nasty things about my friends. For reasons I still don’t understand, they believed it was me. At the time, I had no idea who’d done it, so when they demanded answers, I couldn’t give one. I was devastated. My mom, of course, told me to just get over it.

I found out later it had been Mandarin. She let it slip when she used a phrase that had been in one of the insults. I was livid, but as usual, my parents swooped in to shield her.

I sat at a small table with Nikki and Carrot, poking at the snacks I’d managed to grab. The baby shower buzzing around us. Laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of excited conversations. My cousin Nikki leaned back in her chair, the same mischievous glint in her eye she’d always had when she smelled gossip.

“So,” Nikki started, her voice low and sly. “Who’s the dad? I haven’t seen him anywhere. And you know Auntie loves to parade her ‘perfect family’ around.”

Carrot froze mid-bite, her wide eyes flicking between us. I couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped me as I shook my head.

“Mandarin claims it was a one-night stand,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “But honestly? That’s complete bullshit.”

Carrot tilted her head, frowning. “Why do you think that?”

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. “Because before she got pregnant, Mandarin was sneaking out all the time. And I know for a fact it wasn’t with her friends.

Nikki’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know?”

I smirked. “One time, she said she was meeting up with them for a girls’ night, but then Pepper posted on Instagram. She Vivienne, and Donna were in Aspen for some bougie group trip.”

Nikki let out a low whistle. “Pepper comes from money, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “She’s an heiress. And on top of that, she’s dating Tony Stark, billionaire playboy genius.”

“Does he have a brother?” Nikki asked. Causing us to giggle at her statement.

Carrot set down her fork, her voice quieter than mine or Nikki’s. “Why would she lie about who the father is?”

I shrugged, keeping my tone neutral. “Because whoever it is must be scandalous enough to ruin her perfect little image. Or worse, ruin our parents’ precious family name. And Mandarin would rather lie through her teeth than admit she’s not perfect.”

Nikki snorted, glancing across the room at Mandarin, who was holding court with the very friends we just spoke of. “So, what are we thinking? A married man? Someone way older? Or—” she grinned, “someone from the wrong side of the tracks?”

I tapped my fingers against the table, considering. “Who knows? But it’s something big. And you’re right, it’s definitely someone she doesn’t want Mom and Dad to find out.”

Carrot looked down but nodded slowly. “That makes sense. I just... can’t imagine lying about something like that.”

I gave her a wry smile. “That’s Mandarin for you. She’d set the truth on fire before admitting she’s not as perfect as she pretends to be.”

Nikki laughed, leaning forward to tap her nails on the table. “Well, when the truth finally comes out, and you know it will, I’ll be front and center and ready with popcorn.”

I chuckled, shaking my head but unable to suppress a small grin. “Same here.”

Carrot gave us a shy smile, still processing the whirlwind of Mandarin’s drama. Nikki shot her a playful look and gestured toward the noisy crowd. “Welcome to the Tremaine family circus, Carrot. Hope you brought a helmet.” Cackling before going to get more wine and strike up conversation with Mandarin and her friends.

The shower went on in its usual chaotic fashion, with Mandarin soaking up the attention while I floated between tasks. Carrot stuck close to me, her discomfort around the louder guests becoming more apparent as the afternoon wore on. I didn’t question it, chalking it up to nerves.

As the day wound down and the guests began to leave, I found myself grateful for Carrot’s presence. For once, I didn’t feel completely alone in navigating the minefield that was my family.

The days after the baby shower blurred into each other. My life was a constant shuffle between campus, work-study shifts, tutoring, and odd jobs. Even my moments of downtime didn’t feel like rest.

Most nights, I barely made it down to the basement before collapsing onto my mattress. The damp air didn’t bother me as much anymore; I’d learned to ignore it, just like I ignored the creaks in the pipes and the occasional drip from the ceiling. I didn’t have time to care.

Later that afternoon, Carrot approached me in the library, her usual shy demeanor in place.

“Hey,” she said, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “Do you have a minute?”

I glanced up from my laptop. “What’s up?”

She hesitated, looking like she was about to change her mind. “I just... I wanted to say thanks for inviting me to the baby shower. It was... nice.”

“Glad you had fun,” I said, offering her a small smile.

Carrot shifted on her feet. “I was wondering if... I mean, if you ever wanted to hang out again or something.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Sure.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t really have a lot of friends. And you’re... easy to talk to, maybe we could grab coffee or something.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

The house was quiet when I got home, a stark contrast to the chaos of Mandarin’s baby shower just days earlier. I’d spent most of the week buried in homework outlines, reviews, essays, projects.

The faint sound of the TV reached my ears as I pushed through the front door. My parents and Mandarin were huddled on the couch, their laughter echoing through the living room. They didn’t acknowledge me as I walked past, heading straight for the basement. My body ached from hours of rushing between shifts, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed.

As I pushed open the basement door, the smell hit me first, damp and sour, thick enough to make me stop in my tracks. My stomach twisted as I descended the stairs, the faint sound of water sloshing under my feet growing louder with every step.

When I reached the bottom, I froze.

The basement was flooded. Water pooled across the floor, soaking into the rugs I’d carefully laid out to make the space feel less like a dungeon. My mattress leaned against the wall, warped and stained. Boxes of books and clothes were scattered, their contents ruined. The string lights I’d hung flickered weakly, casting the scene in an eerie glow.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, my fists clenching at my sides. “What the hell...?”

Heart pounding, I spun around and stormed upstairs. My parents barely glanced at me as I entered the living room.

“The basement is flooded,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through their laughter.

Dad sighed, leaning back on the couch. “Yeah, we know. The plumbers will be here next week to fix the pipes.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “Next week? What am I supposed to do until then?”

Mom waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll figure something out. There’s plenty of space in the house.”

My jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you take my stuff out? Everything’s ruined!”

“It was already too late by the time we noticed,” Dad said, his tone flat, as if that was supposed to make it better.

“Too late?” I repeated, my voice rising. “You just left it there?”

“We’re not going to have this conversation,” Mom said, standing and crossing her arms. “You’re not the only one dealing with things.”

“Oh, of course not,” I snapped, the anger bubbling under my skin. “Heaven forbids Mandarin be inconvenienced.”

“Clementine, enough,” Dad said, his voice firm. “We’ve done enough for you. You’re an adult. Handle it.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. My chest heaved with the effort to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. Instead, I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel, heading back downstairs.

The damage was worse than I’d realized. Most of my books were unsalvageable, their pages swollen and warped. My clothes smelled like mildew, and the mattress was a lost cause. I worked in silence, dragging what I could upstairs to dry in the hallway. Each trip up and down the stairs felt heavier than the last, the weight of my ruined belongings matching the growing knot in my stomach.

By the time I finished, the living room was empty. My parents and Mandarin had retreated to their rooms, leaving me to deal with the mess on my own. I collapsed onto the couch, too tired to care about the fact that I didn’t want to sleep there.

For the first time in a long time, I wanted to cry. The urge built in my chest, raw and overwhelming, but I swallowed it down.

Crying wouldn’t help. It never did.

Instead, I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing with everything I’d have to replace, everything I’d have to do to make it through the week. My life felt like a never-ending series of obstacles, and no matter how hard I tried, the finish line always seemed further away.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep. I don’t think I can keep going.

The library was quiet, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Peter sat across from me, his usual relaxed posture in stark contrast to the tension coursing through my body. I was trying to explain a tricky concept from our session, but my brain was in overdrive, unable to focus.

“You see,” I started, tapping the notebook between us, “if you isolate the—” My voice cracked slightly, and I paused, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. “The variable...”

Peter tilted his head, concern flickering in his expression. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I replied quickly, waving it off. But the pressure behind my eyes and the tightness in my chest said otherwise.

Peter didn’t push, giving me a moment to collect myself. “So, isolate the variable,” he prompted gently.

I nodded, forcing myself to focus on the notes. “Right. You isolate the variable and then—”

The words stuck in my throat again, but this time, they weren’t about the lesson. They were about everything else. The basement, the damp couch, the ruined boxes, my parents’ indifference. I felt it boiling up, uncontainable.

“It’s just—” I blurted before I could stop myself. “I don’t even know why I bother sometimes. Like, I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can. But my parents—” My voice broke, and I shook my head, pressing the palms of my hands against my temples. “They just don’t care. My stuff was ruined, Peter. Ruined. My bed, my books, everything I worked for just sitting there, soaked. And they—” I let out a humorless laugh. “They didn’t even try to move it. They just left it there, like it didn’t matter.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, his usual smile replaced with something far more serious.

“I’m sleeping on the couch now,” I continued, the words spilling out faster than I could control them. “And every time I sit there, every time I lay down, it’s like I can feel their judgment. Like they’re just waiting for me to fail so they can say, ‘See, we told you so.’ And I—”

I stopped abruptly, the realization hitting me like a brick. My mouth snapped shut, and my face burned as I looked at Peter, who was sitting perfectly still, watching me with an unreadable expression.

“Sorry,” I muttered, dragging a hand across my face. “I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you. I—I don’t know why I—”

“It’s fine,” Peter said quickly, his voice soft but firm. “Really. You needed to let it out.”

I shook my head. “You’re just here for tutoring. You don’t have to listen to my... whatever that was.”

Peter leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Clementine, I don’t mind. Honest. I’d rather you say it than keep it bottled up. Everyone needs someone to listen sometimes.”

His words caught me off guard. I blinked, unsure of what to say. For a moment, the weight on my chest felt just a little lighter.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, glancing back down at the notebook. “I guess I... needed that.”