#protagonist struggles

"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."

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 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.”

The acceptance letter had been the happiest moment of my life. A full scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country. I’d held that envelope in my hands like it was a golden ticket to freedom, the first real step toward building the life I’d always dreamed of.

The excitement didn’t last long.

Reality hit the moment I read the fine print: the scholarship only covered tuition. Books, fees, transportation—those were on me. And then there was the rent. My parents had made it clear they expected me to contribute if I was going to live under their roof, and I couldn’t argue. Their obvious favoritism toward my sister Mandarin aside, they were still housing and feeding me, even if they did make it obvious how much they preferred their elder daughter.

So, I juggled everything I could. Work-study shifts at the library, odd jobs on weekends, and tutoring sessions during the evenings. Every dollar was carefully calculated, every spare moment filled with something productive. I couldn’t afford distractions—not if I wanted to stay ahead.

Most of my tutoring clients were typical: students trying to keep their heads above water, hoping I could help them avoid flunking out of calculus or pass their literature midterms. And then there was Peter.

Peter Parker was the anomaly.

One of the wealthiest students on campus, heir to Stark & Parker, and seemingly brilliant, it made no sense for him to need tutoring, especially from me. Yet there he was, week after week, with his easy smile and an energy that made it hard not to notice him. He was always happy to see me, greeting me like an old friend, even when I was running on fumes.

I didn’t get it. People like him didn’t usually cross paths with people like me, and they certainly didn’t pay me to help them with things they could easily hire professionals for. He had come to the school with his high school sweetheart, MJ, but I’d stopped seeing them together as much lately. Not that I cared. Peter’s personal life wasn’t any of my business, and I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Every time my mind tried to wander to why Peter always booked sessions or what had happened with MJ, I stopped myself. I had bigger priorities: scraping together enough money for books this semester, keeping my GPA high enough to maintain my scholarship, and balancing work-study shifts with my other jobs. I didn’t need another puzzle to solve, and Peter Parker wasn’t worth the mental energy.

“Thanks for squeezing me in,” Peter said one evening, setting his bag on the desk as he took a seat across from me. His grin was as warm and casual as ever, like he hadn’t just walked out of a glossy magazine shoot.

“No problem,” I said, pulling out my notes and forcing myself to focus. “What are we working on today?”

The corners of his mouth tugged up as he leaned back, looking way too relaxed. “You know, the usual. Just trying to stay sharp.”

I rolled my eyes internally but kept my tone professional. If he wanted to throw money at me for sessions he didn’t need, I wasn’t going to complain.

I pushed through the front door, exhaustion hanging off me like a weight. My legs ached from crisscrossing campus all day, my bag felt like it was filled with bricks, and all I wanted to do was to collapse in my bed. It had been one of those days where the thought of quiet and solitude was the only thing keeping me moving.

The house was quieter than usual. The TV wasn’t on, and for once, there weren’t any shouting matches or background noises of Mandarin’s baby shower planning blasting through the walls. I didn’t think much of it as I made my way upstairs, kicking off my shoes as I went.

The hallway was too still. A chill ran down my spine as I approached my room, the door cracked open just slightly. Something was off.

When I pushed it open all the way, the breath hitched in my throat.

Gone.

Everything.

My bed, my desk, my books, even the posters I’d spent hours arranging, were all gone. The walls were bare, and the closet door was hanging half-open to reveal emptiness. In the corner, a few boxes with my name hastily scrawled across them sat stacked like afterthoughts.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath. My pulse started racing as I backed into the hallway. “Mom? Dad?”

I followed the faint sound of voices to Mandarin’s room. The door was wide open, and there they were: Mom, Dad, and Mandarin, chatting like nothing was out of the ordinary. Mandarin sat on her bed, flipping through a baby catalog, while Dad held a measuring tape and gestured toward the window.

Mom glanced over her shoulder when I stepped into the doorway. “Oh, Clementine. You’re home.”

“Yeah, I’m home,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Where’s all my stuff?”

Dad straightened, tucking the measuring tape into his pocket. “It’s in the basement. We talked about this.”

“No,” I said firmly, “we didn’t talk about anything.”

Mandarin didn’t even bother looking up from her magazine. “Come on, Clem. You spend all your time at school anyways.”

I ignored her, keeping my focus on my parents. “Why is my stuff in the basement?”

Mom gave me that dismissive look I knew too well. “Mandarin needs more space with the baby coming. It made the most sense.”

“The basement smells like mold,” I shot back, my voice rising. “It’s not even finished!”

“Then you can figure something else out,” Dad said, his tone flat and final. “We’re not here to argue about this. You have options.”

I stared at him, trying to process the audacity. “Oh, do I? What options?”

“Stay in the basement,” he said, crossing his arms, “or find somewhere else to live.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Of course. Right. Because heaven forbid Mandarin doesn’t get everything handed to her on a silver platter.”

“Clementine, stop,” Mom snapped, her tone sharp. “Your sister is pregnant, and she needs our support right now. It’s time you learned to compromise.”

I felt my teeth clench, the anger bubbling under my skin. “Compromise,” I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Got it.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and headed downstairs. When I reached the basement, the smell hit me immediately—stale and damp, like wet concrete that never dried. Flicking on the light, I took in the sight of my life crammed into a dank corner: boxes stacked haphazardly, my mattress leaning against the wall, and a few trash bags stuffed with my clothes and books.

I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The corners of the room were shadowy, and the single overhead bulb flickered weakly. This wasn’t a bedroom. This wasn’t even close.

I let out a long, steadying breath and started sifting through the mess. My boxes were stacked precariously, a mix of clothes, books, and random knickknacks crammed together like afterthoughts. The mattress leaned against the damp wall, taunting me with its mildew-stained edges.

As much as I hated the thought of it, I knew I had no other choice tonight. I rummaged through the chaos until I found a dusty, folded plastic tarp shoved into one corner of the basement. I shook it out, coughing as a cloud of stale air hit me. It wasn’t much, but it would keep the mattress from soaking up any more of the dampness.

I laid the tarp out on the floor, smoothing it over the cracked concrete before dragging the mattress on top of it. It creaked under my weight as I tested it, the smell of mold and stale air hitting me harder now that I was so close to the floor. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to breathe through my mouth.

“It’s fine,” I whispered to myself, my voice thin in the silence. “You’ll figure this out, you always do.”

I grabbed a blanket from one of the boxes, wrapped it around me, and tried to settle in. The basement was cold, and the air felt heavier down here, like it was pressing down on me with every shallow breath. My head sank into my pillow, and I stared up at the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling.

I closed my eyes, willing my mind to quiet. But the thoughts kept coming.

I couldn’t afford to let this situation derail me. My future—the stability I was working towards—was too important.

The smell of mold lingered as I drifted off, and for the first time in a long time, I prayed for morning to come quickly.

The alarm on my phone buzzed like an angry wasp, dragging me from a restless sleep. I groaned, swiping at it clumsily until the noise stopped. The single bulb overhead flickered weakly, casting uneven light over the room. I rubbed my eyes, the musty smell of the basement making my throat feel tight. The mattress under me offered little relief from the cold floor despite the plastic tarp I’d laid down beneath it. My back protested as I sat up, every joint stiff from another uncomfortable night.

“Just get through today,” I whispered to myself, my voice sounding hollow in the empty space.

I shuffled to the corner where I kept my bag and rummaged for something clean to wear. Most of my clothes were wrinkled and smelled faintly of the basement’s dampness no matter how much fabric softener I used. I settled on a hoodie and jeans, pulling them on quickly as the clock on my phone reminded me, I was already behind schedule. I grabbed a granola bar from the box near my bed and forced myself to eat it as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen.

The house was quiet—eerily so. I should’ve been relieved, but instead, it put me on edge. I finished the granola bar in a few quick bites, rinsed my hands in the sink, and stuffed my bag with a notebook, my second-hand laptop, and a couple of pens.

As I made my way to the door, Mandarin’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Clementine.”

She stood at the end of the hallway, perfectly put together as always, her swollen belly barely slowing her down. Her phone was in one hand, her other propped on her hip. She didn’t bother looking up as she spoke, her tone clipped and dismissive.

“Don’t forget the baby shower is next month. Mom wants you to help set up. You know, since you don’t have much else going on.”

My jaw clenched, but I forced a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Her eyes finally met mine, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re always so busy, aren’t you?”

I didn’t reply, brushing past her and heading for the door. Mandarin had mastered the art of making me feel small with the least amount of effort. She didn’t need to yell or insult me outright. She just needed to exist in a way that constantly reminded me how little I mattered in this house.

Outside, the brisk morning air was a sharp contrast to the damp, stale air of the basement. I took a deep breath, relishing the momentary freedom, before starting my trek to campus. By the time I arrived, I was already late for my shift at the library.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I slipped behind the counter. My supervisor gave me a brief, disapproving look but didn’t say anything.

The next few hours passed in a blur of shelving books, organizing returns, and answering questions from students who were as lost as I often felt. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was steady, and every dollar I earned brought me closer to buying the textbooks I still needed for class. I made a mental note to check the used bookstore near campus on my next day off.

When my shift ended, I barely had time to grab a sandwich before heading to my tutoring session. My stomach growled as I unwrapped it, taking quick bites as I hurried across campus. The bread was stale, the meat thin, but it was enough to keep me going for a little while longer.

This was my life now—rushing from one responsibility to the next, with no time to breathe or even think. There was no room for error, no margin for rest. And I couldn’t afford to let myself slow down. Not when the alternative was falling behind and losing everything, I’d been working so hard for.

The next few weeks passed in a haze of monotony and exhaustion. My days blurred together: rushing from work-study shifts to odd jobs, tutoring sessions squeezed in wherever I could manage, and nights spent trying to catch up on coursework. Sleep became an afterthought, something I craved but never seemed to have enough time for. Home was no better—a pit stop between the chaos, where I was reminded of how little space I occupied in my family’s lives.

One evening, I dragged myself through the front door, my bag heavy on my shoulder and my legs screaming for a break. Mandarin was sprawled across the couch, her swollen belly propped up like a badge of honor. She held a tub of ice cream in one hand, her other arm draped over the back of the couch. Her eyes flicked up as I walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“You know,” she started, her voice taking on that patronizing tone I hated, “you could chip in more around here. Mom and Dad are already doing so much for you.”

I dropped my bag by the stairs, forcing myself to stay calm. “I pay rent,” I said flatly.

She snorted, a sharp, dismissive sound. “Barely,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Meanwhile, I have a baby on the way.”

Before I could respond, Mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Clementine, would you come here please.”

I sighed, glancing toward the kitchen doorway. “What is it?” I asked, already bracing myself.

Mom appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her expression already irritated. “Your sister’s been working so hard on her baby shower,” she said, her tone pointed. “The least you could do is help her with the invitations. She needs you right now.”

“I have an essay to write,” I said simply, turning toward the basement stairs.

Mom’s tone sharpened, cutting through the air like a knife. “You can write your essay later, Clementine. Mandarin needs you.”

I froze for a moment, the words hanging between us like a challenge. My jaw clenched as I looked at her, but I swallowed the anger rising in my chest. “I’ll help later,” I muttered, not waiting for a response as I descended the stairs.

The basement felt even colder than usual, the cold air clinging to my skin as I dropped my bag on the makeshift desk I’d cobbled together from an old table and a stack of boxes. I sat down heavily, staring at the flickering light overhead. Help her? Mandarin doesn’t even pay rent. She barely lifts a finger around the house, but somehow, I’m the one who’s supposed to be bending over backward?

I rubbed my temples, trying to push the frustration aside. There was no point in dwelling on it. If I let myself spiral, I’d lose the focus I desperately needed to make it through another day. I pulled out my laptop and opened my notes for class, forcing my mind to zero in on my essay.

But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I found myself staring at the blank screen, the weight of everything pressing down on me. This house. This family. I was falling apart.

Peter was already seated at our usual spot in the library when I arrived for our tutoring session. The sunlight streaming through the large windows gave the place a serene glow, but I barely noticed as I dragged myself toward the table, my bag feeling heavier than usual.

“Hey, Clementine!” Peter greeted, his voice cheerful and unmistakably chipper. He stood up slightly, pulling out the chair across from him. “How’s it going?”

I dropped my bag onto the table and slid into the seat without much fanfare. “Busy,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “What do you want to go over today?”

He leaned back casually, his ever-present grin plastered on his face. “The usual. I’m still stuck on those problem sets.”

I glanced at him, skeptical. His notes were neatly written, his assignments impeccably organized. “You’re doing fine,” I said, flipping through his work. “Honestly, I’m not sure you even need me.”

He laughed lightly, shrugging as though he hadn’t just paid for another session he didn’t actually need. “What can I say? I like having the extra help.”

As we worked through the material, Peter’s tone stayed light, his questions a mix of academic and personal. “So,” he said, tapping his pen against the edge of the table, “how’s school treating you? Surviving the semester?”

“Barely,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the textbook.

“What about after graduation?” he pressed. “Got any big plans?”

I kept my answers clipped. “Hopefully a job in my field. That’s the goal, then I can work from there.”

He didn’t push, just nodded thoughtfully. For a moment, I wondered if he could sense how little I wanted to talk about myself.

Halfway through the session, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you ever, like, take a break? Just... relax?”

I snorted. “Who has time for that?”

His grin widened, but there was a flicker of something more serious in his expression. “Maybe you should make time. You work too hard. I can tell”

I froze for a second, caught off guard by the unexpected sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, well,” I said, closing his textbook with a definitive thud, “not everyone has the luxury of coasting through life.”

The words came out sharper than I intended, and I immediately regretted it. But Peter didn’t flinch. Instead, he nodded slowly, his smile softening. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone calm and understanding.

When the session was over, I quickly began packing up my things, eager to move on to the next thing on my endless to-do list. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter watching me, his gaze steady and unreadable.

As I slung my bag over my shoulder, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: What was Peter’s deal? Why was he always so cheerful, so eager to chat during these sessions?

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. I didn’t have time to dwell on Peter Parker’s personal life. My own life was more than enough to keep me occupied.

“Thanks, Clementine,” Peter said as I turned to leave, his tone as bright as ever.

“See you next week,” I replied over my shoulder, already mentally bracing myself for whatever came next.

Late one night, after a long shift at the library, I sat cross-legged on my mattress, staring at my scholarship paperwork. The dim glow from my desk lamp illuminated the pages, the words blurring together as exhaustion weighed heavy on my eyes. Still, I forced myself to keep reading.

This scholarship was my lifeline. Without it, there’d be no way for me to stay in school, no future worth fighting for. I thought back to the moment I got the acceptance letter, that surge of joy and relief. At the time, it felt like my hard work was finally paying off. Now, that joy felt like a distant memory, swallowed by the relentless pressure of keeping everything afloat.

The buzz of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. A notification from my bank app lit up the screen, the pitiful balance mocking me with every digit. Textbooks, rent, and now the looming cost of Mandarin’s baby shower decorations, all of it hung over me like a storm cloud.

I sighed, setting the phone down and running a hand through my hair. “One step at a time,” I whispered to myself. “Just get through this semester.”

The basement around me was far from ideal, but I’d done my best to make it livable. Rugs covered the cold, damp floor, and a string of fairy lights provided a soft glow that made the space feel a little less suffocating. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had for now.

As I sorted through a box of books, a faint creak from the pipes overhead caught my attention. I paused, looking up at the exposed plumbing that crisscrossed the ceiling. A tiny drip escaped, landing on the corner of the box I’d just unpacked, leaving a dark spot on the cardboard.

“Great,” I muttered, pulling the box out of the way and wiping the damp spot with my sleeve.

Grabbing an old towel from the pile of laundry in the corner, I tossed it over the wet patch on the floor. My gaze lingered on the pipes, frowning at the faint groans that echoed through the basement. I made a mental note to talk to Dad about it, though I already knew how that conversation would go. He’d probably shrug it off, tell me to figure it out myself.

I sank back onto the mattress, staring at the low ceiling above me as the sounds of the house settled into an uneasy silence. The groaning pipes, the faint drip of water, the muffled noises of Mandarin’s TV upstairs—it all blurred into white noise.

“This is temporary,” I whispered, clutching the blanket tightly. “Just a stepping stone. I just have to be patient.”

My knees pressed firmly into the mattress, toes flexed against the sheets as I anchored myself, rising and sinking in a steady rhythm. The burn in my legs was merciless, spreading with each controlled movement, but I embraced it. My hands gripped his thighs behind me for support as I leaned back, arching my body. The pull in my ankles and the ache deep in my core blurred into something intoxicating. Every rise brought me closer, my breaths stuttering, my muscles tightening as I gave in to the momentum, chasing that blissful peak.

Peter’s hands clutched at my hips, grounding me, pushing up every time I sank down. My whimpers tangled with his low grunts, building into a crescendo that finally shattered, a vivid burst of feeling. I collapsed against his chest, the two of us melting together as we came down, chests heaving, drenched in sweat.

“Wow,” he breathed, voice thick with exhaustion and awe. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”

A tired chuckle escaped me. I rolled off him and reached for my phone, still tethered to the charger. I’d heard it buzz earlier, but I was too preoccupied to care. The screen lit up with a series of texts.

Mandarin Hey loser, are you dead? Mom says you haven’t been home in a few days.

I scowled and replied before I could stop myself.

Me: Do you care?

Her response came quicker than I expected.

Mandarin: If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have texted.

I stared at the message for a moment before shutting off the screen. It’d been a few days since I took refuge at Peter’s place, and I hadn’t said a word to my parents or Mandarin. I wasn’t sure why she cared, but for once, silence felt like power.

These last few days with Peter had been...easy. For the first time in months, maybe years, I wasn’t carrying the weight of my family’s expectations or my endless to-do lists. I felt lighter, more like myself, and yet completely unlike myself. Nikki and Carrot had no idea I’d been staying with him. We hung out a once or twice since the frat party, but neither of them asked where I’d been, so I didn’t volunteer the information.

Peter, to his credit, hadn’t said a word either. But the way he looked at me on campus, like he couldn’t wait to pounce, spoke volumes. And when I came over at night, he did exactly that.

I was less stressed, less miserable, and more rested than I’d been since starting university. I could get used to this. I wanted to get used to this. But I knew I couldn’t.

Another text buzzed. I sighed and looked at the screen.

Mandarin: Dad called contractors to fix the leak in the basement. Mom wants your stuff out of the living room ASAP.

I groaned out loud.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked softly.

I looked up to find him watching me, his eyes filled with concern.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, sliding the phone face-down onto the nightstand.

“Hey, hey,” he said, sitting up and pulling me back into his arms. He nudged his nose against my cheek, planting a soft kiss just under my ear. “You can talk to me.”

I let out a slow breath, resting my head against his shoulder. “I think I have to go home tonight.”

“What? Why?” His voice sharpened with something that sounded almost like panic.

“They fixed the basement,” I said flatly. “And now my mom wants me to move my stuff out of the living room. Ill have to go tonight, so I guess this is our last day in paradise together.”

Peter pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “So what, you’re just going to move back into that health hazard? With all the mold and God-knows-what-else?”

I stayed quiet.

During the short time I’d been here, I’d vented to Peter about my living situation more than I meant to. The way my parents dismissed me. The way Mandarin got everything handed to her. The utter unfairness of it all. I didn’t want his pity, but having someone listen, really listen, had felt like a weight off my shoulders.

A low rumble of thunder echoed outside, followed by a quick flash of lightning that lit up the bedroom. I glanced at the window before standing, more comfortable with my nudity as I stretched. “It’s not like I want to go back,” I admitted, “but what choice do I have?”

Peter watched me with an unreadable expression as I gathered up my things and headed toward the bathroom. “What choice do you have?” he repeated under his breath, his tone quiet but sharp.

I paused in the doorway, looking back at him. His brows furrowed, concern clouding his face.

“Don’t worry about it, Peter. I’ll figure it out,” I said before slipping into the bathroom.

As I closed the door, I leaned against it for a second, staring at the sleek tile floor. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror across the room.

I shook off my thoughts and stepped into the shower, trying to focus on the here and now. Peter had been more of a safe haven than I ever expected, but deep down, I knew it couldn’t last.

Moments into my shower, I heard the bathroom door creak open. My heart skipped for a second before the shower curtain shifted, and there stood Peter, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. His hair was a mess, strands falling over his forehead, and the boyish charm he carried so effortlessly was impossible to ignore.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, his tone casual, but the glint in his eyes told a different story.

I smirked, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t see why not.”

What followed was another blur of heat and steam—more stolen kisses, hands exploring skin, and water cascading down our bodies as if trying to wash away whatever had brought us together in the first place. By the time we were finished, my legs were jelly, and Peter looked annoyingly satisfied with himself.

Wrapped in a fluffy towel, I padded into his bedroom and rummaged through the shopping bags neatly tucked away in his closet. Another bonus to staying with Peter: Gerald had apparently decided to stock the closet with clothes for me “just in case.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about being preemptively prepared for, but as I sifted through the luxury brands, Gucci, Chanel, Versace, I couldn’t bring myself to complain.

I tugged on a soft, oversized sweater and paired it with sleek leggings, all while Peter leaned against the closet door, arms crossed and a towel slung low around his waist. I could feel his eyes on me, a quiet intensity that made me pause mid-motion.

“What?” I asked, turning to face him.

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you staring at me like that?”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Why don’t you stay with me?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Stay here,” he said, unfolding his arms and stepping closer. “You don’t have to go back to that place. To them.”

“Peter…” I started, but he cut me off, his voice gentle.

“Listen, I know you think you can handle it, and you can. But you don’t have to. Not alone, anyway.”

I sighed, gripping the hem of the sweater. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” he pressed. “I have plenty of space, you’re already comfortable here, and I like having you around. Just think about it.”

The way he looked at me then, earnest and almost vulnerable, made me falter. For a moment, I considered it. The thought of not having to go back home, to the moldy basement, to Mandarin’s smug glances and my parents’ indifference, was tempting.

But as much as I wanted the escape, something in my gut held me back.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally said, hoping it would satisfy him for now.

Peter smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s all I’m asking.”

As he turned to grab clothes for himself, I exhaled, the air feeling heavier in my lungs. Deep down, I knew this was dangerous, not just staying here, but everything. Peter, his kindness, the luxury, the temporary reprieve from reality… it was all too good to be true.

Peter insisted on dropping me off at school.

Up until now, he’d been fine letting me walk, which I didn’t mind. What used to be an hour-and-a-half commute had turned into a 20-minute stroll, 25 if I stopped by the coffee shop. But this time, he insisted, even going so far as to have the valet park his car right outside 10 minutes before we left the building.

I relented, mostly because I figured he’d miss me. After all, this was my last day at his place. I’d packed up my books and grabbed the rest of my stuff that had been left behind in Nikki’s car, making sure to leave Peter’s tablet on his desk. I had no intention of coming back that evening.

The drive to school took less than five minutes, and Peter pulled right up to the main entrance. It was almost obnoxious how easy everything was when you had money.

“See you,” Peter said, shooting me a grin as I climbed out. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

“Bye,” I mumbled quickly, shutting the door behind me before he could say anything else.

Unfortunately, Carrot was there too—standing by the steps, eyes wide as she watched me step out of Peter’s luxury car.

“Uh, you’re here early,” I said, trying to deflect as I made a beeline toward her.

“Yeah,” she replied, still staring at the car. “I thought I’d keep you company at the library before our session today.”

“Right,” I muttered, gripping her arm and steering her away from the crowd of eyes I could feel burning into me.

Behind me, I heard Peter’s an obnoxious beep. I glanced back to see him waving with that same smirk plastered on his face. Carrot waved shyly in return.

“That’s Peter Parker,” she whispered, her voice low, as if saying his name out loud would make this moment any more surreal.

“Yep,” I said curtly.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as we crossed the threshold into the library. “Why were you in his car?”

“He gave me a ride,” I replied nonchalantly, placing my bag under the librarian station.

Carrot didn’t buy it. “Why?”

I turned to face her, keeping my expression calm. “Because I slept over at his place last night. Actually for the last few nights.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”

I could already feel Magda, the school librarian, eyeing us like a hawk circling prey, so I grabbed a stack of returns and motioned for Carrot to follow me deeper into the shelves.

“Have you been staying there since the party?” she whispered urgently, trailing after me like she was piecing together a murder mystery. “That was a week ago!”

“Friday was the party,” I said, sliding a book back onto the shelf. “It’s Wednesday. It hasn’t been a week yet—just a few days.” I corrected

Carrot gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. “Does Nikki know?”

I paused, glancing over at her puppy-dog expression. She looked so betrayed, as if I’d been keeping the country’s deepest secrets from her.

“No one knows, Carrot,” I said softly.

Her voice dropped even lower, like she was afraid someone might overhear us. “Why are you keeping it a secret?”

I shrugged, sliding another book onto the shelf. “I’m not. It’s just… no one asked.”

“How are we supposed to ask if we don’t know anything?” she said, exasperated.

I didn’t have a good answer for that. I stayed quiet, focusing on the books in front of me.

“Unless…” Carrot hesitated, her voice tinged with concern. “Unless you don’t want anyone to know?”

“It was only meant to be temporary,” I admitted, finally turning to face her. “Today’s my last day there. I’m going home tonight.”

She blinked at me, like she wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not. I tried to smile, but just saying the words made my stomach twist in knots.

Home.

Just the idea of it made me want to barf.

Look," I turned to Carrot, pausing to glance over my shoulder as I organized the stack of returns. “I didn’t mean to hold this back from you.”

She hovered nearby, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I get it,” she said quietly, her tone softer now. “It’s just… I didn’t expect it.”

I sighed, carefully placing another book on the shelf. “Yeah. Same here.”

“You should tell Nikki, though,” Carrot added after a beat, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her sweater. “I think she’d want to know.”

“I will,” I promised with a small smile.

Carrot nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned to find herself a quiet spot in the library to wait for me. She’d told me earlier her brother was picking her up after our tutoring session, but for now, she was content to kill time and keep me company, at least from a distance.

I slipped back into the rhythm of my work, shelving returns, helping a student find a reference book, and manning the circulation desk. It wasn’t glamorous, but I liked the predictable routine of it. It gave me something solid to focus on when everything else felt like it was teetering on the edge.

As the hours crawled by, the weather shifted. What had started as a soft drizzle outside gradually transformed into a relentless downpour, the sound of heavy rain pounding against the library windows. By the time my shift ended, the storm had grown fierce, the wind howling like it had something to prove.

I grabbed my bag and met Carrot by one of the tables she’d claimed. She had her nose buried in a novel, but when she saw me approach, she snapped it shut and stood up.

“All done?” she asked, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.

“Yep. You ready for your session?”

She nodded, following me to the study area.

Our tutoring session passed quickly, filled with quiet concentration and the occasional question. Carrot worked hard, as always, but she seemed distracted, stealing glances toward the windows every time thunder cracked. By the time we packed up, the rain outside had turned the campus walkways into rivers, the gutters overflowing under the relentless downpour.

Carrot pulled up the hood of her jacket as we stepped outside, her shoes already soaked from the puddles. “This weather is ridiculous,” she muttered.

I adjusted my bag over my shoulder, tugging my own hoodie tighter around my head. “Tell me about it.”

We reached the bus stop near the edge of campus, where the wind whipped at our clothes and the rain pelted sideways beneath the shelter’s overhang.

“Do you need a ride home?” Carrot asked suddenly, looking up at me with concern. “My brother should be here soon. You don’t have to wait out here like this.”

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You sure?” She frowned, her eyes scanning my face. “You’ll get sick if you stand out here too long.”

“I’ll be okay,” I reassured her, though the damp chill was already sinking into my bones.

She studied me for a moment longer, clearly not convinced, but before she could argue, her brother’s car appeared, headlights cutting through the storm.

“That’s him,” she said, pulling her hood tighter. “Text me when you get home, okay? Promise?”

“Promise,” I said, waving her off.

I watched as she ran to the car, hopping inside quickly to escape the rain. Her brother pulled away moments later, leaving me alone at the bus stop.

I sighed, shifting my weight as the wind whipped through the empty streets, carrying the sharp chill of the storm, and of course the bus was late.

Home was waiting for me, but I lingered under the shelter, staring out at the rain. For a brief moment, I let myself wish I was anywhere else.

When the bus finally arrived, my stomach sank like a stone. I was dreading going home, and no amount of deep breathing or distraction could shake the heavy feeling that had taken up residence in my chest. I did my best to keep it together, trying not to fall apart in this very public setting. Once I reached the stop closest to my house, I stepped off and began the slow, reluctant walk through my neighborhood.

As my house came into view, I immediately noticed the porch was cluttered with a pile of stuff. For a brief moment, I thought maybe Mom was renovating another room. But as I got closer, the pit in my stomach grew heavier. The items weren’t random. They were familiar.

Too familiar.

By the time I reached the walkway, it hit me like a freight train: all my things, everything I owned, were stacked haphazardly on the porch, soaked through by the storm. The rain fell steadily, each drop a mockery of my life. I froze, staring at the heap of drenched belongings, my mind spinning to catch up with the sight in front of me.

I felt a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat, but it never came. Was this some sort of cosmic joke? First, I lost half my stuff to the basement flood. Now, the universe had decided to make an encore performance and drown the rest of my life on the porch.

It took a moment for the anger to arrive. The initial shock had to move aside to make room for it.

“What the fuck?” I muttered under my breath, rushing toward the pile in a desperate attempt to salvage something—anything. My voice grew louder as the realization set in. “What the fuck?!”

I yanked a box open and found my laptop buried underneath. The waterlogged device practically dripped as I pulled it out. When I opened it, water spilled out, short-circuiting any hope I had left of saving it. A choked noise escaped me, somewhere between a scream and a groan, before I threw the laptop to the ground in a fit of rage. It landed with a hollow crack, splitting in half but not shattering as I’d hoped.

All my things were ruined.

The anger boiled over, spilling into my movements as I dug through the pile. I began sorting through everything with a mix of fury and despair, tossing anything salvageable into a smaller pile while angrily hurling the ruined items aside. A soaked pillow, ruined. My textbooks, swollen and illegible. Clothes that reeked of damp and mildew, unsalvageable. The more I sorted, the more useless it all seemed. My life felt like it was disintegrating before my eyes, one piece at a time.

Then I stopped. My hands froze mid-motion, and I let the rain wash over me as the reality sank in. I couldn’t keep doing this. There was nothing left for me here, no room, no respect, no support.

Peter’s words echoed in my mind, unbidden but steady: “Why don’t you just stay with me?”

I glanced at my phone, the rainwater smudging the screen as I pulled it out of my pocket. My hands trembled as I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at Peter’s name. For a moment, I just stared at it, debating whether to press call.

This wasn’t the life I wanted. It wasn’t the path I had envisioned for myself. But right now, it felt like the only choice I had left.

Forcing down the anger clawing at my chest, I pulled out my phone and dialed Peter’s number. The line barely ringing before he picked up.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and casual, like he’d been waiting for me to call. “What’s up?”

“How soon can you pick me up?” My voice was calm, but my grip on the phone tightened as I stared at the mess in front of me.

There was a brief pause on his end. “Tonight?”

“Yeah,” I said firmly. “Tonight.”

“Send me the address,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll be there, as soon as I can.”

Hanging up, I leaned against a porch pillar, my mind racing. For once, I didn’t care what my parents thought or what Mandarin would say. I wasn’t going to spend another night pretending everything was fine.

Taking a deep breath, I sent Peter the address and headed inside to the kitchen to find some plastic bags to pack what little I could salvage. The house was quiet; everyone was likely in their rooms, blissfully unaware of how much my life was unraveling. 

ifteen minutes later, I had a single garbage bag ready to go. I sat down on a porch chair, soaked from the rain, waiting for Peter.

The door creaked open behind me, and Mandarin waddled out, one hand on her swollen belly and the other clutching the doorframe for support. She surveyed the mess of my things strewn across the porch.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she started, her voice dripping with fake regret. “Mom insisted it would be fine out here. Didn’t think it’d rain this hard.”

I ignored her.

“It’s okay, though,” she added, rubbing her belly with a satisfied smile. “Can’t have it too crowded for Junior here.”

“Right,” I said flatly. Deciding I wasn’t in the mood to let her get away with this, I added, “Funny how Junior’s daddy couldn’t even find a way to shelter his own kid. Instead, he shoves his little cumbucket into her parents’ house.”

Mandarin froze, her expression faltering. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” I said, standing and crossing my arms. “Who’s the father, Mandarin?”

“I—I told you,” she stammered, her voice rising defensively. “It was a one-night stand.”

“Bullshit.” I took a step closer. “I don’t know what ninth circle of hell your baby daddy is from for you to lie about him like this, but I’m onto your shit.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she tried to keep her composure. “You must think you’re so smart, huh?”

“I don’t think—I know,” I snapped. “And I know that if I dig deep enough, I’ll figure out who he is. And when I do? I’m blasting it everywhere, turd for brains.”

Mandarin’s frown deepened, and for a split second, there was a flicker of fear in her eyes. “You’ll never figure it out,” she said, her voice quieter now. “He won’t let you.”

“Why? Because he’s married?” I asked, my tone sharp and sarcastic.

Her silence told me everything. Her shocked expression, the way her mouth fell open just slightly, was all the confirmation I needed.

“Oh, you’re such a conniving bitch,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

“What?!” she shrieked, her voice high-pitched and panicked.

“Fuck, Mandarin,” I said, shaking my head. “I always thought you were spoiled and selfish, but this? This is on another level.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she hissed, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal. She was looking for an escape or maybe for someone to come to her rescue.

“What the hell are you looking for?” I yelled, throwing my hands up.

“Shut up!” she whispered harshly, her voice trembling. “Someone will hear you.”

“You’re just terrible all around,” I said, disgusted.

“Girls, what’s going on out there?” Mom’s voice rang from inside the house.

“Nothing!” we both said in unison, Mandarin’s voice cracking under the strain. She turned back to me, her face pale.

“He’s not married,” she whispered urgently.

“But he’s something close to married, isn’t he?” I shot back.

Her guilty expression was answer enough.

“When I blow this up,” I said, lowering my voice to a cold, even tone, “I’m going to make sure I have all the evidence I need. I don’t need to go to Mom and Dad with some half-baked theory. Especially since it looks like you have no intention of stopping.”

“Clementine, please,” she begged, her voice breaking.

“Fuck you,” I said, stepping closer, my voice dripping with venom.

“Clementine, you don’t understand, he’s not someone you can mess with.”

“Oh, he sounds real important,” I sneered. “Does he have a lot of money?”

“Clementine!” she screeched, tears streaming down her face.

“What’s going on out here?” Mom’s voice cut through the air again, this time accompanied by the sound of footsteps. Dad followed closely behind her, his expression stern.

Mandarin immediately started crying harder, throwing herself into Mom’s arms. Dad turned his sharp gaze on me. “What did you do to her, Clementine?”

I said nothing, just stared back at him, the anger still burning in my chest.

I heard a honk and turned my head to see Peter's car idling at the curb. The trunk popped open, and Peter stepped out, making his way toward the porch.

“Peter?” Mandarin said, her tear-streaked face scrunching in confusion before her eyes widened with recognition.

Peter’s approach was casual, like this was an everyday occurrence. “Oh, hey, Mandarin,” he said with a friendly smile. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

“Um, excuse me, young man?” my mother cut in, her tone sharp and full of suspicion. “Who are you?”

Peter extended a hand toward her, undeterred by the frostiness in her voice. “I’m Peter Parker. Nice to meet you.”

My mother ignored his outstretched hand, her expression cold. I gave Mandarin one last glance before grabbing my bag and heading toward Peter’s car.

Peter quickly intercepted, taking the garbage bag from my hands. I noticed my broken laptop already in his other hand. “I’ve got it,” he said softly, his tone grounding me in the moment.

“Where are you going, young lady?” my father demanded, confusion flickering across his face.

“I’m leaving,” I said flatly, stepping off the porch. “There’s no room for me here, and I’ve found somewhere that is.”

“Oh, you’re just being dramatic,” my mother said dismissively, still clutching a tearful Mandarin in her arms like she was some tragic victim.

“You think you can get by without us?” my father barked, his voice rising.

I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face them, making sure they saw the resolve in my expression. “I’ve gotten this far without your help,” I said firmly. “I’m in school, I’m working, and I’m building a future for myself. So, yeah, I think I can manage.”

“Don’t be a brat,” my father snapped, his eyes narrowing.

Peter closed the trunk and moved to the driver’s seat, giving me a reassuring nod as I made my way to his car.

“Don’t come crawling back!” my father yelled after me.

I paused, turning my head just enough to deliver one final blow. “Enjoy your favorite whore daughter,” I shot back, my voice cold.

“Clementine!” my mother shouted, her voice cracking with indignation.

Peter was already at the passenger door, holding it open for me. He gave my family a polite wave before I slid into the seat.

As we drove off, I glanced out the window one last time. My parents stood frozen on the porch, their shocked faces a mixture of disbelief and anger. Mandarin’s face, tear-streaked and desperate, only made me scoff. She looked pathetic, clutching her belly as though she were the victim in all this.

I turned my gaze forward, leaving them—and everything they represented—behind me. Whatever was ahead couldn’t possibly be worse than what I was leaving behind. For the first time in a long time, I felt the faintest flicker of hope.

"How do you know Mandarin?" I asked, suspicion creeping into my tone.

Peter glanced at me briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "She’s one of Pepper’s friends."

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Whenever Tony throws a party, she usually tags alongside her," he added with a shrug, his tone casual.

I nodded slowly, digesting the information. "Right." A thought popped into my head, and I decided to press further. "By the way, do you know who got her pregnant?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral. "I figure it had to be someone in those upper circles you run in, right?"

Peter shrugged again, his expression unreadable. "I only ever see her with the other girls or Pepper. If she’s been seeing someone, she’s keeping it under wraps."

I sighed, leaning back against the seat. The more I thought about it, the more tiring the whole ordeal seemed. At the height of my anger, uncovering Mandarin’s baby daddy had felt like a mission, a way to expose her for the spoiled, manipulative brat she was. But now, the idea of digging into her secrets felt like more trouble than it was worth.

The exhaustion of the day weighed on me heavily, my eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. Before I knew it, I was slumped against the passenger seat, the hum of the car lulling me to sleep.

The morning light streamed through the thin curtains in the living room, waking me far earlier than I wanted. My back ached from the stiff couch cushions, and my neck felt like it had been bent at an unnatural angle all night. I blinked at the ceiling, letting the familiar stress knot settle in my chest. Another day, another problem.

The basement was still a disaster zone. Most of my things were ruined, and what little I’d salvaged was shoved into trash bags at the corner of the room to be dug out when needed. My parents’ promises about fixing the flooding were just words—weeks had passed, and they had yet to call a plumber. What were they waiting on? A flooded basement was just a disaster waiting to happen,

Pushing the blanket off me, I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I could hear the faint clatter of Mandarin in the kitchen, probably making her pregnancy-approved smoothie, while my mom hummed along to whatever song was playing on the radio. The normalcy of their morning grated on my nerves, as they’d already forgotten about everything that had been wrecked. My everything.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling absently through notifications. A text from Carrot popped up, asking if I was still on for our session later.

I texted her back, confirming the session.

After that, I scrolled through Amazon, adding replacements for my ruined items to a wish list. It felt like a depressing exercise in prioritization—deciding what I needed and what could wait until I had more money. Everything felt urgent, but my bank account disagreed.

"Instead of being on your phone, you could start on these dishes," my mom said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I saw her standing before me, hands on her hips, ready to pounce.

I didn’t react. Nowadays, she was always looking for a reaction, and I wasn’t giving her one. I ignored her and went upstairs to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

"Don’t ignore me," she called after me. "When I get back, I want those dishes done. You hear me?"

"Yes," I replied, not even looking back.

It was easier to give her the response she wanted, even if I had no intention of doing what she asked. All my stuff was destroyed, I was sleeping on the couch, and I was sure she still expected rent next month. She could save her demands for someone else. I was over it.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror while the faucet ran. My jaw was tight, and my shoulders were heavy with tension. My reflection looked just as worn out as I felt. The weight of replacing everything, finding a way to get out of this house, and keeping up with school felt too much to handle. And it all just felt so impossible.

I went through my day as usual, but a numbness clung like a heavy fog. A creeping depression lingered at the back of my mind, threatening to overtake me. I tried to fight it, keeping busy and going through the motions, but it felt like a losing battle.

When I met up with Carrot later that afternoon, I helped her with her assignment, though I noticed she was more distracted and jittery than usual.

“What’s wrong?” I finally asked.

She hesitated before blurting out, “What’s the appropriate response when a man hands you a bouquet?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I think it’s usually ‘thank you.’ Unless you didn’t want them?”

She shrugged, her shoulders rising to her ears. “I don’t know. He just handed them to me. This guy...he knows my brother. I’ve seen him around the house a few times, but this was the first time he’s ever spoken to me. He just...gave me the flowers.”

“What did you do?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her head dropped back, and she groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I squeaked and ran to my room.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Sounds like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

“Do I?” she peeked at me through her fingers, but her expression was tinged with fear instead of excitement.

I frowned. “If you don’t like it, you can just tell him to back off. Seriously. If he makes you uncomfortable, shut it down.”

She turned to me, uncertainty written all over her face. I wanted to say more, but the words stuck in my throat. Before I could figure out what to say, I glanced at the time on my phone and realized it was getting late. Home awaited me, but the thought of walking into that house twisted my stomach. I remembered a few frat boys handing out flyers on campus earlier that day and dug one out of my backpack.

“Hey, how do you feel about going to a party tonight?” I asked, holding up the flyer. “Girls get in free.”

Carrot gave me a skeptical look. “You want to go to a party?” she asked, her tone dripping with disbelief.

She had every right to be surprised. In the month or so that Carrot had known me, our outings had consisted of coffee shops, bookstore visits, and the occasional brunch. I wasn’t exactly a party girl; judging by Carrot’s demeanor, neither was she. But tonight, I needed a reason—any reason—not to go home.

“Come on,” I said, nudging her shoulder. “We can call Nikki for backup. It’ll be fun.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”

I plastered on a smile. “I’m peachy. Look, I just wanted to try something different. We can do something else if you’re not up for it.”

She took the flyer from my hand, studying it momentarily before sighing. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

I nodded, already reaching for my phone. “Alright then. I’ll call Nikki.”

As soon as Nikki heard the word party, she was already on her way to pick us up. But the moment she saw Carrot and me still in casual clothes, she rolled her eyes dramatically and dragged us to the nearest outlet mall.

“Absolutely not,” she declared, hands on her hips. “Yall are not showing up looking like that.”

Nikki was a diva through and through, a true glamour girl since birth. She adored everything that sparkled and shined, living for the high-end life. Gold jewelry, luxury perfumes, and the most sought-after fashion brands—if it was expensive and exclusive, Nikki probably owned it. She thrived on attention and wasn’t about to let us cramp her style.

By the time she was done with us, we were dressed to the nines. Carrot was wide-eyed and blushing in a sleek emerald-green dress that hugged her figure modestly but she insisted on keeping her sweater on. Nikki made sure I was in something equally stunning—a black jumpsuit that was somehow both chic and comfortable, paired with a statement necklace she insisted on buying for me.

“This is non-negotiable,” she said, fastening it around my neck. “We need to turn heads when we walk in.”

On the drive to the party, Nikki couldn’t stop gushing about her latest sugar daddy, a wealthy entrepreneur planning to whisk her away to Cancun for an all-inclusive trip next month. Carrot’s eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape as if she were hearing about this lifestyle for the first time.

Nikki and I couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction. She seemed so innocent, and she probably was.

“Have you ever had a sugar daddy?” Carrot asked me, her voice curious but shy.

I shook my head with a small laugh. “No, but I’m open to it. Honestly, I might have to start looking into it with how my life is going.”

I sighed dramatically, and Nikki grinned. “Well, you’d make a fabulous sugar baby,” she said. “You just need to polish up your wardrobe.”

“Mandarin had one before she got pregnant,” I added offhandedly. “I think his name was Andy?”

“Wait,” Nikki said, her perfectly arched brows shooting up. “Do you think he could’ve been the father?”

I shook my head. “No, she dropped him long before she got pregnant. But I’m willing to bet it was whoever came after him.”

Nikki leaned back in her seat, humming thoughtfully. “Whoever it is, she’s keeping it locked up tight. The drama potential is endless, though.”

I will be the first to admit when I’m wrong, and boy, was I wrong about this party. I’d never been so uncomfortable in my life. The music was deafening, pounding in my chest like a second heartbeat. There was barely any food, just a sad bowl of pretzels and questionable chips. And the smells—good God, the smells. Everywhere I turned, there was a faint but offensive hint of body odor, like a slap in the face every time I tried to breathe.

Carrot was tucked away in a corner, practically melting into a fern as if it could shield her from the chaos around us. She looked like she was about two seconds away from bolting. Meanwhile, I was trapped by a drunken frat brother who didn’t seem to grasp that "no" was a complete sentence.

Of the three of us, at least Nikki was having the time of her life. She was in the middle of the dancefloor, a dazzling whirl of energy as she danced with anyone and everyone who wanted. She didn’t have a care in the world, and I envied her for that.

“Yeah, so I was thinking,” slurred the guy in front of me—Jerry, or maybe Jeremy; I’d stopped caring after the second introduction. “If you wanted, maybe sometime I could invite you to my parents’ yacht, and we could have a good time, y’know?”

I plastered on a polite smile, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Jerry had been glued to my side since I walked through the door, and I’d been trying to shake him off ever since. His idea of flirting was as obnoxious as it was persistent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the shift in Carrot’s posture. The fern she’d been hiding behind wasn’t enough to conceal her now; a giant of a man loomed over her, easily towering over most of the party. He had the kind of presence that commanded attention; sure enough, quite a few people were sneaking glances his way.

Carrot, on the other hand, looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Her wide eyes and stiff posture were screaming for help. For a split second, I hesitated, wondering if maybe I should let her handle it. Perhaps this was her chance to flirt, to break out of her shell a bit. But then I saw how she shrank back, her fingers clutching the edge of her dress like she wanted to disappear.

“I think my friend needs me. I have to go,” I said, cutting Jerry off mid-ramble.

As I turned to leave, his hand shot out and grabbed mine. “Wait—at least give me your number?” he asked, his words slurring together.

I carefully pulled my hand away, keeping my tone firm but calm. “No,” I said, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “Goodbye, Jerry.”

“It’s Jeremy,” he yelled 

Well, that mystery is solved.

Without waiting for a response, I approached Carrot, whose panic was practically radiating off her. The giant man standing over her didn’t look threatening—at least, not in a conventional sense—but the way Carrot clutched her bag to her chest told me she wasn’t comfortable.

I stepped between them, offering the man a polite smile. “I’m sorry, I need to borrow her. Do you mind?”

The man shifted his attention from Carrot to me, his smirk deepening as his eyes locked onto mine. He was handsome in a way that took a moment to fully register—like a painting you only appreciate after stepping back to see the whole picture. His sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes gave him an almost otherworldly intensity, and the way he carried himself, with an effortless confidence, was magnetic. It was the kind of presence that made you curious.

“Go ahead,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, but I was already pulling Carrot away.

I scanned the dancefloor and spotted Nikki, still having the time of her life, a drink in hand as she laughed and twirled in the middle of a group of strangers. I considered dragging her out right then and there for a second, but she was clearly in her element. I decided to let her have her fun a bit longer. In the meantime, I turned my attention back to Carrot, who still looked like she was struggling to shake off the encounter with the man.

“We need to get you somewhere quiet,” I said, glancing around. “Let’s head upstairs and see if we can find a room for you to breathe.”

Carrot nodded silently, following me through the crowd of partygoers and up the stairs. After peeking into a few rooms, I found one empty and gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed. She perched there, her shoulders tense as she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater.

I sat beside her, my voice soft. “He seemed into you. Did you not like him?”

Her face flushed, and she hesitated before muttering, “That was him.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “Who?”

“Vincent,” she clarified, her voice barely above a whisper.

The name didn’t click immediately, and I tilted my head. “Who’s Vincent?”

She sighed, realizing I wasn’t connecting the dots. “The guy who randomly gave me flowers.”

“Oh.” I raised an eyebrow. “Did he threaten you or something? Because it looked like you were about to pass out.”

Carrot shook her head, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t want you to think I’m weird.”

“Too late,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Now tell me, why were you so scared of him?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she finally looked at me, her expression torn. “I… I kind of have a fear of men. People in general, but mostly men.”

I blinked, taken aback. “What about your brother?”

She gave a slight shrug. “Well, I’ve known my brother my entire life, long before I had this fear.”

I considered her words carefully. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Carrot shook her head, clearly exhausted. “Not really. I just want to go home.”

I nodded, glancing around the room for a way to distract her until Nikki was ready to leave. My eyes landed on a deck of Uno cards sitting on the nightstand, and I grabbed it with a small smile.

“How about we have our own little party up here?” I suggested. “Just until Nikki’s ready to go.”

Carrot gave a faint smile and nodded. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

We played a few rounds, the tension slowly leaving her shoulders as she started to relax. After some time, I checked my phone and realized Nikki still hadn’t texted. Sighing, I stood and motioned for Carrot to follow me back downstairs.

When we reached the living room, my stomach dropped. Nikki was passed out on the couch, her head lolling to the side. Beside her sat Jeremy, the drunken frat guy who had been bugging me earlier, his arm draped around her shoulders like he had every right to be there.

Anger flared in my chest as I stormed over, shoving his arm off her. “What the hell are you doing, creep?”

Jeremy stood up, clearly drunk and getting belligerent. “You wouldn’t give me any pussy, now you’re cockblocking me?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, my voice ice-cold. “Oh, please. She wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, drunk or not.”

Carrot was already beside Nikki, gently trying to rouse her, but Jeremy stepped forward, towering over me in an attempt to intimidate me. I squared my shoulders, refusing to back down, but someone stepped in front of me before I could say anything else.

“Jeremy, back off,” came a familiar voice—firm, deep, and slightly dangerous.

It was Peter.

Jeremy opened his mouth to argue, but Peter cut him off with a sharp glare. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”

Jeremy looked like he might argue for a moment, but then he huffed, set his bottle down on the table, and stumbled toward the stairs, muttering under his breath. As he disappeared, he shot me a death glare, but I couldn’t care less.

I turned back to Nikki, who was groggy but starting to wake up. “Thank you, Peter,” I said, my voice softer now.

“No problem,” he replied, his tone shifting to his usual cheerful friendliness.

Carrot and I helped Nikki to her feet, but she was still too out of it to walk properly. Peter stepped forward, scooping her up effortlessly and slinging her over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Where’d you guys park?” he asked.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I started to protest. “We can handle it.”

Peter gave me a puppy-dog look, his grin disarming. “Come on. Let me help.”

I hesitated but eventually nodded, too tired to argue. “Alright. Follow me.”

When we reached Nikki's car, I took her purse and started rifling through it, hoping to find her keys: lip gloss, receipts, a wallet—everything but what I needed. Frustrated, I glanced inside the car to see if she’d locked them inside, but the doors were shut tight, and the keys were nowhere in sight.

“No keys,” I muttered, exasperated. I turned to Peter, who still had Nikki slung over his shoulder. “We either have to go back inside and look for them or... walk.”

Carrot’s face fell at the suggestion, her exhaustion and discomfort evident.

“Or,” Peter interjected smoothly, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket, “I could take you all home. My car’s parked just down the street.” He flashed a charming smile. “I can even get some of the guys to look for Nikki’s keys tomorrow if you’d like.”

I hesitated, weighing the options. Carrot stood silently, her posture stiff as she avoided looking directly at Peter. Her quiet demeanor tugged at me, so I turned to her for input. “Would you be okay with that?” I asked gently.

She nodded after a moment, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she murmured.

“Alright, that settles it,” Peter chirped, his grin widening. He adjusted Nikki’s weight on his shoulder and motioned for us to follow him down the street.

When we reached Peter’s car, a sleek black Mercedes Benz, he opened the door with practiced ease and motioned for me to sit up front. Meanwhile, he carefully strapped Nikki into the back seat, her head lolling to the side as she mumbled something incoherent.

“We’ll drop off Nikki first,” I said, watching him secure her seatbelt. "She lives the farthest, and... I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone while she’s like this.”

Peter nodded without question, his usual easy smile softening as he closed the door behind Nikki.

The drive was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the faint sound of Nikki mumbling in the back. When we pulled up to her house, Aunt Lisbeth answered the door, her hair covered with a silk bonnet and her robe cinched tightly around her waist. The disappointment on her face was immediate as her eyes landed on Nikki over Peter’s shoulder.

She sighed heavily. “Just put her on the couch. I’ll get her father to carry her to her room.”

Peter nodded, lifting Nikki with care and stepping inside. As he placed her on the couch, Aunt Lisbeth turned her attention to me. “How’s school going, Clementine?”

“It’s going well,” I said, forcing a smile despite my exhaustion.

Her expression softened, and she nodded approvingly. “Good. I know you’ll probably be the most successful in the family.”

Her words warmed me in a way I didn’t expect. Outside of my parents, most of my family members have always supported my decision to pursue higher education. It was a small comfort, but one I held onto tightly.

After exchanging quick goodbyes, Peter and I headed back to the car.

Next, we stopped at Carrot’s house. A woman, who I assumed to be her mother, stood outside, bundled in a blanket with a scarf on her head, waiting by the door.

“Is your mom okay?” I asked, noticing how fragile she looked.

“She’s fine,” Carrot mumbled. “She’s just sick. I told her she didn’t have to wait for me outside.”

As Carrot opened the door, she glanced back at Peter and me. “Thanks,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Peter smiled warmly. “Anytime.”

Carrot walked over to her mother, who waved slightly at us. “Thank you,” the woman said faintly before Carrot gently guided her inside. Watching them, I couldn’t help but think about my mother—a woman who barely made time for me and never cared enough to try. The stark contrast stung more than I cared to admit.

When they stepped inside the house, Peter glanced at me. “Alright, your turn. Where to?”

I hesitated, my hands tightening around my coat. “I don’t want to go home.”

The words came out before I could stop them. I wasn’t sure why I said it, but the thought of returning to that house, to the couch, to the constant tension and nagging felt unbearable.

Peter’s hands rested on the steering wheel as he processed my words. “Would it be okay if I took you to my place?”

I blinked, unsure how to respond. “I don’t want to go to the frat house either.”

He chuckled lightly. “I don’t live at the frat house.”

We sat silently for a long moment, the weight of the decision hanging between us. Was I really going to his place? But then I thought about the couch, my parents, and Mandarin monopolizing every corner of that house. The answer was clear.

“Okay,” I said finally, the word heavy with exhaustion.

Peter smiled faintly. “Okay.”