I leaned back into the couch, letting my shoulders sink, the cushions still warm from earlier. From there, all I had to do was glance left to see the kitchen in full chaos—but the good kind.

Jasmine had her phone propped up against a spice jar, the viral cooking video paused mid-frame. On-screen, some overly enthusiastic influencer was frozen mid–dramatic sprinkle.

"Okay, right there," Jasmine said, holding up a finger. "This is where she messes up. She skips the sauce."

Eleanor stood at the counter, wooden spoon in hand, brow furrowed in concentration. "No, no, look—she adds the butter after the chicken rests. That's what gives it the gloss."

Tessa leaned over the counter, peering into the pan. "That looks like it's already burning."

"It's not burning," Jasmine shot back. "It's browning. There's a difference."

Eleanor laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, truce. Let's just do half your way, half mine."

Jasmine grinned. "Compromise. Democracy at work."

They hit play again. The video voice chirped something obnoxiously upbeat, and the girls followed along—pause, stir, argue, laugh, repeat. The kitchen smelled good. Warm. Alive. It felt… normal in a way my life rarely did anymore.

╭────────────────────╮

SHOP [Page 2]

==========================

• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)

• Time Stop (90c)

• 500 Dollars (50c)

• 1 Ability Point (150c)

• 1 Mastery Point (160c)

• Desire Aura (100c)

• Reputation Point +30 (200c)

• Mastery Evolve (1500c)

==========================

Credits: 1687c

╰────────────────────╯

Just when I was considering buying the new item, since I had enough credits now, my phone rang. I frowned, fishing it out of my pocket.

Kayla.

I straightened a little and answered. "Hey, Kayla. I was actually just about to call you."

"I need help." Her voice was flat. Empty. No sarcasm. No bite.

My stomach tightened. "What? What happened?"

"I'm…" She swallowed audibly. "I was drinking. And I—I think my drink was spiked, Evan."

That snapped me fully upright.

"Spiked?" I was already on my feet. "Kayla, where are you?"

Before she could answer, another voice cut in, further from the phone. "Wait—Evan?" Then a scoff. "Him again…"

There was shuffling, the sound of fabric… or someone taking the phone from her hands.

"Are you Evan?" a different voice asked.

"Yeah," I said, jaw tight. "Who's this?"

"Charlotte."

I paused. Relief hit, but it didn't fully land. "Oh. Is Kayla alright?"

A beat. Then, blunt as a hammer: "Her drink wasn't spiked. She drank like a fucking sailor and now she's sick."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Jesus Christ…"

"She's slurring, she can't stand straight, and she's threatening to redecorate my bathroom," Charlotte continued. "So either you come get her, or I let gravity sort it out."

"Alright," I said sharply. "I'm on my way. Just—don't let her go anywhere, okay?"

Charlotte snorted. "Trust me. She's not going anywhere. She can barely sit."

The call ended. I lowered the phone and exhaled through my teeth.

From the kitchen, Jasmine glanced over. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I said, already grabbing my jacket. "Just… gotta go pick someone up."

Nala looked up from the counter, reading my face in half a second. "Trouble?"

"Always," I muttered, heading for the door.

Behind me, the video resumed, oil sizzled, and Eleanor said, "Okay, wait—are we sure that's enough salt?"

And somehow, in the middle of all that noise and warmth, I stepped back out into the cold.

❤︎❤︎❤︎

I parked in front of Stingy Ladies and killed the engine. The neon sign buzzed weakly above the door, washing the sidewalk in pink and blue while snow drifted down like it had all the time in the world.

She was right there.

Kayla sat on the curb, elbows on her knees, head hanging low. Drunk as hell. Her coat was half-open, hair a mess, boots dusted white. She looked up when I stepped closer, squinted at me, then waved one hand dismissively with a bitter scoff before letting her chin drop again.

I stopped in front of her, hands in my pockets for a second, just watching the snow settle on her shoulders.

Then I sighed, bent down, and grabbed her arm. "Come on."

She resisted for half a second out of pure spite, then let me pull her up. I slipped her arm over my neck and took most of her weight as she staggered to her feet.

"Why did you even drink this much?" I asked as we shuffled toward the car.

She snorted. "Fuck you."

I huffed. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

"F—fuck… you," she slurred again, but there was no bite left in it.

I opened the passenger door and eased her down into the seat. She fumbled with her legs, dragged them inside like they belonged to someone else, then slammed the door shut herself, harder than necessary.

I walked around, got in, and started the car. Warm air blasted from the vents. Kayla exhaled loudly and leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, burying her face in her hands.

"I knew it all along," she muttered.

I buckled my seatbelt and glanced at her. "Knew what?"

"That Richard was seeing Mendy," she said, words thick, uneven. "I knew it. And I lied to her. Told her I didn't know. But I did."

"Oh," I said quietly.

She laughed—short, ugly. "And I fucking liked it."

I stayed silent.

"I liked being the wanted one," she went on, shaking her head, fingers digging into her hair. "Being desired by a man who already had someone. Feeling like I was winning. Like I was better than her. God… that rush. It made me feel untouchable."

"Hmm…"

She turned her face toward the window, eyes glassy. "And now look at me."

I kept my hands on the wheel, listening.

"I'm a jerk," she said. "I looked her in the eye and lied. She thinks I'm her friend, Evan. A friend. And all that time I was getting off on her misery. On being the other woman. The—fucking 'better' one." Her voice cracked. "I'm a fucking idiot."

"It's done," I said gently. "It's in the past. Richard's gone. Beating yourself up won't change what happened."

She shook her head hard. "No. Don't do that. Don't soften it." She looked at me, eyes sharp despite the alcohol. "I don't get a free pass just because I feel bad now. I chose that. Over and over."

I let out a slow breath. "I'm not saying you didn't screw up. I'm saying you're not beyond fixing things."

She scoffed. "Fixing? You don't fix being that kind of person."

"You fix what you do next," I said. "That's all anyone ever gets."

She slumped back in the seat, exhausted, anger leaking out of her in waves. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Snow tapped softly against the windshield.

Finally, I shifted the car into drive. "Alright. You need sleep. A clear head. I'll take you home."

She didn't argue. Just closed her eyes and nodded faintly.

"We'll talk tomorrow," I added. "When you're sober."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah… tomorrow."

I pulled away from the curb, the neon fading behind us, and drove into the snow.

The car rolled forward through the snow, tires hissing softly against wet asphalt.

Silence filled in, thick and uncomfortable. Kayla sat rigid in the passenger seat, jaw clenched, shaking her head over and over like she was arguing with herself.

Then she turned sharply toward me.

"Drive to Mendy's," she said.

I didn't even look at her. "Tomorrow, Kayla. You're drunk."

Her breath hitched. "Drive. To. Mendy's."

"No," I said, firmer now. "Not like this."

She snapped.

"DRIVE TO FUCKING MENDY'S PLACE!"

I finally looked at her. Her eyes were wild, glassy, desperate. "Kayla, calm down. No."

"FUCK YOU!"

She lunged.

Her hand shot toward the steering wheel and yanked it hard to the left.

"HEY—!"

The car jerked violently. The front-left tire slammed into the curb with a brutal thud, metal scraping stone. The safety system screamed to life, seatbelts locking tight against our chests as the car jolted to a dead stop in the middle of the road.

A horn blared behind us. Long. Angry. Someone yelled and flipped us off as they swerved around.

Kayla screamed.

She turned on me, fists flying, rage pouring out of her. Two solid smacks cracked across my cheekbone before I could react.

"STOP!" I barked, throwing my arms up to block the next hit.

She couldn't reach my face anymore, so she slammed her palm into the dashboard, shrieking, then clawed at her own cheeks, hitting herself hard.

"HEY—NO!" I grabbed her wrist, gripping tight. "Stop it!"

She fought me for half a second, then went limp.

My heart was pounding. Jaw aching. I dragged a hand through my hair, breath ragged, then shoved the car back into gear and hit the accelerator.

"OKAY!" I shouted. "YOU CRAZY BITCH! OKAY! I'M DRIVING THERE!"

"DRIVE TO MENDY'S!" she screamed back.

"I AM! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!"

She yanked her hand free and collapsed back into the seat. Then the fight drained out of her all at once.

She covered her face with both hands and broke.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'm so fucking sorry…" Her shoulders shook violently. The words tumbled out between gasps, messy and broken. "I didn't mean to—I'm sorry—I'm sorry, Evan—"

"Jesus," I muttered, eyes locked on the road. "Okay. Okay. Calm down."

She kept crying, apologies stacking on top of each other like she could drown herself in them.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," I said, voice rough but steady. "You're fine. Just breathe."

Snow streaked past the windshield as I drove on, knuckles white on the wheel.

Kayla cried.

And I kept driving.

❤︎❤︎❤︎

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