Chapter 4

"Chloe, you've got this all wrong."

Her voice was silky and patronizing, the way someone might talk down to a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Carter was just taking me out for my birthday these past few days. You know how close we've always been; having a birthday dinner together is totally normal. There was really no need for you to make a scene in my comments... Everyone at my office saw it, you know. It was super awkward."

I didn't interrupt. I let her dig her own grave.

"Besides," she paused, as if deliberately picking the sharpest words, "if Carter's own girlfriend doesn't mind our dynamic, why should anyone else care? Don't you agree?"

"When is your birthday?" I asked.

"...What?"

"Your birthday. What date is it?"

She hesitated. "October twelfth."

"It's May."

"...We were just celebrating early."

"Three days in a row, at the exact same five-star restaurant, five whole months in advance?"

She went dead quiet.

I waited.

"Chloe, the way you're interrogating me right now... honestly, it feels like an attack," her tone shifted, remaining delicate on the surface, but steeped in rehearsed victimhood. "I know you're upset, but whatever issues you and Carter have, they really have nothing to do with me. That's between the two of you."

"Oh? And what issues would those be?"

"You're just way too insecure," she said smoothly. "Carter always told me you overthink everything. The moment he gets close to anyone else, you throw a fit. Do you have any idea how many times he avoided seeing me just to keep you happy?"

Avoided seeing her just to keep me happy.

I replayed the past two years in my head.

He picked her up from work, dropped her off, took a personal day to help her move apartments, treated her to high-end sushi, played weekend tennis with her, and kept a childhood photo of the two of them as his phone lock screen.

And that was his definition of avoiding her.

"Serena," I said calmly. "You just told me your birthday is October twelfth."

"Yeah. It is."

"So, do you want to double-check the timestamps on the videos you posted?"

Silence.

"Social media apps log the exact date and time," I reminded her. "The metadata doesn't lie."

Another stretch of silence, longer this time.

When she spoke again, the faux-sweet mask shattered completely.

"Look, Chloe, if you want the harsh truth, you and Carter were never a good match to begin with. Your problem isn't me, and deep down, you know it."

She took a cold, spiteful breath.

"What did you even offer him in two years? Ordering cheap takeout and watching him play video games? You couldn't even plan a weekend getaway without him taking the initiative. You're boring. You're a homebody who drags everyone down to your level. He reached out to me because I give him an excitement you never could."

Her voice slowed, dripping with smug superiority.

"You know as well as I do that he never commented on your posts. He barely even looked at your feed. Meanwhile, he replies to my stories within seconds. That's not my fault. It's just that you were never woman enough to keep his attention."

In the hallway outside my apartment, footsteps scuffed against the floorboards.

I let her finish every last drop of poison.

"Serena," I said, my voice eerily calm. "You just admitted something very interesting."

"What?"

"You said he reached out to you."

She froze.

"So he was the one who pursued you."

Not a word from her.

"Good to know," I said. "Thanks for clearing that up."

I ended the call.

Taking a breath, I opened the screen recorder app on my phone. The entire two-minute conversation had been recorded in crystal-clear audio.

I saved the audio file to my cloud drive and locked it.

Standing up, I flicked on the ceiling light.

The apartment was still a mess, my belongings scattered across the floor.

Time to unpack.

I unzipped the suitcase, hung my clothes in the closet, and set my sketchbooks and brushes on the desk. Then I plugged in my mother's kettle, waiting for the water to boil.

Sitting by the desk, I pulled up Serena's TikTok account.

It was completely wiped clean. Not a single video remained; her profile was entirely blank.

Too bad for her. Every screenshot was already saved in my camera roll.

Three consecutive days. The same private dining booth. Carter meticulously deboning fish for her. The timestamps. And the audio recording of her confessing that he pursued her.

I grabbed a notepad, flipped to a clean page, and drafted a neat, chronological list of evidence.

When I was done, I closed the pad and slipped it under my watercolor block.

The kettle gave a soft hiss as steam billowed from its spout.

I poured a mug of hot water and cupped it in both hands, letting the heat sink into my skin.

My phone buzzed again. Carter, using another new number.

I hovered my thumb over the block button, but paused long enough to read his text:

Chloe, Serena told me you called her. She’s completely devastated. Can you please stop acting like this? If we have issues, we should talk directly. The way you're behaving right now is unhinged. We need to meet face-to-face.

She's completely devastated.

Ha.

I set the phone on the nightstand, leaned back against the headboard, and stared at the ceiling.

What did Serena just say on the phone?

He reached out to me because I give him an excitement you never could.

Her exact words.

And the very first text Carter sent me began with: Serena is completely devastated.

Seven hundred-plus days, and nothing had changed.

I was never his priority. Not even once.

I locked the screen, blocked the number, turned on my side, and shut my eyes.

There was plenty of work to do tomorrow.

Tonight, I needed to sleep.