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Chapter One: Red Flags in Roses
The Los Angeles skyline shimmered under the setting sun, casting warm gold over the palm trees lining the boulevard. From her balcony on the fourth floor, Ava Blake sat cross-legged with her sketchpad resting on her knees. Her pencil moved quickly, tracing the curve of a dress she'd dreamed about the night before — a midnight-blue gown with an open back, fierce yet delicate. Just like her, she thought.
Her phone buzzed. A message lit up the screen.
Jordan ❤️: Can't wait to see you tonight. Got a surprise for you 😘
Her lips curled into a smile. Jordan always knew what to say to make her heart flutter. Ever since they'd met at an open mic night eight months ago — him on stage with a guitar, her in the crowd with stars in her eyes — she'd been wrapped in a whirlwind of late-night drives, spontaneous dates, and long calls that turned into mornings.
Tonight was supposed to be special. He'd promised to take her somewhere "only for the real ones," whatever that meant. She didn't care. She just wanted him to show up.
Behind her, the balcony door slid open. "You're smiling like a fool again," Sasha said, dropping onto the couch with a tub of cookies and cream.
"I am not," Ava said, though her cheeks flushed.
"Oh please," Sasha rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. Jordan's got another 'surprise.' You realize he's been flaking more than your old foundation, right?"
Ava sighed. "He's just been busy. The EP drops next week. The pressure's insane."
Sasha dug her spoon into the ice cream and gave Ava a long look. "Busy is one thing. Being shady is another. What about last Friday? You waited two hours for him and he never showed. No call. No apology."
"He texted the next morning."
"Exactly. The next morning."
Ava didn't respond. She hated that Sasha was right. Lately, things had felt... off. Jordan's replies came slower. Their dates ended quicker. And last week, she'd found a smudge of lipstick on his collar — not her shade, not even close.
But he'd smiled that lopsided grin, wrapped his arms around her, and said, "Some drunk fan hugged me at the bar. You know how it is."
And Ava had believed him. Or at least she wanted to.
"Just be careful, Av," Sasha said softly, tone shifting. "You love hard. And I don't want to see you hurt."
"I'll be fine," Ava said, forcing a smile she didn't feel.
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By 8:30 p.m., Ava was outside Jordan's studio, heels clicking against the sidewalk as she paced. She checked her phone again. No missed calls. No messages.
8:45 p.m.
Still nothing.
She leaned against the wall, arms folded. Every time she thought tonight would be different, he gave her the same story. But something about this time felt heavier — like the air had thickened with truth she didn't want to face.
At 9:01 p.m., her phone finally rang.
Jordan.
She answered on the first ring. "Hey—"
"Babe, I'm so sorry," he cut in. His voice was low, distracted. "Producer came early. We're in the booth now. It's crazy here. Can we reschedule?"
Ava blinked. "I've been standing out here for almost an hour."
"I know, I know. It wasn't planned. Just... trust me, okay? I'll make it up to you. Gotta go."
Click.
She stared at the screen, her heart sinking.
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Back in her apartment, Ava dropped her heels at the door and sank into the couch, mascara slightly smudged. Her sketchpad sat untouched on the table. The dress she'd drawn that afternoon now felt like a costume for a character she couldn't play.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was Caleb — her partner for their final-year fashion project.
Caleb: Still down to work on our sketches tonight?
She hesitated. For once, she didn't want to be alone.
Ava: Yeah. Come over if you're free.
Twenty minutes later, Caleb arrived with Thai takeout in one hand and his sketchbook in the other. He was calm, soft-spoken, and had this way of making silence feel comfortable.
"You okay?" he asked as they laid out fabrics and markers across the floor.
"Just a long day," she said, brushing it off.
He nodded, not pushing.
They worked in silence for a while. Then, as Caleb adjusted the fabric draped over the mannequin, he looked at her.
"You know," he said slowly, "you deserve someone who actually shows up."
Ava looked up, caught off guard. "What?"
"I mean it. You're always giving. To everyone. But... I don't think he's giving back."
Her throat tightened.
She didn't reply.
But for the first time in weeks, the words didn't sting — they sank in.
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