We graduated at the top of our class.
Of course we did.
My sister was valedictorian, standing on stage like a golden sunbeam giving a heartfelt speech that made half the auditorium cry. I sat beside her, smirking and rolling my eyes... but clapping the loudest when she finished.
We'd been accepted into every prestigious university that mattered, and we chose a top-tier institution with the kind of alumni list that makes CEOs sweat. I went for programming, data analysis, and risk assessment. My sister picked finance—naturally.
"We have to inherit the empire someday," she said, like we weren't already queens of it.
Jack got in on a baseball scholarship, and Jacob enrolled in the School of Cinematic Arts nearby.
Lily, unsurprisingly, also joined a university acting club—recommended by Jacob, of course. She'd been flirting with performance since high school and occasionally did modeling jobs, just for fun (and just to make other girls at school hate her a little more).
One night, as we sprawled on the couch with popcorn between us, I asked:
"So, what's the deal? You gonna be some boardroom beauty or take over Hollywood?"
She smiled and twirled a strand of her honey-gold hair.
"Maybe both. I want to finish my degree first... but I really do enjoy acting."
And she did. She had the gift. Of course she did. She was the daughter of the heroine.
Jacob enrolled in the School of Cinematic Arts near our university. Of course. The boy had a face made for the screen, a tragic backstory (modeling as a child, actor mom, absent billionaire father), and a passion for horror that matched mine.
I had no doubt he'd be directing moody psychological thrillers in five years.
I didn't know he'd also be directing my heartbreak.
The Cabin
My family, predictably, turned our summer trip into an international security operation.
Dad needed the full itinerary, updated hourly. Caelum reviewed satellite maps. Mom handed me a chic designer bracelet with a discreet panic button that would summon elite guards in under ten minutes.
"Just in case," she said, adjusting it on my wrist like a crown.
Lily sobbed like I was being shipped to war.
"I'll be back in two weeks," I told her, hugging tight. "And please, for the love of drama, get yourself a boyfriend."
Caelum, somewhere nearby, screeched, "I HEARD THAT. LILY, DON'T YOU DARE."
I grinned, waved, and climbed into the sleek car with Jacob, ready to disappear into our own secluded corner of heaven.
The cabin was stunning. Built like a fantasy: floor-to-ceiling windows, private spa, oversized bed with a mountain view, stocked fridge, and yes, armed bodyguards in the woods (Dad's doing).
But inside? It was just the two of us.
And everything that came next.
I woke the first morning tangled in silk sheets, Jacob spooning me, warm and real.
"I need breakfast," I mumbled, "and your morning wood is trying to kill me."
He laughed. I rolled over to find him already shirtless and devastatingly smug.
We made breakfast by the lake, barefoot and laughing. And then, somehow, we were back in bed—naked, unashamed, and finally crossing that last invisible line.
I straddled him, slowly guiding myself down, gasping as pain and pleasure mixed. His hands held me like I was sacred. And for a while... I let myself believe I was.
"Let me move you," he whispered.
And he did.
Over the next two weeks, we did everything—on every surface, in every room. Against the spa walls. On the kitchen table. Me on top. Him from behind. Soft. Rough. Curious. Ravenous.
He loved going down on me like it was his job. I learned to swallow without flinching. We burned through condoms like candy.
For the first time in both my lives... I let go. I let myself be wanted. I let myself enjoy it.
And I thought: This is love. This is mine.
We came home glowing.
Lily, finally, was dating Jack—officially. We had a family BBQ with both our boyfriends present, and I found sneaky ways to steal Jacob away for quick, hungry kisses against the walls of our house.
It felt right.
It felt safe.
Semester started. We moved into our luxury apartment (courtesy of our parents, complete with private chef and concierge). Life was shiny, comfortable, and mine.
Until the day it wasn't.
It was a normal afternoon. I was heading to the theater club where Lily and Jacob both spent time. A classmate mentioned Jacob was rehearsing something out back.
Curious, I followed.
And there he was.
Leaning against the wall. Smoking.
He smoked? I'd told him how much I hated it.
But that wasn't what stopped me.
It was what I heard.
Jack was with him.
"Seriously, Jacob, you trying to get with my girl now?"
"Relax," Jacob said, exhaling smoke like a villain. "We were just running lines. She needed help for an audition."
"Don't lie to me. I saw how you looked at her."
Jacob snorted.
"You're only with Lily because I kept her sister busy. You'd still be orbiting like the rest of them if I hadn't stepped in. Honestly, I didn't know Lily was that hot until I saw her up close."
"Stay away from her, or I'll blow it all up."
Jacob laughed.
"Sure. Threaten me. Meanwhile, I'll go back to having the best sex of my life with your girlfriend's sister."
My chest went cold.
I didn't confront him.
I turned and walked away, numb.
Lily was on stage, radiant under the lights, while I faked a phone call, told a nearby student to pass on a message that I had to leave, and vanished into the storm outside.
Because of course it started to rain.
Of course.
Tears mixed with water, running down my face as the world collapsed around me.
I got home soaking wet. Lily texted later, asking where I went. She missed me at dinner with the club.
I didn't reply.
I curled into bed, shaking, and let myself cry until my throat ached.
The next morning, I woke burning.
Fever. Nausea. My body, my treacherous, romantic, overworked body gave out.
I went to class anyway, delirious. Tried to take notes. Tried to pretend I wasn't dying inside or out.
Then I stood up to ask the teacher a question—and collapsed.
My head hit the corner of a desk.
Everything went black.
I woke up to machines.
Tubes. Beeping. White walls.
A nurse gasped, called for a doctor. Someone said I'd had pneumonia and was put into a medically induced coma.
"Two weeks," the nurse whispered. "You've been asleep for two weeks."
Of course I had.
Because apparently, my life was now a soap opera.
The doctor removed the tube from my throat (horrible experience, would not recommend) and explained my injuries, including a concussion.
My family burst into the room like a tornado of love and panic.
Mom cried.
Dad threatened the universe for letting this happen to me again.
Caelum fake-laughed and said, "She's alive! The witch lives!—ow, ow, Aurora stop hitting me!"
Lily clung to my hand, sobbing.
And then Jacob walked in.
Looking disheveled. Pale.
"I heard you woke up," he said. "I—I was so scared—"
He reached for my hand.
I pulled it away.
"Who is this?" I asked flatly. "Why is this strange man in my room?"
Silence.
Dead, delicious silence.
Everyone looked at me in shock.
Yes, bitches. I was pulling the amnesia plotline.
Call it petty. Call it calculated.
But I call it: Me – 1. Jacob – 0.
Soon after, a neurosurgeon was in my hospital room, speaking in calm, clipped tones to my parents.
"She suffered a severe concussion. Based on cognitive tests, it seems her memories stop at around age seventeen. Right before her final year of high school."
Perfect. Right before Jacob entered my life. Take that, manipulative bastard.
Jacob, of course, tried to cling.
"Babe, it's okay if you forgot. I'm your boyfriend. We can start again—I'll win you over all over, I swear."
I turned to my father, as calmly as if I were asking for more juice.
"Dad, I don't know this boy. I'm seventeen. I have no interest in dating. Also, I'm recovering from a serious medical condition. Please remove this... strange book."
My father didn't hesitate. He stood.
"You heard her. She said no."
A moment later, Jacob was escorted out of the hospital room by two of our family's security personnel.
Dad came back, smoothed my hair, and said quietly,
"As long as you don't want him near you... he won't be."
God, I love that man.
A week later, I was discharged.
Still weak. Still sore. Still not okay.
My parents took me home and told me not to worry about university. I could take the year off. Or two. Or more. Whatever I needed.
My sister insisted on coming with me—taking time off from her classes.
"You don't have to," I told her. "Please. Go live your college life. Don't cut your experience short because of me."
She shook her head, stubborn as ever.
"I want to."
I didn't argue. But the truth was... I wanted distance. I needed it.
She hadn't done anything wrong. She hadn't asked Jacob to fall for her.
But I was still human. And hurting.
The pain I felt when I saw her—the guilt in her eyes, the echo of his voice saying she's a stunner —it all mixed into something I didn't know how to hold yet.
I needed time.
So I asked for a therapist.
And for once, I didn't do it out of obligation. Or to fix something for someone else. Or because I felt broken.
I asked because I wanted to become someone who could survive this world I'd been given.
Who could stop carrying the baggage of two lives.
Who could finally finish the damn therapy I said I would do in Chapter One.
So yeah.
It's time.
Time to heal.
Time to rebuild.
Time to find out who I am without a boyfriend, without a betrayal, and without pretending.