Chapter 1

After Sophie Moore couldn't afford her rent, my boyfriend, Brandon Lewis, let her move into our apartment.

After dinner, I came out of the kitchen.

Sophie was sitting cross-legged on the couch, snuggled up in my custom cashmere throw.

"Hope you don't mind," she said. "I got used to sharing stuff back when I was on the team."

Brandon, without thinking, tucked the corner of the blanket around her.

"Evelyn's cool with it. She cleared out the study facing south for you," he said.

"Thanks," Sophie replied.

They were like a comedy duo, bouncing off each other.

Sophie turned to me, her gaze innocent.

"Evelyn, don't read too much into it," she said. "We're best friends, and he's a loyal guy by nature, that's all there is to it."

Three years of living together, and this 'just friends' act crossing the line happened every single day.

It never stopped.

I was done playing the background character.

*****

Three massive suitcases were sprawled across the hallway, blocking the path.

The wheels were still smeared with mud from outside, leaving dirty tracks all over the spotless wooden floor.

Brandon had hauled them in one by one, barely pausing to catch his breath.

I stood there by myself, unmoving.

I didn't lift a finger to help or hand over a tissue.

Sophie was pacing around the living room, holding a bowl of hot soup and shuffling in the spare slippers Brandon had found for her.

She looked around the spacious apartment.

"Brandon, this place is way better than the basement I used to rent," she said. "That place didn't even have a window, and the walls were falling apart."

She let out a sigh.

"If it weren't for you today, I'd probably be out on the street with all this junk," she added.

Brandon walked over and, without a second thought, ruffled her half-dry hair.

"Relax, you're home now. No one's kicking you out," he said.

As I watched Brandon's hand on Sophie's head, my thoughts were yanked back to three years ago.

It was another gloomy evening.

Brandon pressed the apartment key into my palm, the metal edge almost burning against my skin.

The living room was totally empty, not a single piece of furniture anywhere.

We sat side by side on the cold floor, eating cheap discount takeout.

He turned to me, his gaze intense.

"Evelyn, this is our home now," Brandon said. "No more getting hit, no more being scared."

Back then, I thought I'd finally escaped the shadow of my father's violence.

But now, just like that, someone else had squeezed into this home.

Sophie finished her soup and set the bowl down without a second thought.

She wandered through the apartment, opening doors like she owned the place, until she stopped at the south-facing room.

She pushed the door open a crack, peeked inside, then turned to Brandon.

"Brandon, didn't you say you cleared out the south-facing room for me? How come there are still a bunch of easels and books in there?" she asked.

Brandon's brows knitted together, his face turning cold.

He turned, his gaze went right past Sophie and locked onto me.

He sounded annoyed, talking down to me.

He said, "Evelyn, didn't I message you this afternoon?

"Sophie couldn't pay her rent, got kicked out, and she's moving in today.

"No matter how tired you were after work, you should've gotten the south-facing guest room ready beforehand."

So it was just a guest room now.

Three years ago, he pointed to the sunniest room and made me a promise.

He said, "Evelyn, I know you love painting and reading in peace.

"That south-facing room is yours now. No one gets to touch it, not even me."

Sophie leaned against the doorframe, giving an innocent shrug, a sheepish smile playing at her lips.

She asked, "Evelyn, did I show up too suddenly and upset you?

"Maybe I should just crash on the couch so you two don't have to fight over me."

Brandon's face darkened, and he marched over, catching Sophie by the arm.

"Forget the couch. Your back's messed up from playing ball, and damp air's the worst for it, you know that," he said.

Then he turned to me again.

His tone softened, with that familiar soothing way he always used on me.

"Evelyn, you've always been so mature and considerate," Brandon said. "It's not easy for a girl to make it on her own.

"Back when I was at my lowest, Sophie shared half her bread with me and was always there for me. Now she's the one who needs help, so of course I'm going to be there for her."

When I stayed silent, a flicker of impatience crossed his face, and his eyes turned stern.

"It's just for now," Brandon said. "Can you try to be a little more grown-up? Quit acting so childish and stop sweating every little thing."

So I was the one who had to be mature, and if I got upset, I was just being petty.

I lowered my gaze, my eyes drifting to the dining table.

Right in the middle sat that half-empty bottle of water they'd been passing back and forth, sitting there like it belonged, like nobody thought twice about it.

Those lingering droplets still clung to the clear plastic bottle, making it feel way too intimate.

Next to it was my bowl of pasta, stone cold.

The food was covered in a thick layer of greasy fat, all congealed and unappetizing.

I walked over to the dining table, my steps stiff and heavy.

I quietly picked up my own bowl.

Brandon watched me, his tone softening a bit.

He said, "Cold food's bad for your stomach. Let me pop it in the microwave for you.

"Once you're done eating, go get the study ready. Sophie's been through a lot today. She needs to rest early."

I ignored his outstretched hand.

With the bowl in hand, I turned and walked straight into the kitchen.

I stopped in front of the trash can.

Without hesitating, I flipped my wrist and dumped the untouched food right into the trash.

The sticky leftovers hit the plastic bag with a dull thud.

The living room went dead silent.

All that was left was the faint hum of the air conditioner.

I set the empty bowl down, grabbed a tissue, and slowly wiped my fingers, one by one.

My movements were slow, my knuckles turning white.

I turned around and met Brandon's eyes. He looked both stunned and furious.

My voice was surprisingly calm.

"You can drink water that's been mixed, but when food goes bad, you just have to throw it out," I said.