Chapter 4
Grace drank way too much that night.
She leaned back into the sofa cushions, rambling about the past.
"Ruby, do you remember the pact we made in high school?" Grace asked.
"Yeah, I remember," I replied.
"We swore we'd marry brothers." She smiled, her eyes glassy from the alcohol. "That way we'd never have to separate. We could go shopping all day and share a bed at night to complain about our monster-in-law."
I just looked at her. I didn't say a word.
We did make that pact. But the guy she was marrying was my boyfriend.
"So sleepy," she mumbled through a yawn. She rested her head on my lap, her breathing slowing down.
I stared at her face. I had been looking at it for twelve years.
Her long eyelashes rested gently against her cheeks. I used to think I was lucky just to be her friend.
I reached out.
My fingers hovered over her neck. Just an inch away. One more inch, and I could make sure she never woke up.
But I just pulled up the slipped blanket and covered her shoulders.
"Finnick," I called out, looking up. "Take her home."
He stepped out of the kitchen and gave me a long look. "You usually don't..."
"She got her marriage license today," I said. "I shouldn't keep the bride all to myself."
He stayed frozen.
I let out a soft laugh. "You know, Finn, that billionaire Vane heir actually has your exact name."
His fingers twitched, barely noticeable.
"Finnick," I kept my tone casual. "Letter for letter. People might think you're the Vane family's golden boy, playing poor to test my loyalty."
He forced a dry smile. "You read too many romance novels."
I nodded and handed over Grace's bag.
The door clicked shut. The living room emptied out.
I sank into the couch and stared at the flickering ceiling light.
Then, I laughed out loud.
Five years of playing pretend. Wasn't he exhausted?
A phone buzzed.
It was Finn's.
The screen lit up. I picked it up and guessed the passcode.
His birthday. Wrong.
Grace's birthday. Wrong.
The day they first met. Still wrong.
I tried a bunch of numbers. Nothing worked.
Then I paused and typed in the date of our first date.
The phone unlocked.
I stared at the two words on the screen. [Welcome back.]
My eyes stung. Before I could process it, a group chat notification popped up.
Group Name: [Finnick Vane Global Fan Club]
[Did Vane ditch the Good Girl again tonight? That makes ninety-nine times. We're hitting a hundred soon lol.]
[So funny. Honestly, if Grace hadn't bet him a date that he couldn't bag the class nerd, who would have the patience to play house with a broke girl for five years?]
[I heard she actually thinks he owes money to the mob. Unbelievable. The youngest Vane heir in debt? Who buys that stuff.]
[Grace just couldn't stand her. Some nobody from the wrong side of the tracks acting superior just because she always got straight As.
[Grace just said, "Let's see how smug she is on the day of the SATs," and Finn immediately...]
I couldn't read the rest.
The words blurred and overlapped. I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white.
So that was it.
He was the billionaire heir.
And Grace wasn't some poor girl either. She was the daughter of a Newerie real estate tycoon, Ivy Ashford.
What did I do to deserve two elites putting on a five-year show just to play my best friend and boyfriend?
And that overwhelming drowsiness during my SATs.
It wasn't stress. It wasn't a panic attack.
It was the water. The glass he handed me himself.
I put the phone down. My hands were shaking.
The tremor traveled from my fingertips all the way up my arms.
I pressed against the table and forced myself up.
My stomach churned. I stumbled to the bathroom sink and dry heaved.
Nothing came up. Just tears, dropping one by one into the basin.
Five years. Over two thousand days.
What I thought was my salvation was a setup.
My true love was just a bet.
My safe haven was just someone else's trophy.
He single-handedly destroyed my only chance to crawl out of the gutter.
When he took a knife for me in that alley, what was he thinking?
Every morning when he held me and whispered for me to sleep a little longer, what was going through his head?
When I haggled with thrift store cashiers over a few quarters and he stood there laughing, did he feel any pity at all?
Even just a little?