Chapter 2

The next morning at seven, the sound of eggs sizzling in the pan woke me up.

I lingered in bed for a while, then slipped into a creamy white dress, tied my hair into a loose, low ponytail, and applied only sunscreen and lip balm.

The essence of the unattainable dream girl persona was all about appearing effortlessly pure, as if she did not belong to this world. Too much makeup would completely ruin that ethereal impression.

When I came downstairs, the scene in the kitchen made me pause for a moment.

Greta stood at the stove, with an apron tied around her waist and a spatula in hand. She turned to Leon with a dazzling smile and claimed, "Leon, my eggs are unbeatable with soft yolk. You're gonna love them."

Leon sat at the dining table with a cup of black coffee in front of him. His expression was unreadable, revealing nothing.

He wore black loungewear, his hair still messy with a few loose strands falling over his forehead. He carried an effortless, lazy charm.

"Isn't it a bit much to be cooking in my house this early?" he said, his tone neither harsh nor warm.

"What's the big deal?" Greta scooped the eggs onto a plate and set them in front of him. "Come on. Aren't we bros? Bros take care of each other. Isn't it normal?"

Bros? There she went again.

I leaned against the staircase railing, observing everything for a while.

Greta's plan was obvious. She used the "bro" angle to get close and secure private moments with him.

Gradually, she would blur the lines by making breakfast, acting cute, wearing his clothes, and inserting herself into every part of his life.

Once he grew accustomed to her presence, she would reveal a softer side or confess subtly. He would end up moved by her quiet efforts, falling straight into her trap without realizing it.

It was not a new tactic, but she played the long game.

Too bad for her, she was up against me.

I descended the last few steps, my feet making almost no sound on the wooden floor.

"Morning." I greeted them softly, my voice still slightly raspy from sleep yet carrying a bit of softness.

Leon looked up immediately. When his eyes met mine, they lit up.

"Why are you up so early? I thought you'd sleep until noon," he said, pulling out the chair next to him. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Not yet," I replied, sliding into the seat beside him. I noticed the spatula in Greta's hand and added a little apologetically, "Wow, Greta, you're already making breakfast?

"Sorry, I didn't know you got here so early. If I had known, I would have come down to help."

That sentence carried three layers.

First, by mentioning how early she was, I subtly pointed out that Greta had shown up uninvited, crossing a line.

Second, by saying I didn't know, I made it clear I wasn't involved in her plans.

Third, by offering to help, I made myself sound considerate, polite, and ready to lend a hand.

Leon frowned and glanced at Greta. "Wait, why are you here so early? Didn't you go home last night?"

Greta's smile faltered for a moment.

"I slept in your living room last night. The couch was way too soft, so I didn't rest well. I woke up super early," she pouted, sounding a bit hurt. "Leon, are you asking me to leave?"

"I'm not trying to make you leave," Leon said, rubbing his brow. "But you're a girl. Staying out all night isn't really safe. Aren't your parents worried?"

"I told them I was staying at a friend's place," Greta said, setting another plate of eggs on the table. She slid into the seat next to Leon, leaning over slightly. "Leon, try it. I made it for you."

I quietly sat beside them, keeping to myself.

Leon glanced at me, as if checking to see how I would react.

I gave him a small smile and mouthed that it was fine and he could go ahead.

His expression shifted slightly. He picked up his fork and took a small bite of the egg to be polite.

"It's alright," he said, sounding pretty unimpressed.

But Greta wasn't about to let it go. "Alright? Come on. It's way better than that. Have another bite."

As she spoke, she picked up a piece of egg with her own fork and tried to feed it to Leon.

That was crossing the line far more than simply wearing his hoodie.

Leon clearly realized it, too. He turned his head away from her fork, his tone becoming cold. "Greta, I can feed myself."

Greta paused for a moment before letting out a playful laugh. "Oh, silly me. I totally forgot you're such a neat freak. Sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

She quickly pulled her hand back, looking innocent, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

I looked down, grabbed my water, and took a sip.

It was true. Leon really was a stickler for cleanliness. He had been that way since he was a kid. He wouldn't use a cup someone else had touched or a fork someone else had used.

But with me, it was different. He'd drink from the same glass as me, eat ice cream right after I had taken a bite, and even use the spoon I had used when I was sick, without a second thought.

Greta had no idea about any of this, but I knew it all too well.

She didn't realize how close Leon and I had become over the years. She thought being "bros" was as close as it got, but she couldn't have been more wrong.

Leon's dream girl had never been some secret crush.

She was a symbol he spent his entire adolescence idealizing, endlessly polishing in his mind. She was the destination of all his teenage dreams, the definition of beauty in his world.

And I was the living embodiment of that symbol.

Greta wanted to fight for a place in front of that ideal.

But she wasn't even in the running.

"Emelia, what do you want to eat?" Leon turned to me, his voice much softer. "I'll make it for you. Don't you love my sandwiches?"

I shook my head. "No need. I'll grab some fruit."

"It'll be ready soon," he said, getting up and heading straight for the fridge. He grabbed some toast, ham, and cheese. "In five minutes."

Greta sat in her chair, watching Leon slip on an apron and cook ham and toast like it was second nature. Her smile faded slightly, struggling to stay on her face.

She was probably wondering why he simply said "alright" to her cooking but went out of his way to make something for me.

I picked up my water and took another sip, the rim of the glass perfectly hiding the little smile tugging at my lips.

Leon's sandwiches were seriously good.

He'd been experimenting with food since he was a kid. By elementary school, he could fry his own eggs, and by middle school, his sandwiches could easily pass for something from a breakfast joint.

When he set the plate in front of me, he'd even cut the sandwich into triangles, because I once joked that triangle sandwiches tasted better than rectangles.

"Go ahead. See if my skills are still up to scratch," he said, leaning over with his hand braced on the table, his eyes full of anticipation.

I took a bite. The cheese melted on my tongue. The salty ham and crunchy toast blended together like magic.

"You haven't lost your touch," I said, looking up at him seriously. "Honestly, it's better than before."

His ears flushed red again.

Every time his ears turned red, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

It wasn't for any other reason. It proved that my carefully crafted persona was working perfectly.

All his reactions were exactly what I expected. His every blush, every bit of shyness, and every cautious little concern were straight out of the playbook I'd written for him.

It was like watching a chess master lure their opponent step by step into a trap they had carefully set. Every move was so precise that it was deeply satisfying.

"Leon, I want one, too," Greta said from the other side, her voice all sweet and whiny. "Make one for me, will you?"

Leon did not look back. "You know how to cook eggs, right? Make it yourself."

Greta puckered her lips. "You're way too biased toward Emelia."

"We grew up together," Leon said. He paused before adding, "It's always been like this. Do you have a problem with that?"

Greta stayed silent, but her stare burned into the back of my head.

I set my sandwich down, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and got up to head into the kitchen.

"Leon, give me the apron. I'll wash the dishes," I said casually, reaching out.

"No need. Sit and eat," he replied.

"You made me breakfast, so let me handle the dishes," I said, tilting my head with a gentle smile. "I can't eat for free, right?"

He took off the apron and handed it to me, his fingers brushing against mine again.

This time, he did not pull back. His touch lingered for a second longer.

I lowered my head and focused on tying the apron, treating that brief contact as nothing at all.

The moments that barely happened and were left hanging in the air felt the most tempting.

Greta watched everything unfold and finally lost her composure.

"Emelia," she said suddenly. Her tone was still cheerful, but the smile did not reach her eyes. "Are you and Leon really only childhood friends? Honestly, you two act more like an old married couple."

That was both a test and a provocation.

She wanted to see how deep things ran between Leon and me. By calling us an old married couple, she made things deliberately ambiguous and tried to make Leon uncomfortable.

Before I could speak, Leon cut in.

"Greta, why are you being so nosy today?" he said, frowning at her. "Whatever is between me and Emelia is none of your business."

Greta was stunned, and for the first time, her smile faltered.

I stood in the kitchen with my back to them, a faint smile forming on my lips.

Then I turned around, my expression already soft and unassuming.

"Leon, don't say that," I said gently. "Greta is only curious. It's okay."

I glanced at Greta and gave her a friendly smile. "We grew up together, so we are close. But don't read too much into it. Leon is always good to his friends, not only to me."

It sounded like I was stepping in to smooth things over for Greta, but there was more beneath the surface.

I emphasized how much weight the childhood friends' bond carried. It held years of shared memories and closeness that no newcomer could match.

By saying Leon was good to all his friends, I reminded Greta that she was one of many and not someone special.

Telling her not to read too much into it framed her as the one overthinking.

Greta's smile went rigid.

She looked like she wanted to speak, but she said nothing in the end.

Leon glanced at me, his gaze complicated, both grateful and protective.

"You are always like this," he said in a low voice. "Always thinking about everyone else."

I smiled, stayed quiet, and went to wash the dishes.

As the water ran over the plates, I heard Greta stand up. Her footsteps were heavy and carried her frustration.

I turned off the faucet, shook the water from my hands, and looked at my reflection in the window.

I wore a creamy white dress with a low ponytail, a natural face, and a gentle smile.

I looked perfect.

Greta had likely taken me for the typical innocent pushover, someone gentle, sweet, and easy to walk over.

But she didn't know that someone who had played the role of an unattainable dream girl for three years could not be that naive.

I dried my hands off and stepped out of the kitchen.

Leon stood by the front door, slipping on his shoes. Greta was already waiting, her cheerful mask firmly back in place, as if the earlier awkward thing had never happened.

"Emelia, I need to run to school for a bit. You stay home and take it easy. I will come get you for lunch," Leon said over his shoulder.

"Okay." I nodded. "Drive safe."

Greta linked her arm through his, flashing a big grin. "Come on, Leon, let's get moving. We're running late."

Leon casually pulled his arm back, opened the passenger door, and shot me a glance before getting in.

I waved him off from the living room.

He nodded and got in the car.

As the engine started, I saw Greta sitting in the passenger seat with her head down, scrolling through her phone.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Leon: [The passenger seat is meant for you. She didn't know, so she sat there. Don't overthink it.]

I couldn't help but smile at the message.

Leon really never changed.

He even had to update me about little things like this.

I texted back: [It doesn't matter who's in the passenger seat. Drive safe.]

After sending it, I put my phone away, went upstairs, and stood by the window, watching the car disappear around the corner.

Leon had always had this habit. His passenger seat was reserved for the people who mattered most to him.

Back then, I was the only one he'd let ride on the back of his bike. When he finally got his license and bought a car, the passenger seat basically became my spot.

I never saw a need to mention this to Greta. She didn't need to know.

The moment she climbed into the passenger seat this morning, Leon's expression said it all.

He was clearly annoyed.

And she didn't even notice.

I turned away from the window, passed my desk, and watered the little pot of daisies without a second thought.

The white petals glistened in the sunlight, looking clean, pure, untouched by anything.

It was exactly how I'd always imagined myself to be seen.