Chapter 3

Late that night, my phone lit up for a second. I grabbed it, hoping it was Ryan, but it wasn't. Emily had posted on Instagram.

The shadow in her photo had a silhouette I knew too well.

The caption read: [Some things you'll never be able to take from me.]

She was talking about Ryan.

I thought he wasn't coming back. But then I heard the sound of pebbles hitting my window.

He was out of breath when I looked down, hunched over with one hand on his knee and the other stretched out toward me. "Your gift."

"You could've given it to me tomorrow," I said. It was so late, and he didn't need to go out of his way like this.

"It's almost midnight. Birthday gifts have to be given on the actual day, or what's the point?" Ryan's voice had that same lazy confidence, and his face wore that reckless grin I knew so well.

My chest tightened. "Ryan—"

I wanted to ask him something, but the words died in my throat the moment I opened the gift.

It was the newest gaming console. I remembered last year he'd given Emily a delicate necklace, but she'd hated it and called him tacky. He'd grabbed the box back and shoved it in his pocket, his jaw tight.

This year, Ryan set off fireworks for Emily's birthday—an entire night's worth.

I was stupid enough to think he just didn't like Emily, that he'd rather blow money on loud noises than buy her a proper gift. It turned out I was the one being shallow and clueless.

"You mentioned one of the keys wasn't working, so I got you the latest model. Do you like it?" Ryan's voice carried a hint of pride as he spoke.

The difference between someone who cared and someone who didn't—it was painfully obvious now. "Yeah, I like it." I closed the box and nodded, keeping my eyes down.

The gift was perfect, actually. It cut through the last thread of hope I'd been clinging to.

During the final stretch of senior year, the mental exhaustion got so bad that gossip became my only distraction.

Yesterday's incident spread like wildfire, and everyone kept staring at Emily and me with curious, judgmental eyes.

Emily played her part perfectly, showing just the right amount of vulnerability whenever classmates came to comfort her.

When she looked at me, I caught the smugness flickering in her gaze.

But her satisfaction didn't last long. Richard donated a whole set of lab equipment in his and Diana's names.

He wasn't going to let Diana suffer any more humiliation.

At the flag-raising ceremony, the principal made a formal announcement clearing up the rumors and warned that anyone spreading lies would face serious consequences.

From the row next to mine, I watched Emily's face go pale in an instant, and I saw the concern Ryan couldn't quite hide. I looked away, feeling nothing but tired indifference.

After the ceremony ended, Ryan found me. "You need to go apologize to Emily."

We stood under the shade of a tree, and his brow furrowed tight with frustration.

"Why should I?" I asked, my tone flat.

My answer only made his expression darken further. "Sophie, Emily has suffered enough because of you and your mother."

He went on. "When you were a kid, carrying designer bags and traveling everywhere, Emily couldn't even afford to go to school. While you lived in a luxury villa and ate expensive lunches, Emily was crammed into a tiny rental apartment—barely fifty square meters."

I didn't know what to say. I realized then that when your heart goes numb from pain, you stop feeling anything at all.

Ryan kept listing Emily's hardships, cataloging every struggle she'd endured with such tenderness and concern.

And he blamed all of it on me.

"So what?" I said.

Ryan's frown deepened, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Sophie, what happened to you? You're so cold now, so heartless and arrogant. You have no empathy."

What happened to me? I'd always been like this.

When I looked up at him again, irritation flickered across my face.

Our eyes met, and for a split second, Ryan looked stunned. But then his expression turned dark.

He clicked his tongue softly, and his tone turned vicious. His face wore a cold, harsh look I'd never seen before. "Sophie, I gave you a chance," he said. "Just wait and see."