Chapter 2

By the time I got back to Beyton Heights, it was completely dark outside.

I entered my birthday into the keypad, but it said the code was incorrect. I tried several more times, and it still said "Error".

In the end, Blake was the one who opened the door. The moment he saw me, he froze.

I was utterly soaked through. My bangs were plastered to my forehead, and water was still dripping from my suitcase.

Frowning, he took the suitcase from me and shot me an annoyed look.

"How did you manage to get yourself into this state?"

I didn't answer.

Then, I looked down and noticed several pairs of women's shoes on the rack. None of them were mine.

Maeve got up from her couch, her voice as warm and concerned as ever.

"Noelle, you're finally here!" she exclaimed. "You must be exhausted. I kept telling Blake to go pick you up, but he wouldn't listen…"

"You're still sick," Blake said, grabbing a jacket and draping it over her shoulders. "How could I leave you here alone?"

Maeve pulled the jacket closer around herself, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

I stared at the jacket, my fingers digging into my palms.

It was the most expensive piece of clothing I'd ever bought him. He'd told me it was too nice to wear and had kept it hanging in his closet ever since.

"Blake," I called out, my voice hoarse. "Why did you change the door code?"

The apartment's passcode had been my birthday. He hadn't changed it once in four years.

"Maeve kept forgetting it, so I changed it."

But the three of us had grown up together. There was no way Maeve could've forgotten my birthday.

I clenched my jaw and pressed further.

"Does Maeve come here a lot?" I asked. "Or… are you two living together now?"

A few months ago, Blake had told me this apartment was our home. Once I moved to Bexford for work, we would live together.

But now, every corner of our home seemed to carry traces of another woman.

Blake's expression changed as soon as I finished speaking.

"Noelle, what are you imagining now? Maeve and I have been friends since we were kids. What's wrong with her staying here for a few days?"

A gust of cold wind suddenly swept through the apartment. I started coughing, my eyes turning red from the effort.

"Go take a shower," Blake said, grabbing a towel from somewhere and tossing it over my head. "Look at the state you're in after getting soaked like that."

I grabbed some clean clothes and rushed into the bathroom. The moment I had a proper look at my surroundings, I finally broke down.

My toothbrush, face wash, and towel were all gone from the counter. In their place were Maeve's things. Two brand-new toothbrushes stood side by side, the matching kind couples bought.

Their voices came through the door.

"Blake, don't be so hard on Noelle," Maeve chided. "It's my fault. I should've known better."

"This has nothing to do with you!" Blake snapped, bristling at the mention of my name. "She's just too narrow-minded. She's always making a big deal out of nothing."

The sound of running water from the shower drowned out my muffled cries.

When I came out, Blake and Maeve were sitting in the living room working on their papers. They sat so close that their shoulders touched, their faces almost brushing against each other.

"The logic doesn't quite work here," Blake said, his voice unbelievably gentle. "Let me fix this part for you. And there's something off with these experimental parameters…"

He was so focused on helping Maeve that he didn't even look at me once, as if I wasn't even there.

I walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind me.

I left my suitcase in the corner of the room and opened the closet, only to find half of it was filled with Maeve's clothes. The vanity was also covered with makeup products from brands I'd never seen before.

How could this possibly be a place she only stayed at occasionally? She'd already made herself at home here.

Suddenly, I couldn't find a reason to stay.

As I booked my ticket out, Maeve sent me a private message.

"Noelle, don't overthink what happened today. Blake and I are just friends."

But a few minutes later, I came across her new post.

She'd taken a photo of Blake working on her paper. The picture was a little blurry, but even through the screen, I could see how focused he looked.

There was only one line in the caption. "I'm pretty sure my childhood friend is into me too. Should I confess?"