Two

I sit inside my car, engine off, trying to catch my breath. My head rests against the seat, exhaustion weighing down on me.

Too many shifts. Too much overtime. I feel like I’m barely holding myself together.

But today is Monique’s birthday, and no matter how drained I am, I need to be there for her.

With a deep breath, I unlock the car and step out, balancing the cake and my handbag in my right hand while holding her birthday present in my left. I nudge the car door shut with my foot and head toward the building.

Inside the lobby, I offer a quick nod to the doorman before making my way to the elevator. As soon as the doors slide open, I step in, pressing my floor button. Leaning against the wall, I tap my foot impatiently, eager to get home.

The elevator finally dings, and as I step out—

Bam.

I nearly crash into someone.

“Shit,” I curse under my breath.

“Oh—sorry,” a deep voice responds.

I readjust my grip on the cake and look up to find Tyler standing in front of me, dressed in his signature bad-boy attire—black jeans, fitted t-shirt, leather jacket. The whole brooding, mysterious look.

“Hello, Tyler,” I say, forcing a polite smile.

His lips curl slightly. “You just got back from work?”

Isn’t that obvious?

“Yeah.”

He nods, glancing at the cake in my hands. “Are you guys having a party?”

“Not really. It’s Monique’s birthday, so we’re just doing a girls’ night. Nothing big,” I reply, shifting slightly to sidestep him—but he moves right in front of me again.

Ugh. Here we go.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. “I know you’ve been busy, but… would you be free tomorrow? Saturday?”

“Sorry.” I purse my lips, feigning disappointment. “I’ve got work.”

“What about Sunday?” He licks his bottom lip, eyes holding onto hope.

“Still working.”

I attempt to step around him again, but he mirrors my movement, blocking me for the third time.

I exhale sharply. “Can you get out of my way, Tyler?”

His expression falters slightly before he steps aside. “Yeah. Sorry.”

I roll my eyes and walk past him, feeling his gaze burning into my back.

Creepy.

Tyler has lived in this building for two years now, on the same floor as me. I have no idea what he does for work, and honestly, I’ve never cared to ask. I just know that we always seem to cross paths—lobby, elevator, parking lot.

And every single time, he stops me.

He always tries to talk, to make conversation, to get me to warm up to him. It’s awkward, uncomfortable. Tyler isn’t a bad-looking guy—hell, he’s attractive. But he’s not my type. And even if I were looking for a relationship, it sure as hell wouldn’t be with him.

As soon as I reach my door, I pull out my key, unlock it, and push inside.

The first thing I notice?

The smell.

It smells… good. Like freshly made dinner.

But Monique isn’t supposed to be home yet. She told me she wouldn’t be back until eight.

Something isn’t right.

“Robyn.”

My heart drops at the unexpected voice. I spin around so fast, I nearly drop the cake.

Monique stands in the living room, a knowing smirk on her lips.

“Monique, what the fuck?!”

She laughs, eyes flicking to the things in my hands. “Oh, Robyn, honey, did I startle you?”

“Oh, fuck off.” I huff, kicking the door shut behind me as I walk toward the kitchen, Monique hot on my heels.

“What are you doing here? You said you wouldn’t be home until eight.” I place the cake and present on the countertop, turning to face her.

She leans forward, arms resting on the counter, her eyes twinkling.

I shake my head. “Well, I got you a cake. We’re lighting a candle, and you’re making a wish. No excuses.”

Monique’s eyes snap to the wrapped gift beside the cake. Her whole face lights up.

“You got me this?” she gasps, reaching for it.

I swat her hands away. “Don’t touch. You gotta tell me what you’re doing here first.”

She grins. “It’s my birthday, duh. Of course, I left work early.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

Her excitement doubles. “So, can I open my present now?”

“Yeah. Knock yourself out.”

She practically bounces in place, tearing off the wrapping paper with zero hesitation.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Stop being a baby. It’s nothing huge.” A slow, knowing smirk tugs at my lips as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

I shut the fridge and lean against it, arms folded, watching as Monique dramatically tears into the wrapping paper.

She gasps, eyes wide as she lifts the jewelry box with exaggerated reverence. Slowly, she flips it open, her mouth dropping.

“You got me this?” she asks, giddy as she picks up the necklace and lays it across her palm like it’s made of pure gold.

I smirk. “Of course. You wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Oh my God, Robbie. You remembered? And you even got it customized?” She stares at it like she can’t believe it’s real.

I chuckle. “It’s nothing.”

Monique, of course, does the unexpected—throws her arms around me, squeezing me tight.

“You’re a darling. I love you so much, you can’t even begin to fathom.”

“Relax, it’s just a gift.”

She pulls back, hands gripping my shoulders, eyes searching mine. “This is not just a gift. This is something I’ve been secretly admiring for months. And it costs more than ten grand.” She pauses, her brows furrowing. “Where the hell did you get that kind of money?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. It’s your birthday present, and you deserve it.”

Her expression softens as she wraps me in another hug. “Thank you so much, sis. I love you.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell me, is there food? I’m starving.”

Monique steps away, carefully placing the necklace back inside its box. “I didn’t cook. I just got home when you walked in.”

“Right. I’ll just order something.”

She smirks suddenly, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Did you run into Tyler in the hallway?”

I groan. “Ew. What’s with that look?”

Her smirk deepens. “It means Tyler is hot and you’re single. There’s nothing wrong with giving him a shot.”

I narrow my eyes. “That guy looks like a fucking serial killer.”

Monique raises her brows. “Seriously? You’re the only person who thinks Tyler is creepy.”

I scoff. “Look at his name. Tyler. You know what kind of men cheat and break your heart? Tylers.” I shake my head. “I don’t like him. That’s final.”

I’ve never been wrong about anyone before. It’s practically my superpower. And I know Tyler is bad news. Sure, he’s charming. Sure, he’s objectively attractive.

But he’s not my type.

Monique rolls her eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

Then, with sudden excitement, she leans forward, her eyes sparkling. “Also, you’re not gonna believe what happened today.”

I tilt my head. “What?”

“You know about my recent gig? The one with Didi & Morgan? D&M? The jewelry company?”

I nod. “Yeah, I know them.”

Monique’s smirk widens. “Well, they’re throwing a party tonight. Not just any party—a huge one. You know the kind. Exclusive. Full of high-profile people.”

I cross my arms, instantly wary. “And?”

“My publicist worked some magic and got me two invites. One for me…” She pauses dramatically, then grins. “And one for you.”

I blink. “No shit.”

She giggles. “No shit. You’re in, right?”

I hesitate. Big, flashy parties are exactly the kind of thing I’ve been avoiding since I got here.

But it’s Monique’s birthday.

And I promised.

I force a smirk. “Damn right, I’m in. It’s your night. We’ll do whatever you want.”

Her face lights up. “Thanks, Robyn. I know how you feel about these things, but trust me—you’re not gonna regret it.”

I force a nod. “Yeah. Totally.”

But deep down, I already know.

I’m definitely going to regret it.

Monique and I first met three weeks after I moved into this apartment.

It wasn’t luxurious, but it fit my new identity—simple, practical, and, most importantly, untraceable. It had everything I needed, and for the first time in my life, I could call a place mine.

I wanted a roommate. Someone I could trust.

I put up several ads online, interviewed a few candidates, and quickly realized I didn’t like any of them.

Then, one morning, everything changed.

I had gone out for a run and stopped by a small café to grab coffee. That was when I saw her—Monique.

She sat near the translucent window, absentmindedly stirring her drink, her gaze flicking between the cup in her hands and the world outside. Her braids were tied in a high bun, and her skin was smooth, deep brown, and radiant in the soft morning light.

The moment I saw her, I just knew.

We were going to be best friends.

I walked over to her table and asked if I could sit. She didn’t mind.

A large luggage bag rested beside her chair, making her look like she was on a trip. We talked, and at some point, I joked about her being a tourist. She had laughed, shaking her head, and told me she had just arrived in New York and desperately needed an apartment.

And just like that, I made the offer.

A place to stay. No need to split rent.

Monique, of course, insisted. She argued. But I didn’t let her.

Later, she told me about her dream of becoming a model, how she moved to New York to secure better gigs. She started small, barely scraping by, taking unpaid work just to get her face out there.

Now? She’s the face behind some of the top brands in the city. Her image is plastered across billboards, displayed in storefronts, and featured in magazines. And I’ve never been more proud of someone else’s success.

Monique is stunning. She stands three or four inches taller than my 5’6 frame. Her skin, deep and warm, contrasts with my olive complexion. Where I have fuller curves, she has long-toned legs and a slender frame, her beauty effortlessly commanding attention.

We come from different backgrounds, but somehow, we just clicked.

And yet, storming high-end parties isn’t part of our shared interests.

I glance at her while pulling out my phone to order pizza. “What are we gonna wear?”

Monique smirks. “Yeah, about that. We have to look like we belong.”

I roll my eyes. “There are a few dresses in my closet that I haven’t worn since I got them. I’ll pick one from the bunch.” I flash her a quick smile as I step out of the kitchen, Monique trailing behind.

“I’ll check my closet too. I’m sure there’s something in there.”

I pause, turning to her. “You’re serious?”

Monique blinks innocently. “What?” She throws her hands up dramatically.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” I narrow my eyes. “What kind of people are gonna be there?”

Monique shrugs. “Billionaires, millionaires… maybe a few actresses and businessmen. You know, the usual.”

I stop walking, my stomach twisting.

Monique wraps an arm around my shoulder and leans in. “You’re gonna like it. And if you don’t, we’ll leave immediately. I promise.”

“Great,” I mutter. “And just so you know, I don’t have a problem with parties like these, like you love to say. I just don’t like being in the same room as those rich assholes who think they control the world.”

Monique lets go, smirking. “Technically, rich people do control the world.”

I groan. “God, I fucking hate you.”

She laughs, following me into my bedroom.

“And if we get lucky,” she adds casually, “we might actually get some tonight.”

That stops me dead in my tracks.

I slowly turn to her, eyes narrowing.

“What are we getting, Monique?” I cross my arms and give her a judgmental look.

Monique smirks, completely unfazed. “Robyn, you know what I mean.”

“I’m not hooking up with a stranger.”

“Who said anything about hooking up? You’re not a baby, Robyn. And in case you’ve forgotten, we’re both fucking single.”

“For me, it’s by choice.” And that’s the truth.

“That’s not the point.” She huffs, hands on her hips. “That coochie needs some. You’re starving it.”

“Ew. Who even says coochie anymore?” I chuckle despite myself.

Monique grins. “Robyn, you need a man.”

I roll my eyes. “Monique, I don’t need a man. Why does everyone think I need a man?”

“Have you ever once stopped to think why everyone says that?”

I scoff, shaking my head. I hate this conversation. I hate where it’s going.

“You don’t even have a man, Monique. You’re single, just like me.”

“Yeah, but not by choice.” She raises a brow. “You know I’ve dated a few men…”

“And things turned ugly the minute you started dating.”

“Stop being judgmental.”

“I’m not.” I meet her gaze. “I just want you to know that I don’t need a man. I’m happy the way I am.”

And with that, I turn on my heel and continue down the hall.

“You’re not dodging this conversation,” Monique calls after me.

“Well, you’re wrong.” I unlock my bedroom door and step inside. “I am.”

Then, I shut the door right in her face.

Fuck.

From the other side, her muffled voice reaches me. “I hear you using your vibrator at night. You should get someone—even if it’s just a side-piece.”

I gasp. “Fuck you, Monique Palmer! And stay out of my shit!”

Her laughter fades as she walks away.

I drop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, groaning.

Because deep down? I hate that she’s right.

I’ve only dated one man since moving to New York—Sebastian.

We were together for a year before I ended things. He didn’t cheat. In fact, he was too loyal. Too patient. Too perfect.

I was always absent—too focused on graduating nursing school, on making sure I had good grades, on proving that I could make it on my own. He waited. He tried. Even after I got a job at St. José, he kept trying to fix things.

But I got bored.

I didn’t feel anything anymore.

Sebastian was too… basic. Too sweet for me.

And I knew, in the end, I was going to hurt him.

So I didn’t wait. I told him we needed to stop seeing each other.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t ask why. He just smiled—as if he’d been expecting it all along—and walked away.

That was the last time I saw Sebastian.

Since then, I haven’t bothered with relationships. Haven’t felt the need to.

I’m not a fan of hooking up just for the sake of it, either. Sure, I’ve had a few casual nights here and there, but that was over a year and a half ago.

Men have asked me out—colleagues at work, strangers at coffee shops, even patients. But I’m just… not interested.

Relationships are overrated.

There’s always so much commitment, so much expectation, and I’m not prepared for that.

Not after what happened in Italy.

Not now.

Not anytime soon.