Chapter 3

The screen switched to the main discovery feed, and profiles began appearing one after another. There were selfies taken in gym mirrors, blurry pictures from crowded bars, group photos where it was almost impossible to tell who owned the account, and short bios filled with dry one-liners.

I scrolled through them without really looking for anyone in particular. The guilt from creating my fake profile was still bothering me, lingering at the back of my mind like an annoying little voice. I was a fraud, a ghost hiding behind the face of a beautiful woman who didn't even know I existed.

Then a notification slid down from the top of my screen, accompanied by a soft ding.

«New Message from W_DeLuca»

I froze, my thumb hovering just above the screen.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I tapped the notification, opening a private chat window. Before reading his message, I decided to check out his profile and see who I was dealing with.

His profile was surprisingly empty. There were no linked social media accounts, no lengthy bio about his interests or life goals, and not a single picture of his face. His avatar was simply a dark, moody photograph of a snow-covered pine forest beneath a slate-gray sky. His location showed a major metropolitan city a few hours away, and his age was listed as twenty-four.

His entire bio consisted of just four words:

Don't waste my time.

"Charming," I muttered, shaking my head.

I returned to the chat to see what this mysterious, brooding stranger had to say for himself.

«W_DeLuca: You claim you don't like dry texters, yet your profile looks like every other girl on here trying too hard to seem deep. Let's see if you can actually keep up.»

I stared at the message, completely taken aback. A spark of irritation flared in my chest, pushing away some of the anxiety that had been bothering me all night.

The nerve of this guy.

In real life, as Nicole, the college freshman who hid inside oversized hoodies and barely spoke in lecture halls, I would probably have swallowed my annoyance, forced an awkward smile, or ignored the comment altogether. I was so used to avoiding conflict and drawing as little attention to myself as possible that even standing up for myself sometimes felt like too much work.

But I wasn't Nicole right now. Behind the picture of a girl with delicate collarbones and a flawless smile, I was Luna. And Luna wasn't going to sit there and accept condescending remarks from some arrogant stranger on the internet.

Before my usual insecurities could get in the way, my fingers flew across the keyboard.

«Luna: Is that your standard opening line? Because if you’re trying to come off as mysterious and edgy, it’s giving more ‘grumpy middle-aged man who needs a nap.’»

I hit send and held my breath.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. The chat remained quiet, and I started wondering whether he'd decided to ignore me or block me altogether. Then three little animated dots appeared at the bottom of the screen.

«W_DeLuca: Grumpy? Hardly. Just realistic. Ninety percent of the people on this app are either bots, looking for money, or completely incapable of forming a sentence longer than three words.»

«Luna: Well, congratulations on reaching the remaining ten percent. Though I’m starting to wonder if your gloomy forest picture is a reflection of your personality. Do you ever smile, or is brooding a full-time job?»

«W_DeLuca: It pays the bills.»

«Luna: Ah, a professional pessimist. Must be exhausting.»

«W_DeLuca: It has its perks. Keeps expectations low. That way, I'm rarely disappointed.»

A small, genuine laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it, breaking the silence in my bedroom. There was something about the way he texted that I couldn't quite put my finger on. He was sharp, intelligent, and completely unfiltered. He didn't throw emojis into every sentence, try to flatter me with ridiculous compliments, or act like one of those guys who thought a few cheesy pickup lines were enough to impress a girl.

He had no idea that I was a nineteen-year-old college freshman sitting on an unmade bed, surrounded by moving boxes. And I had no idea that on the other side of the screen was William DeLuca, a multimillionaire and the cold-blooded star captain of a professional hockey team, sitting in a training facility locker room with his phone in his hand and the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

To him, I was simply a woman named Luna who wasn't afraid to give his attitude right back to him.

«Luna: Fair point. But low expectations sound boring. Where’s the fun in living if you’re always bracing for the absolute worst?»

«W_DeLuca: Fun is overrated. I prefer control.»

«Luna: You sound like someone who color-coordinates his socks and gets stressed out if dinner is five minutes late.»

«W_DeLuca: My socks are organized by function, not color. And punctuality is a sign of basic respect.»

«Luna: Unbelievable. You really are an old man. Should I be calling you 'sir'?»

«W_DeLuca: Don't push your luck, Luna.»

I leaned back against my pillows, pulling my knees closer to my chest as a warm, unfamiliar feeling spread through me. The banter came so easily, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd enjoyed talking to someone this much. For months, the loneliness that had settled over me since my parents' divorce had felt like a heavy cloud hanging over my head. But as I sat there exchanging messages with a complete stranger, it finally began to lift, even if only a little.

We continued texting, and before I knew it, the minutes had turned into hours. We joked about music, argued over whether late-night coffee was a necessity or a bad habit, and exchanged sarcastic observations about human behavior. He was still guarded, revealing very little about his job, family, or personal life, but beneath his cold and blunt exterior, I could tell he had a sharp sense of humor. More surprisingly, he was a good listener.

When I casually mentioned that I was having trouble sleeping because my room still felt cold and unfamiliar, he didn't respond with some empty line about how sorry he was.

«W_DeLuca: Tea. Chamomile with a ridiculous amount of honey. Works every time.»

«Luna: Is that a command, bossy?»

«W_DeLuca: It's advice. Take it or keep staring at your ceiling until 4 AM. Your choice.»

I smiled at my screen, my heart giving a strange little flutter.

Outside, the first faint traces of dawn were beginning to appear beyond my window, spreading soft shades of navy and gold across the horizon. I'd been talking to a complete stranger for almost three hours without even realizing how much time had passed. The messy room, my insecurities, and even the fake pictures on my profile had slipped to the back of my mind.

«Luna: It's almost five in the morning here. I should probably pretend I have a normal sleep schedule and try to get some rest.»

«W_DeLuca: Probably a wise decision for once tonight.»

I paused, wondering if that was his way of ending the conversation. But just as I was about to close the app, another message appeared.

«W_DeLuca: Don't delete the app, Luna. Talk to me tomorrow.»

My chest tightened, and a strange rush of happiness washed over me. He wanted to talk to me again. He wasn't judging my body, my size, or the awkward girl I was in real life. He seemed interested in my words, my humor, and the person behind the screen.

Even though the beautiful woman on his screen wasn't really me, the connection we were forming felt real, and that was what made it so dangerous.

«Luna: Only if you promise to be ten percent less grumpy. Goodnight, W.»

«W_DeLuca: No promises. Goodnight, Luna.»

I locked my phone and hugged it against my chest before sinking into my mattress. For the first time in a long while, I drifted off to sleep with a genuine smile on my face.