Chapter 4

Two weeks ago, W_DeLuca had been nothing more than a stranger who annoyed me with his arrogant messages and impossible attitude. Now, I couldn't imagine going an entire day without hearing from him.

Somewhere between our endless late-night conversations and his unexpected sweet moments, he had become the person I looked forward to talking to most. I checked my phone between classes, during lunch, and even while walking across campus, hoping to see his name light up my screen.

It was ridiculous how much one person I'd never met could occupy my thoughts. But I was already hopelessly hooked.

In the real world, I was still invisible.

I was still Nicole, the fat girl who shuffled around campus in oversized hoodies, keeping her head down so no one would judge her thick body, broad shoulders, or double chin.

When I walked down the hall, people stepped around me like I was an obstacle. Whenever guys looked in my direction, my stomach dropped because I knew they were looking right past me at the pretty, slender girls walking behind me.

But the moment I unlocked my phone, I stepped into a completely different reality.

In this world, I wasn't an awkward, plus-size college freshman hiding from the crowd.

I was Luna.

And Luna was desired.

Slowly, subtly, the tone of our late-night chats began to change. The sharp, guarded banter that had started our relationship was softening into something far sweeter and far more dangerous.

It happened on a rainy Tuesday evening. I was curled up on my mattress, listening to the rain hammer against my bedroom window, when my phone screen lit up.

«W_DeLuca: You're quiet tonight. Did you actually fall asleep at a reasonable hour, or are you just ignoring me?»

I smiled, my fingers flying across the screen.

«Luna: I’m reading for a class. And I never ignore you. You're far too entertaining when you're acting like a bossy old man.»

«W_DeLuca: Is that what I am to you? A bossy old man?»

«Luna: Ninety percent of the time, yes.»

«W_DeLuca: Careful, baby. You might hurt my feelings.»

I froze.

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart gave a violent, stuttering leap against my ribs.

Baby.

I stared at the four-letter word glowing on the dark screen, my cheeks instantly growing hot.

It was such a casual term of endearment, but coming from him, a man who claimed he hated people and preferred absolute control, it felt like a physical touch.

My fingers trembled over the keyboard.

«Luna: 'Baby'? Since when do I get a nickname?»

«W_DeLuca: Since I decided I liked the sound of it.»

«Luna: You can't just assign nicknames without my permission!»

«W_DeLuca: I can do whatever I want, honey. Unless you're going to tell me you don't like it?»

Honey.

A sharp shiver raced down my spine, pooling low in my stomach.

In real life, no guy had ever called me baby or honey. Guys didn't flirt with me. They didn't tease me or text to see if I was awake. They looked right through me like I was made of glass.

But here, typed out in clean, deliberate text from a man whose real face I'd never even seen, those words made me feel overwhelmingly, intensely wanted.

«Luna: You're insufferable.»

«W_DeLuca: But you're smiling right now, aren't you?»

«Luna:.Maybe a little.»

«W_DeLuca: Good. You deserve to be spoiled, Luna. Even if I have to be the one to do it.»

My throat tightened, and my eyes watered with sudden, hot tears.

He didn't just flirt. He cared. He asked if I had eaten, scolded me when I stayed up past 3:00 AM studying, and remembered every tiny detail I mentioned in passing, like my favorite childhood candy or how much I hated thunder.

And the pampering didn't stop at words.

A few days later, after I casually complained about the terrible campus coffee and how the broken espresso machine was ruining my morning, he asked for the name of a local bakery near my dorm.

"Why do you want to know?" I had typed back, suspicious.

"Just give me the name, stubborn girl," was all he said.

Ten minutes later, a delivery driver knocked on the front door of my rental house. I opened it to find a courier holding a massive paper bag filled with fresh mocha lattes, warm almond croissants, and a box of artisan pastries. The rich, chocolatey scent drifted out as soon as I took the bag.

Attached was a digital note: Drink your coffee and eat something real. Stop surviving on instant noodles. — W.

I stood in my cramped, dark hallway, clutching the warm paper bag to my chest as tears slipped down my cheeks.

Over the next week, he made a habit of spoiling me from three hours away.

When I mentioned that my drafty bedroom was freezing, an expensive cashmere blanket arrived via two-day shipping. When I told him I was stressed about an upcoming art history midterm, a gourmet dessert box showed up at my doorstep.

He was treating me like a princess. He was treating me like I was the most precious thing in his life.

I sank into my unmade bed, hugging my knees against my chest as his latest notification popped up:

«W_DeLuca: Did the driver deliver everything okay, honey?»

«Luna: William... this is too much. You really shouldn't spend your money on me.»

«W_DeLuca: It's not too much. I like taking care of you. You're the best part of my day, baby. Don't ruin it by arguing with me.»

I pulled my knees tightly against my chest, a dark, suffocating wave of guilt washing over the wild flutter of joy in my heart.

He was falling for Luna.

He was sending gifts to Luna—the gorgeous, slender, perfectly toned girl in the stolen photos, with the narrow waist and delicate collarbones.

He had no idea that the girl weeping over his generosity was a lonely, fat college freshman wearing a double-XL men's sweatshirt to hide her rolls, eating pastries on an unmade bed in a messy room.

He loves the girl in the picture, the cruel voice in my head whispered, tearing through my happiness like a blade. If he saw what you really looked like, he’d be disgusted. He’d take it all back.

I buried my face in my hands, sobbing quietly in the dark.

I was falling hopelessly, dangerously in love with him. I was addicted to his warmth, his attention, his possessive terms of endearment.

But every time he called me baby, every time he sent a gift, the pedestal he built for me grew higher and the terrifying drop to the reality of who I actually was felt like it would break me completely.