Chapter 14: Playing Along

“What on earth are you doing here?” Vance accuses.

I almost laugh, because the ones who should be questioned are standing right in front of me. Instead, I smirk and test him.

“Oh darling, I just met our friendly neighbour,” I say sweetly. “He’s a real charmer. My first impression was far from the gentleman he is.”

They both freeze, and it’s almost too easy.

“Are you two okay?” I tilt my head slightly, letting out a soft laugh. “It’s almost as if I’ve caught you both committing a crime.”

Their laughter follows a beat too late, forced and hollow.

“No, gal, nobody’s guilty here,” Anya says quickly. “We’ve just had an… eventful afternoon—” She cuts herself off abruptly, covering her mouth as if she can take the words back.

I glance at Vance, catching the subtle tick of his jaw.

“What did our neighbour say?” he asks, voice tight. “What did he tell you?”

There it is. Panic.

I chuckle lightly, easing the tension on purpose. If I’m going home with them, I need to play this carefully.

“Well, he asked me out to dinner,” I shrug. “But I declined.”

Relief floods both their faces far too quickly.

“And,” I add casually, unable to resist, “he seemed like a bit of a liar. Said he met you and got the green light to ask me out.”

I laugh again, light and careless, like it means nothing.

They both exhale. Vance leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. I let him, though my body feels distant from the gesture. It’s then I realise the elevator hasn’t moved. The doors are still open.

A thought slips into my mind, sharp and deliberate.

“Oh, and darling?” I say, raising my voice just enough. “Don’t mind our neighbour… I think he’s more into you than me.”

Vance reacts instantly, jabbing at the buttons. The doors slide shut with a quiet hum.

“Charlotte,” he hisses, lowering his voice, “you can’t just air out a stranger’s business like that. That’s how you make enemies.”

I scoff internally. Enemies? Please. Has he forgotten who I am?

⸻

When we reach the penthouse, I head straight for the kitchen. Hunger hits me all at once, sharp and demanding. Behind me, the silence stretches too long. Anya hasn’t spoken since the elevator, which is unusual—especially considering the afternoon they’ve had.

And yet, I’m not as hurt as I should be.

Not devastated. Not even surprised.

It feels… familiar. Like I’ve already lived through it. Like I’ve already grieved it.

That unsettles me more than the betrayal itself.

I begin chopping onions, letting the repetitive motion steady me. From the corner of my eye, I catch movement. Vance’s hand rests on the small of Anya’s back as he guides her toward the guest room. The gesture is quiet, almost subtle—but I know better. That kind of touch isn’t innocent.

My grip tightens on the knife.

I clear my throat.

His hand disappears instantly.

Coward.

I say nothing. I pretend I saw nothing. Right now, I need answers more than I need confrontation.

“Have either of you eaten?” I ask, my tone calm, polished—convincing.

They turn too quickly. “No I’ve eaten,” they say in unison.

Liars.

“Got it. Dinner for one,” I reply with a small shrug, turning back to the counter.

And thank God for that. I’d rather starve than cook for them.

An idea sparks, sharp and useful.

“Since you’ve both eaten,” I continue casually, “do you mind running a few errands? I didn’t get around to them today.”

They hesitate, as expected. They both know how particular I can be—how thorough. But neither refuses. Anya can’t, not as my assistant, and Vance… well, Vance owes everything to me.

I send the list to them individually, carefully curated to take at least two hours in peak traffic. Groceries, my Nana’s prescription, picking up Mallowpuff from the vet, and a car wash for my Mercedes-Benz S-Class. I take better care of that car than I do myself. The biometric access alone saved me this morning—though the thought lingers longer than it should.

Fifteen minutes after they leave, I move.

Fast. Efficient.

I install the cameras first—three prototypes disguised as lightbulbs. Silent, discreet, perfect. One in the guest room, one in my bedroom, and one in the study. The faint scent of sex still lingers in the guest room, and despite everything, my chest tightens. I ignore it. There are more important things to focus on.

In the study, I swab the paint and seal it in a bag before tucking it into my purse. Then I search—drawers, bags, closets—anything that might give me a clue.

Nothing.

Too clean.

Too controlled.

That leaves one place: Hawkins Enterprises.

⸻

Back in the kitchen, I finish cooking. “Marry me chicken.” The irony almost makes me laugh. I eat quickly, barely tasting it, my thoughts racing too fast to keep up.

The dreams. The flashes. The certainty.

My phone buzzes.

Binance.

I frown and open the app, my breath catching almost immediately. The Terra-Luna coin—the one I know collapsed—is still there. Alive. Thriving. My balance untouched.

$100,000.

Still there.

My heart starts pounding.

I withdraw everything without hesitation.

Refresh.

The value drops.

Again.

Again.

Still falling.

I stare at the screen, frozen as another wave of déjà vu crashes over me—stronger this time, undeniable.

I check the date.

May 31st, 2022.

Everything inside me stills.

This isn’t coincidence anymore.

This is something else.

Something bigger.

I swallow hard. There are only two explanations now. I’m either losing my mind—or I’ve been given a second chance.

⸻

I open Reddit, my fingers moving faster than my thoughts. I type out everything, keeping it vague enough to stay anonymous, but detailed enough to feel real. After reading it twice, I hit post.

⸻

After a long shower, I crawl into bed without checking on Vance or Anya. I don’t want to see them. Don’t want to hear them. Don’t want to feel anything at all.

Sleep takes me almost instantly.

And for once—

I don’t fight it.