เข้าสู่ระบบDEREK
I don't have all day, and her standing there like a drowned cat is not exactly time management.
She's just staring at me. Mouth slightly open. Rain running down her face. Her white shirt is completely see-through now and I can see the outline of her bra and I definitely do not look. I look at her eyes. Her stupid, familiar eyes.
"Bean sprout. Car. Now."
She blinks. Then she moves. Grabs her bag, hunches her shoulders, and walks around to the passenger side. She opens the door and climbs in.
Water pours off her. Onto my leather seats. Onto my floor mats. Everything she touches becomes instantly wet.
Wonderful.
She slams the door and sits there shivering, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield. Water drips from her hair onto my armrest. I pretend not to notice.
"When did you get back?" she asks. Her voice is shaky. From cold or shock, I don't know. Don't care.
"Yesterday."
"So Marcus knew." She processes this. Her jaw tightens. "No wonder he said 'someone.' That asshole."
I don't respond. I put the car in drive and pull out of the parking lot. The rain slams against the windshield. Wipers work hard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shift in the seat. Water runs down her neck. Her shirt is plastered to her skin. I can see—
She actually grew boobs.
Not that I'm looking. I'm not looking. I'm focused on the road. Jaw set. Eyes forward.
I didn't plan on seeing her. Not today. Not ever, if I'm being honest. But Marcus had to be busy. Busy fucking that new blonde of his, probably. So now I'm stuck here. Driving his sister home. Bro code and bullshit.
She's talking again. I missed the first part.
"—you called me bean sprout. Seriously? I thought maybe you'd changed. But you're obviously still an ass."
I don't say anything. Just keep driving.
The silence stretches. I can feel her glaring at me from the passenger seat. She hates being ignored. She always did.
"Fine," she huffs. "I'll be quiet too."
As if.
She shifts again. Water drips. Her legs cross. Uncross. Cross again. She's nervous. Or cold. Or both. I notice everything. Every movement. Every breath. The way her wet hair sticks to her cheek. The way her fingers grip her bag.
She has grown. Definitely.
I can't unsee it. The curve of her hip. The shape of her legs. The way her shirt clings to her waist. I force my eyes back to the road. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
She shivers violently. Then she leans forward and turns on the heater without asking. Hot air blasts through the vents. She sighs and sinks back into the seat.
Five minutes. That's all it took. Five minutes and I'm already trying to please her.
How inconvenient.
I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. Rain drums on the roof. I don't get out of the car. Instead, I reach over and unlock her door from my side. Then I sit still. Rest my head on the steering wheel. The leather is cold against my forehead.
She doesn't move.
I count. Thirty seconds. A minute. Nothing. Just the sound of rain and her breathing.
"Get out," I say into the silence.
"Hmm?" She didn't hear me. Or she's pretending not to.
I sit up straight. Turn my head just enough to see her in my peripheral vision. She's still hugging that damn bag. Still dripping on my seats.
"Get out," I say again. Louder this time.
She flips me off. Middle finger right in my face. "Hope being an ass pays well," she says. Then she opens the door, climbs out, and slams it shut so hard the whole car shakes.
I watch her walk to the front door. Her wet clothes cling to every curve. She doesn't look back.
I sigh and drop my head against the seat.
What the fuck is my problem?
I start the car and drive. Not far. Just to the next building. The penthouse I procured last week. Brand new. Still smells like paint and fresh carpet. I park in the underground garage and cut the engine again.
Sit there in the dark.
I had to buy this place. Not because I wanted it. Because I have a favor to fulfill. Marcus asked. Marcus never asks for anything. So I said yes. Didn't think about what it would mean. Didn't think about her.
Now I'm living across the street from Jade Murphy.
Fucking fantastic.
I grab my phone from the cupholder. No messages. No missed calls. Just the way I like it.
I get out of the car. Take the elevator up to the penthouse. Change into dry clothes. Stand at the window and stare at Marcus's house. Her light is on. Second floor. She's moving around behind the curtain.
I look away.
An hour passes. Maybe more. I don't check the time. I just grab my keys and head back out. Walk across the street. Rain has slowed to a drizzle. I climb the steps to the front door.
Knock.
No answer.
Knock again.
Nothing.
I try the handle. Unlocked. Of course it's unlocked. Marcus never locks the door. Jade never thinks about danger.
I push the door open and step inside.
Something flies past my face. A vase. It shatters against the wall behind me. I don't flinch.
"Are you fucking kidding?" Jade screams. She's standing in the middle of the living room in dry clothes now. Hair still wet. Eyes blazing.
Marcus is on the couch. He looks at me. Then at Jade. Then back at me.
"It's not babysitting," Marcus says, calm as always. "It's common watching."
JADEThe week before everything falls apart is, ironically, one of the best weeks we’ve ever had.Derek takes an actual vacation day — the first one I’ve ever witnessed, an event so rare Priya sends me a congratulatory text like I’ve accomplished something medically impossible — and we spend it doing nothing, genuinely nothing, sleeping until ten, eating pancakes at noon, watching three terrible movies back to back on the couch while he provides increasingly unhinged commentary on plot holes that I’m fairly sure he’s inventing just to make me laugh.That night we end up on the balcony with a bottle of wine, city lights spread out below us, and he’s quieter than usual, watching me instead of the skyline, in a way that makes my chest go warm and a little nervous at the same time.“What?” I ask, when he’s been silent for too long.“Nothing.” He shakes his head, smiles, something private moving behind his eyes. “I’m just happy.”“That’s a very un-Derek thing to say out loud.”“I’ve become
JADEIt’s a small thing. It’s always small things that crack a foundation before the whole wall comes down.His phone buzzes on the counter while he’s in the shower, and I glance at it out of habit more than suspicion — we’ve never had rules about phones, never needed them — and the screen shows a missed call from a number with a country code I don’t recognize, and underneath it, a single line of preview text in a language I can’t read.I don’t open it. I’m not the kind of person who goes through someone’s phone. But I remember it — the country code, the unfamiliar characters — and later that night, at dinner, I ask, as casually as I can manage, “Who called you from overseas today?”Something moves behind his eyes. Fast. Gone almost before I catch it. “Work,” he says. “A supplier issue in Osaka.”“You didn’t call them back.”“I will.”“You always call back same-day. You’re annoyingly responsive about work stuff.” I try to keep my voice light, but I hear the edge creeping in anyway. “I
JADEMarcus comes to New York for a conference in November — three days, a hotel near the hospital district, and a schedule so packed Nina has to threaten actual bodily harm to pin down a single dinner.He doesn’t come to the penthouse. I don’t push it. We meet instead at a diner halfway between everyone’s lives, neutral territory, the kind of place with vinyl booths and coffee that’s been sitting too long, and for the first twenty minutes it’s stiff and careful in a way that makes my chest ache with how much I miss the version of us that used to talk over each other constantly.Then Nina shows up twenty minutes late, blaming traffic in a tone that convinces no one, and slides into the booth directly across from Marcus like she planned it, which she absolutely did.“You’re late,” Marcus says.“You’re insufferable,” Nina says. “Different problems entirely.”“I ordered you the salad you hate just to watch you suffer through it.”“I’m sending it back. Waiter!” She’s already flagging some
MARCUSNobody asks me what those eight months were actually like, and I don’t volunteer it, because admitting the truth feels like admitting I was as lost as everyone else in this whole mess, just quieter about it.I told myself I was angry about the betrayal — Derek, my best friend since we were seven years old, sleeping with my sister behind my back for months. That part was true. But underneath it, if I’m honest with myself in the specific way three a.m. hospital call rooms tend to force honesty out of a person, I was angrier that I hadn’t seen it coming. I’d spent years being the one who protected Jade, the one who kept the world’s rougher edges away from her, and somewhere in the middle of my own exhausting rotation schedule, I’d missed the entire thing happening two feet in front of me.It wasn’t really about the rule. It was about being unnecessary. About realizing that Jade didn’t need my permission or my protection anymore, that she’d built an entire life, a whole relationshi
LAURENNobody asks about me much, which has always suited me fine. I’m the quiet one, the one who watches instead of talks, the one who’s spent four years documenting everyone else’s chaos instead of generating any of my own. It isn’t a complaint. I like the view from behind a camera. You see things people don’t know they’re showing you.I see Jade fall in love with Derek months before she’d admit it to herself — the specific way her whole body used to angle toward wherever he was in a room, even mid-argument, even while insisting she hated him. I see Marcus’s face the day he found out, the exact moment something in him broke that had nothing to do with rules and everything to do with feeling replaced. I see Nina and Marcus circling each other for years, mistaking hostility for indifference, when anyone holding a camera long enough could tell you it was never indifference at all.What people don’t see, because I’ve never given them a reason to look, is that I’ve been quietly in love w
JADENina brings news about Marcus the way you’d defuse a bomb — carefully, slowly, watching my face the whole time.“He asked about you,” she says, over coffee, not quite meeting my eyes. “Not directly. He asked me how you were doing in one of our —” she makes a face ” — arguments. Which is what we call our conversations now, apparently, because God forbid either of us admit we actually like talking to each other.”“What did you tell him?”“I told him you graduated with honors and you’re happy.” A pause. “He didn’t say anything for a long time. Then he said, and I quote, ‘good,’ in the most Marcus tone imaginable, and changed the subject to something about his rotation schedule. But Jade — he asked. That’s the part that matters. He didn’t have to ask.”“That’s it? Good?”“That’s it.” Nina reaches across the table, squeezes my hand. “It’s something, Jade. He’s not still spitting fire about it. That’s progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it from where you’re sitting.”I want to belie







