The Sweetest Monster

People often say that you can tell what kind of person someone is by looking into their eyes.

I never believed that.

Eyes lie.

Smiles lie.

Even tears can lie if the person wearing them knows exactly when to let them fall.

I've spent most of my life learning that people don't really see what's in front of them. They see what they want to see. Give them a warm smile, remember the little things they tell you, ask how their day went, and suddenly they'll trust you with the parts of themselves they've hidden from everyone else.

It's surprisingly easy.

My name is Dahlia Gray.

I'm twenty-two years old, a university student, a daughter, a sister, and according to almost everyone who knows me, one of the sweetest people they've ever met.

I smile at strangers.

I bring coffee to my professors.

I remember birthdays without checking social media.

I listen when my friends need someone to talk to, and I never interrupt them when they're crying. I know exactly when to reach for their hand, when to offer a tissue, and when to say, "It's going to be okay."

People love that about me.

They love how calm I am.

How patient.

How kind.

Sometimes, I almost find it funny.

The truth is, I don't really understand why people cry over things that can be replaced.

A broken heart.

A lost friendship.

A ruined reputation.

Most things can be fixed if you're smart enough.

And the things that can't?

Well.

Those are usually the most interesting.

The night everything changed, rain had been falling for nearly three hours.

The city looked different under the storm. Streetlights reflected against the wet pavement, cars moved slowly through the empty roads, and the cold air clung to my skin as I stood beneath the awning of an old building near campus.

My dress was ruined.

The soft cream fabric that Ava had complimented earlier that evening was stained near the hem. Anyone else would probably have been upset. It had been expensive, after all.

I only stared at it for a moment before looking down at my hands. There was something dark beneath my fingernails. I rubbed my thumb against my palm, but the stain didn't disappear completely.

How annoying.

I had been careful.

Very careful.

I always was.

A distant siren echoed somewhere beyond the buildings, followed by another one. I tilted my head slightly, listening as the sound grew louder before eventually fading in another direction.

Not for me.

Not yet.

A small smile touched my lips.

"You're going to catch a cold."

I froze.

Not because I was afraid.

Because I hadn't heard anyone approach.

Slowly, I turned around.

A man stood several feet away from me, holding a black umbrella over one shoulder. He was taller than I expected, with dark hair damp from the rain and an expression that was far too calm for someone who had just found a stranger standing alone in the middle of a storm.

I studied him.

He didn't look nervous.

Didn't look curious.

And, strangely enough, he wasn't staring at my dress.

Most people noticed things like that.

He looked directly at my face instead.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Such a simple question.

I almost laughed.

Instead, I smiled.

The same smile I'd used countless times before.

Soft.

Gentle.

Harmless.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I just got caught in the rain."

His gaze moved briefly toward the street before returning to me.

"At this hour?"

I shrugged lightly.

"Late dinner."

It was the first lie.

He stared at me for a second longer than necessary.

Most people accepted lies immediately if they were delivered with enough confidence.

He didn't.

Something about him made me uncomfortable.

I didn't like it.

I was used to watching people.

Watching the way their expressions changed, how their voices shifted whenever they became nervous, and the tiny habits that revealed more than they realized.

But this man was difficult to read.

"Do you always ask strangers this many questions?" I asked, letting a hint of amusement enter my voice.

His lips curved slightly.

"Only the ones who look like they've had a rough night."

Interesting.

I tilted my head.

"And what makes you think I have?"

"Your shoes."

I looked down.

One of the straps had broken.

Then he glanced toward my hand.

"And your hands."

My smile didn't disappear.

It never did.

"What about them?"

"Nothing."

That answer bothered me more than it should have.

Nothing?

People always had an opinion. They always noticed something, and if they didn't say it, they showed it. But he simply stood there, watching me as if he were waiting for me to decide what kind of person he was.

For the first time in a long while, I felt something unfamiliar.

Curiosity.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Max." He paused. "Max Holland."

The name settled quietly in my mind.

Max Holland.

I repeated it silently, the way I did with names that interested me.

"I'm Dahlia."

"I know."

My expression remained calm, but something inside me sharpened.

"You know?"

He nodded.

"We go to the same university."

Of course.

That explained why he seemed vaguely familiar.

Still, I couldn't remember ever speaking to him before.

"You don't seem like someone who remembers faces," I said.

"Maybe I remember the ones that stand out."

There it was.

A line that probably worked on most girls.

I smiled politely.

"That's a nice answer."

"I wasn't trying to impress you."

I looked at him properly then.

Really looked.

People usually wanted something from me. Attention. Approval. Affection. They wanted me to laugh at their jokes or make them feel like they were more interesting than everyone else.

Max Holland didn't seem to want any of those things.

That made him dangerous.

Another siren sounded in the distance.

This time, much closer.

His eyes flicked toward the road before returning to me.

"Do you want a ride home?"

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

I softened my expression immediately.

"Thank you, though."

He didn't argue.

Instead, he stepped closer and held out his umbrella.

"At least take this."

I looked at it.

Then at him.

"Won't you need it?"

"I live two blocks away."

Another lie.

I could tell.

For some reason, that made me like him a little more.

I accepted the umbrella.

Our fingers brushed for barely a second.

Most people would have noticed the coldness of my skin.

Max didn't react.

He simply smiled.

"Good night, Dahlia."

I watched him walk away through the rain until his figure disappeared behind the corner.

Only then did I let the smile fall from my face.

The umbrella hung loosely from my hand as I looked down at the dark stain still visible on my palm.

Max Holland.

He had noticed my hands.

My shoes.

The lies.

He hadn't accused me of anything.

Hadn't asked where I'd really been.

Hadn't looked frightened.

He had simply watched.

And somehow, that unsettled me more than any police officer ever could.

I had spent years making people believe I was exactly who they wanted me to be.

Sweet.

Kind.

Innocent.

No one had ever looked at me and wondered what was hiding underneath.

Until him.

A quiet laugh escaped my lips as I stepped into the rain.

Maybe meeting Max Holland had been a mistake.

Or maybe, for the first time in my life, I'd finally found someone worth playing with.

Either way, one thing was certain.

He had no idea who I really was.

And if he ever found out, it would already be too late.

Because everyone loved Dahlia Gray.

They always had.

They always would.

After all, monsters didn't have to look terrifying.

Sometimes, they only needed to know how to smile.