How Did 'He Thought I Wad A' Become A Viral Phrase?

I can’t tell if we’re at war… or dancing around something far more dangerous. Getting traded to the Montreal Bears should’ve been a dream come true, the team I grew up idolizing, the jersey I always wanted to wear. Except there’s one problem. Luca Moretti. The NHL’s notorious bad boy. My new right wing. And the one man who’s made it his mission to outshine me at every turn. Too bad for him I’m faster, sharper, and my numbers don’t lie. Not that I’m competing. I’d never sink to his level. He’s reckless, infuriating, and impossible to ignore a storm of chaos that throws me completely off balance. When we’re not clashing on the ice, he pushes my buttons with teasing nicknames like Princess, Pretty Boy, and Babygirl. I hate it. I swear I do. So why does my body react like I don’t? Contain Explicit Content

On my third day driving for a ride-hailing app, I picked up a female passenger who was completely wasted. Early the next morning, the police knocked on my door. At the station, the woman pointed straight at my face and screamed, "It was this driver! He raped me while I was drunk in the car. I’m still bleeding down there!" Her boyfriend lunged at me, trying to punch me, but the officers restrained him. People at the station started pulling out their phones to record, shouting insults like "scumbag" and "pervert" at me. An officer who wore a gloomy face asked, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" I calmly took off my baseball cap. I even thought about unbinding my chest. "Officer, there’s something I’m really curious about. I’m a woman. With what, exactly, would I have made her bleed?"

My best friend loved playing 'jokes.' On my birthday, she projected my worst photos in front of everyone, saying she just wanted to 'liven up the mood.' When I was on my period, she deliberately gave me a defective pad. Even when she saw the stain on my clothes, she said nothing–claiming she was helping me 'get more attention.' After I started dating, she edited my photos into suggestive images and spread them across social media groups, pricing them like a product. When I finally snapped and confronted her, she just laughed. "I'm just helping you test your boyfriend," she said. "If he doubts you, then he doesn't really love you. How can you blame me?" Later, a man used the information from those posts to track me down and harm me. I did not survive what followed. However, when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she first shared those images.

After my sister lost her husband, our family arranged a new marriage for her. This arrangement was meant to solidify the alliance with the Castellanov family. As it turned out, the chosen groom was Nicola. He was the twin brother of my husband, Matteo. On the night we learned the news, both Matteo and I could not sleep at all. Early the next morning, I heard Matteo call Nicola in the study room. “Nicola, I really don’t want to spend my whole life missing my chance with her. Please. Do this one thing for me. Don’t worry. Lina is clueless. She’ll never find out that you’re pretending to be me. “Elena never met you. Even if I pretend to be you for a few days, she won’t notice either. Please, let’s swap places for one week. Just one week. I just don’t want to live with any regrets.” He begged for a long time before Nicola finally agreed to switch identities with him. Matteo was relieved. I was relieved as well. What Matteo never knew was that I, too, had been hiding a secret of my own.

Gideon Hart, a man known for keeping every woman at arm's length, gets drugged and wakes up in a hotel with me lying beside him. Afterward, he comes to me and offers ten million as compensation. When I remain silent, my best friend, Lena Quimby, jumps in like she's been waiting for her cue. She snaps that money can't buy everything, trying to reject the offer on my behalf. Before I can say a word, comments start flashing before me like a live stream chat. "Here we go! The male lead, the female lead, and the side character are all on screen together!" "Lena's so classy. Way better than that gold-digger Evelyn." "Watch Evelyn reject the money and still get clowned!" "Who wouldn't pick the sweet, innocent heroine?" Glancing at Lena's flushed cheeks and the way her eyes stick to Gideon, I almost let out a cold laugh. Then, I turn to the man in front of me and hold up my Venmo QR code. "Sure. Wire it!"

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.