My boyfriend had a secret account just to bitch about me.
“She never shuts the damn bathroom door when she showers—turns our place into a sauna.”
“New set of claws every week. My back’s a damn war zone.”
People in the comments told him to dump me. He went apeshit on them.
“Break up? Who the hell are you?”
“Trying to slide in the moment I’m single? Say your name, coward.”
Next day, someone calmly replied:
“Evan Pierce.”
Mason didn’t reply after that.
Because Evan Pierce? Yeah. That’s my first love. The one he’s always been jealous of.
It was hot.
The kind of hot that made your skin feel raw, especially when someone’s mouth was right there, teeth grazing that one sore spot.
I barely opened my eyes, my fingers already tangled in Mason’s hair.
“What the hell are you doing now?”
Yesterday he said he wanted to celebrate our 100th-day anniversary and didn’t stop until I was practically crying. What now?
He poked his stupidly gorgeous face out from under the blanket, wearing that smug, puppy-dog smile.
“Today’s our 101st. That doesn’t deserve a little celebration too, babe?”
God, I was already annoyed.
I lifted my leg to kick him off me—he caught my ankle with those damn strong hands.
This clingy mess. Last night he wouldn’t stop even after I told him ten times.
And just like that, the doorbell rang. Loud and obnoxious.
I was already seething.
Slap. My hand smacked across his cheek.
“Go get the damn door. And stop annoying me.”
Mason stayed kneeling at the edge of the bed, head turned where my palm landed. His eyes went from blissed out to stunned real quick.
Truth be told—he was sweet. He used to be a club rat, but ever since we got together, he’s been tied up in an apron, cooking my favorite shit like a househusband.
…Maybe that slap was a bit much.
“I…”
He opened his mouth, but then just pulled on some shorts and walked out without looking back.
I sighed, then turned to see his phone buzzing on the nightstand.
Unlocked.
I don’t know what possessed me, but I tapped the screen—and there it was. A burner account I’d never seen.
Full of complaints. All about me.
“She never shuts the damn door when she showers…”
“Same body wash, but how come she smells better than anyone?”
“Always making me start it. Gets old.”
It went on. Post after post. From the day we started dating.
So that’s how he really felt.
No wonder he fucked me like he was saying goodbye last night.
I put his phone back and dragged myself up.
Mason was slouched on the couch, tossing a package on the coffee table, arms draped across the backrest, half-asleep and probably spiraling.
He opened his eyes slowly when he heard me.
“You’re up?”
I didn’t answer. Just crossed my arms and stared at him.
“Mason. Get on your knees. I want to apologize.”
Halfway through my sentence, he was already kneeling at my feet.
If he had a tail, it’d be wagging like crazy.
God help me if his dumbass friends ever saw this—they’d roast him for years.
He crawled in between my legs like a golden retriever, looking up at me.
“Are you still sore? Want me to kiss it better?”
I smacked his hand away and took a deep breath.
One thing at a time. Apologize, then break up.
“I shouldn’t have hit you earlier.”
“And… this thing between us? I think it’s done.”
Mason blinked. His expression shifted—less hurt, more “wait, what?”
I stood, legs still a little weak from last night. But his hands came down, pressing me right back onto the bed.
His fingers started drawing circles on my lower back, right at that spot that drives me insane. His voice dropped, soft and cheeky.
“So… you think the other cheek deserves a slap too?”
I swear to God—I’ve lost my damn mind.
Mason managed to coax me into another round. By the time I came to, it was already dark.
He was in the kitchen, wearing nothing but an apron, grilling fish like he hadn’t just ruined my spine.
I grabbed my phone, typed in the username burned into my brain—Kestrel.
It was a spin on my name. Subtle. Smug.
A new post had gone up thirty minutes ago.
“New manicure. Her claws shredded my back again.”
The photo? His back—scratched to hell, courtesy of me.
The comments were blowing up:
“Look at this dude flexing again. Doesn’t he ever get tired?”
“If she’s so annoying, just dump her already.”
“LMAO y’all are new here. Anyone who tells him to break up gets roasted alive.”
“You think he’s complaining? Nah. This is love, baby.”
Still, someone had the nerve to drop one word:
“Leave.”
My stomach twisted.
Could it be? Was this account… not just for venting—but also for flexing?
I was about to scroll more when I saw it:
Mason’s reply.
“Leave us? Who the fuck are you?”
“Trying to swoop in, huh? Say your name.”
I peeked into the kitchen.
Mason was still stirring something in the pan with one hand, typing on his phone with the other, eyes glued to the screen.
When he saw me, he shoved the phone into his pocket like he was hiding a crime.
“You’re up. You hungry?”
I rested my cheek in my palm and stared at him.
Just days ago, I was dead set on dumping this man.
Now? I wasn’t so sure.
But Mason? He was clearly distracted. Kept checking the damn comments like it was his job.
I pretended not to notice and cleaned my plate like I hadn’t just gone through a mini emotional breakdown.
And I thought that was the end of it.
Until I got a friend request right before bed.
The message?
“It’s Evan Pierce.”
Everyone thought Evan and I dated in college.
We kind of did—if you count the two weeks between us getting together and him getting shipped off to Europe by his cold-ass family. No warning. No goodbye. Just a ticket and a “you’ll thank us later.”
I deleted his number that same day. Never looked back.
But now?
Now he just sent me a friend request. After all these years.
And Mason?
I didn’t even hear him sneak up behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist like muscle memory, chin nudging the crook of my neck like a goddamn house cat.
“What’re you lookin’ at, babe?”
His voice was soft, but I could feel his eyes all over my phone screen. Nosy little shit.
My heart jumped. I yanked the blanket up and buried myself under it like I was thirteen again.
“Too late. Go to sleep. I’ve got a college reunion tomorrow.”
Sleep was a mess. Mason got up a few times, wandering around the living room barefoot with his phone like he was plotting a murder—or more likely, subtweeting me on that damn burner account.
I didn’t care enough to stop him.
When morning came, I rolled over and looked at him sleeping. Those thick lashes were fluttering like he was having a full-on soap opera dream. So dramatic, even in his sleep.
I quietly slipped out of bed. Still groggy, brushing my teeth, when my phone buzzed.
Text message.
From Evan Pierce.
“You’re coming to the reunion, right?”
Fuck. I must’ve hit “accept” on his request without realizing it last night.
Why now? Why after all this time?
I sat in my chair, spinning slowly, lost in thought.
One of the interns across from me passed over a form. “You look hot today, Rae. Got a date?”
My pen paused.
That’s what Mason said this morning too. Same exact words. But his tone… it had a little something extra in it. Something bitter.
I handed the paper back, glanced down at my outfit.
Maybe, deep down, I was hoping I’d see Evan.
I didn’t get to chase that thought for long—my phone buzzed again. This time it was Sophie.
Only person who knew the full story.
“Girl. You will NOT believe who I just saw.”
My stomach tightened.
“Evan Pierce.”
“He’s back. He’s coming tonight. Word is he’s still single. You think he’s been waiting for you?”
Time flew, and I was pulling out of the garage to pick Sophie up when Mason’s name popped up on the dash.
“You’re still going to that college thing?”
I sighed. This again?
“Yeah. I told you. No plus-ones allowed.”
He’d tried to tag along earlier, whining like a kid who got left out of a field trip.
“But I’m your plus-one, babe…”
I rolled my eyes and hit the gas. “It’s happening. What’s up?”
Silence for a beat. Then his voice came through, breathless, anxious.
“Is Evan gonna be there?”
“You’re not seriously asking that.”
“You’re going to see him, aren’t you?”
Jesus.
“Mason, don’t start.”
I didn’t have the energy for his jealousy. I’d been neck-deep in deadlines all day and was this close to throwing my phone out the window.
I hung up before he could spiral further.
Sophie side-eyed me and smacked her lips. “He’s clingy. Told you.”
Mason was five years younger than me. Party boy turned househusband. Sophie never trusted that shit.
But the way he’d settled into domestic life? The way he cooked and cleaned like we were playing house? Kinda made me question everything.
Sophie kept going. “Maybe Evan came back for you. Heard he flipped on his parents after graduation—ditched the trust fund, started his own thing with some hotshot international team.”
I didn’t want to care. But her voice kept drilling into my head.
Evan had always been that icy, untouchable guy. Unless you were group-project-lucky, you didn’t even get close enough to smell his cologne.
And yet… on Christmas Eve, he’d waited outside my dorm in the snow just to hand me a damn apple.
People thought I knew him best.
Truth is, I never really did.
The streets were packed—graduation week chaos. Teenagers running wild, cars crawling, parking lots full.
By the time we found a spot and walked into the restaurant, I was sweating like hell.
And then I saw him.
Evan.
Blue button-down, sleeves rolled halfway. One button undone at the top. His forearms had just enough veins to make you bite your lip without meaning to.
“Finally,” someone called. “Just waiting on you two.”
They shoved me into the seat next to him like I hadn’t spent hours debating whether to show.
I tried to play it cool. “Boyfriend nearly locked me in the apartment. So damn clingy.”
Evan’s hand froze midair, holding a glass of water. His eyes didn’t meet mine.
Yeah, I had a boyfriend. Two before Mason, actually. Monogamy was never my brand. I’m a grown woman with needs, not some nun waiting for the one.
“Still dating that college kid?” someone blurted.
Evan’s jaw twitched.
I took a sip. “That one’s old news.”
Things went awkwardly quiet. I reached for my phone—then realized I’d left it in the car.
I was mid-thought when a familiar hand slid a piece of meat onto my plate.
Braised pork. My favorite. Perfect ratio of fat to lean. Drenched in sauce.
Evan’s voice was smooth. “This place does it right. You’ve lost weight.”
Back in college, my food budget barely covered Cup Noodles. Whenever he ordered pork, he never touched it. Always passed it to me.
I was about to say something when the front door flew open.
Mason.
He was panting like he’d sprinted a mile. Sat down behind me with the flair of a man about to make a scene.
His breath hit my neck as he leaned in. “Too bad. She hates braised pork now.”
“Smells make her gag.”
Evan didn’t even blink. He picked up a napkin, wiped his fingers, voice like ice.
“Oh really? Maybe someone’s cooking just sucks. Being young doesn’t mean you know how to take care of a woman.”
Evan was never much of a talker. Even back when we were in deep, he kept his words sharp and minimal—definitely not the sweet-talk type.
But that night? That man had venom on his tongue.
His voice cut through the restaurant like a slap to the face. Every head turned. Hell, even the dogs walking past outside probably paused to listen.
Mason? Firecracker temper, spoiled since birth, never been challenged. He shoved back his chair, fists clenched, ready to swing.
I shot up and got between them. Great. A college reunion turned boxing match—just what I needed on my résumé.
“Mason, you seriously came all this way just to pick a fight?”
His fist froze mid-air. But damn, his grip tightened like he was about to punch the table instead. The rage in his eyes? Boiling. No trace of the guy who fed me strawberries in bed the night before.
“You’re defending him?”
The waitstaff had already rotated through three servers. They weren’t even pretending to hide the fact they were just there for the drama.
I grabbed Mason’s arm to pull him back, but he yanked away like I’d burned him.
“You’re defending him, Raven?” His voice cracked, loud enough to echo off the glass windows. “Seriously?!”
I couldn’t even get a word in. I looked like a deer in headlights.
He didn’t get the answer he wanted, so he stormed out.
I waved weakly at Sophie and ran after him.
Well. That’s that. Guess I’m blacklisted from future reunions.
And considering it took me nearly two hours in traffic to get here from work, I’m guessing Mason did closer to three. That man crossed half the damn city just to blow up like a nuclear warhead.
For what?
Mason’s car was already gone.
I jogged to mine, popped the back door, grabbed my phone and texted Sophie a quick update. Then I checked my missed calls.
Thirteen.
I called him back. Straight to voicemail.
Whatever.
I was just about to leave when someone slid up beside me—quiet as a ghost.
It was Evan.
“You okay?”
He blinked all innocent, like he wasn’t the one who threw the first verbal grenade.
“I just came to check. Didn’t want him to hit you.”
Yeah. Funny thing about Mason—he only gets violent in bed.
I didn’t say that out loud, obviously. Just pressed my lips together and watched Evan open the passenger door like he owned the car.
Long-ass legs stepped in, seatbelt clicked, no hesitation.
“I live kinda far, you don’t have to—”
“Convenient detour,” he said, deadpan, already reclining his seat like it was a limo.
I hadn’t seen this level of shameless from Evan back in college. Guess seven years and some European dirt really changed a man.
Mason still wasn’t answering my calls. No surprise there. He probably broke a vase or punched a wall. Or posted another melodramatic rant on his burner account.
I opened my social media feed and scrolled to the back-scratch pic he’d posted last night. Found the thread again. And at the bottom, a new comment.
One word. Plain as hell.
Evan.
I nearly dropped my phone.
Before I could react, Evan tapped the back of my hand. His fingers were cold. His voice, smooth as sin.
“Green light, Raven.”
I blinked, shoved the car into drive. “R-right. Where am I dropping you off?”
He didn’t answer. Just propped his chin on his hand and stared at me like I was a fucking art exhibit.
The silence stretched.
Then, low and slow, he asked, “Do I still make you nervous?”
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