She shakes her head, color high in her face. “I just left Sinclair, remember? And I’m pregnant. Thelastthing I need is a crush.”
“Right,” I say, smirking. “Because crushes are dangerous. Definitely more dangerous than the comments Ansel will make.”
Her blush deepens. “Exactly.”
From the ladder, Bennett glances down at us. “You two talking about me or Ansel?”
“Yes,” I say, and Blythe groans, hiding behind the swatches.
Blythe glances at me, eyes wide, then slaps a hand over her mouth and bolts for the bathroom. I can’t help the chuckle that slips out. It’s not funny, but the way she hauls ass absolutely is.
Bennett shifts on the ladder, making small talk over his shoulder. “So when’s the infamous Ansel moving out here?” His voice has that teasing lilt, like he already knows she’s going to shake up the whole town.
Blythe reappears, pale but composed, and mumbles as she rounds the corner, “She’ll be here with her U-Haul in two days.”
I grin, already picturing Ansel in this space, dripping sarcasm and questionable commentary. “God help Agave Hills.”
My eyes flick to Blythe with a knowing smirk. “Better brace yourself. She’s… a lot, Ben.”
He states matter-of-factly, “If I can deal with your shit, I am sure I can deal with hers.” He gets back to work.
I pick up some nail polish swatches she is sorting, staring at the bubblegum pink. Ansel, Blythe, and I get to live in my big-ass house. This is the refresh I really need.
Blythe looks up from her sorting, soft but steady. “This is going to be good for you, Stella. For all of us.”
I nod, tucking the swatches back in her hand. “Yeah. Time to get my house full again.”
A notification pings. Not a text—a DM request. From someone I don’t follow.You don’t know everything he’s done.No greeting. No context. Just that. The profile picture is a girl in oversized sunglasses with a tagged photo of her and Elaine from last summer. Molly Adams. Number two, bitch. Elaine’s ride-or-die since they popped out of the womb.
I swipe out of the message, pocket my phone, and wrap Blythe in a quick hug. “Don’t overdo it, babe,” I tell her. She just smiles, still pale from the sprint to the bathroom. Bennett gets a wave as I head out, ladder still in his hands.
By the time I’m in my car, the words are still burning through my mind.
I know exactly what I need to do.
Stella
With Blythe still at the nail studio for a few more hours, I decide at that moment it’s time for me to know the full extent of the deceit I was given.
I pull the card out of the drawer, twirling the elegant paper between my fingers. I set it on the counter, pull out the wine, and pour myself a full glass of liquid courage.
I down it in large gulps and fill it again. I set it aside and grab the card. It’s now or never.
I type in the number, saving it underHomewrecker.
Me:Okay, let’s talk.
The bubbles from the second glass bite at the back of my throat. My pulse is steady, but my hands aren’t. I stare at the card one last time before setting it facedown, like hiding the name will make this feel less like treason.
The message sends, a little green bubble hanging in the quiet of my kitchen. I set my phone on the counter and wait.Not pacing and not moving. Just listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the way my own breathing sounds too loud.
It takes less than a minute.
Homewrecker: Where?
Me:Neutral ground.
Her typing bubble flickers, disappears, and then comes back.
