I’m scrollingthrough my messages, deleting the ones I don’t need anymore when I come acrossUnknown.
It’s been few days since my accidental mystery flirt, and I’ve officially dubbed it aOne Night Send.
A flurry of clever texts. A deeply unnecessary emotional overshare. A digital vanishing act.
Classic.
No follow-up. No “hey, you were kind of great.” No “sorry I rage-texted into the void like a rejected poetry major.”
Just radio silence.
And that’s fine.
Totally fine.
Absolutely, definitively, irreversibly…
Whatever.
I still catch myself glancing at my phone more often than I should—like I’m waiting for a text that clearly isn’t coming from a number that may or may not have belonged to a heartbroken man with excellent punctuation.
But I can’t afford to spiral tonight.
Tonight, I have to look like vengeance in heels.
Asher Cross’s party—the event of the summer according to Jeremy—is not the kind of place you show up emotionally rumpled.
So I armor up.
Black satin dress, sculpted to stun. A neckline that could start rumors and end careers. Sleek silver heels that scream money and menace. Opera-length gloves fordrama. A diamond bracelet that used to belong to my grandmother—and now belongs to my revenge arc.
Structured waves. Winged liner. Red lipstick with the emotional maturity of a blood oath.
By the time Maya texts that she’s outside, I look like I’ve been summoned, not invited.
I grab my clutch and head down.
Jeremy’s already sprawled across the back seat, one arm draped across his forehead “Finally,” he says dramatically—then stops. Stares. Blinks. “Okay, wow. I was ready to roast you for being late, but now I’m just trying to remember how the English language works.”
“A wise woman once said: if you can’t be on time, at least be iconic.” I slide in beside him and buckle my seatbelt.
“You’re both. I’m terrified,” he says, still staring. “You look like the love child of Ava Gardner and high-level vengeance. And I support that for you.”
The Uber glides away from the curb, the city lights sliding across the windows like a prelude to something cinematic.
From the front seat, Maya twists and looks back at us like she’s already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.
“Okay, but seriously—we need an escape plan if things go sideways. I amnotgetting stuck in a karaoke cult again.”
Jeremy sighs. “Escape plan? Please. This isn’t a heist. It’s an Asher Cross party. If anything, we need a stunt coordinator and a SWAT team.”
“I need a taser,” Maya mutters. “Last time I got separated from you two at a party like this, I ended up in a makeshift cabana getting my shoulders rubbed by a guy namedTréwho said we were cosmically aligned because we both bite string cheese instead of pulling it apart. He sent me unsolicited dick pics for months.”
“Oh my God, Tré,” Jeremy sighs wistfully. “He was fun. You’re too judgmental.”
“He used hisman bunto mop up his drink, Jeremy.”
“Eco-conscious king,” he counters.
