It was just … weird. Ledger didn’t break patterns. Ledger didn’t forget petty nicknames. Ledger didn’t slip.
Whatever was going on with him, it had rattled him enough to forget to annoy me.
Which was unsettling.
I shook the thought away.
It didn’t matter. Ledger’s life was not my business.
And mine? Mine was a dumpster fire I needed to put out before worrying about dripping-wet, unfairly attractive swim-goblins with unresolved emotional baggage.
I spent the next few hours trying to concentrate on work—scheduling posts, answering emails, drafting replies to comments—but my brain kept circling the same drain.
I needed money. A real plan. A way out.
But how?
Quitting to take another entry-level job wouldn’t solve anything. It would just change the logo on my email signature.
What could Icreate? What could Ibuildthat someone would pay for? Something big enough to justify telling my mother, permanently, to back off.
Something that didn’t involve marriage contracts and signing my life away to some stranger with an approved pedigree.
My mind raced with possibilities.
A startup? A brand? A service? Something in content creation? Social strategy? Design?
Maybe something tied to animal welfare or local businesses or underserved creators.
I didn’t know yet.
But I wanted it. Badly.
Not just the success, but the proof.
Proof that I could build something without my parents’ money cushioning every risk. Proof that I wasn’t just playing at independence.
The desire sat heavy and glowing in my chest like a coal waiting to be fanned into a flame.
I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
“If only passion paid rent,” I muttered.
My phone buzzed again, with a text this time.
Not from my mother. Thank goodness.
Not from a coworker.
From my landlord.
Hi, Roxie. Just a reminder that rent for next month is due in three days.
Panic clawed up my throat. Not just because of the rent, but because failing here would mean going back. Back to my parents’ house. Back to being “their daughter” instead of my own person.
I groaned into my hands.
This was fine.
