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Blinding.Rage.
Alcohol couldn’t dull the sound of her voice in my head—bright, sugary, self-satisfied.
He loves me, after all.
Don’t worry if you don’t have a plus one!
My grandmother.My mother.Every boundary erased in a single email.I shut my eyes, counted to ten, and still saw red.
I took another swing of the bottle.God, she was such a bitch.Heartless, spineless bitch.Trembling hands moved to shut the laptop when an ad appeared to the right of the screen.The background was a deep plum purple with the messy drawing of the large outline of a heart in sizzling, hot pink.
Qupid
Meet Your Match.
The stupid ad had been popping up everywhere I turned for weeks.One accidental click, and now the algorithm was haunting me with dating apps—as if I needed the reminder that I was now single.
In flashing lights, the slogan blinked back at me:
Because soulmates are only a click away.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
But as the wine hummed in my veins and my pulse slowed into something dangerous, the idea took shape.
I didn’t want a soulmate.
I wanted a show.
I wanted Chase to see me with someone who made him choke on his regrets.I wanted Lori to think I had the treasure when all she got was the trash.Someone irresistible.Charming.Parent-approved.Someone who looked at me like I was the only woman in the world—or the best mistake they ever made.
My fingers hovered over the trackpad.Was the wine clouding my judgement?Yes.Was I going to go through with this anyway?Also yes.
After that email—after the viral video—there was no way in hell I was showing up to that wedding alone.
One click.Just one.
“Don't worry, Lori,” I whispered, clicking on the ad with much-renewed focus.“Looks like I'll use that plus one after all.”
Waking up with the worst hangover of my life was a harsh reminder of why I didn’t drink.Still, I didn't have any regrets that morning;especiallyafter reading that email again.
Between classes and caffeine, I’d gone through the app’s profiles with the same precision I used to analyze everything—logic, emotional detachment, and my trusty whiteboard.
And logic narrowed my selection down to one man: Benji Won.
Clean-cut.Confident.The kind of man who looked like he belonged on a university brochure or the front page ofForbes Under 30.His pictures were curated perfection:
— crisp cream suit with a smile like polished marble in a glass office;
— tanned and windswept on a yacht somewhere in Santorini;
— laughing with friends over whiskey;
— and one shirtless gym photo that screamed,I do charity work but also have abs.
