It felt like forever since she had gotten out of bed.
Although the sun was bright outside, her room remained dark. The curtains were drawn, the lights were off, and the duvet was pulled over her body like a shield. She looked like a vampire hiding from the sun.
But she was not a vampire.
She was a meme.
Not the funny kind. Not the harmless kind people laughed at for a day and forgot by dinner. No. She had become the kind of meme the internet sharpened its teeth on. The kind people reposted with cruel captions, and mean opinions. The kind that made it seem as though the entire world had agreed to hate her at once.
Eris Endellion.
Five years ago, her name had meant something.
She had been one of the most famous social media influencers in the country. Beauty, food, fashion, fitness, sports—whatever she touched became content, and whatever became content became gold. Brand deals had once piled up on her table faster than she could sign them. She had taken more than a thousand selfies with fans on random afternoons, smiled through flashing cameras, posed at openings, launches, campaigns, and charity dinners.
She had been the girl other girls wanted to be. The It Girl.
So where had it all gone wrong?
Oh, she knew.
Camilla. Another It Girl.
Calling what they had a friendship would have been too generous. It had been more like two pretty leeches clinging to each other in public, smiling for cameras, and pretending they were sisters. They both needed the followers. They both wanted that soft best-friend image for their autobiographies.
Then, four days ago, Camilla had set the whole illusion on fire.
She posted that Eris was a man-stealer. Out of all the men in the world, Camilla had written, Eris had chosen hers. And as if that had not been enough, Camilla leaked a private recording of Eris insulting other influencers—mocking their brands, their fake accents, and their relationships. Suddenly, every whisper Eris had ever said in private became proof that she was rotten.
But the worst had happened the previous night.
Eris had decided to be the bigger person. She put on an expensive white dress, fixed her makeup, swallowed the humiliation, and attended a beauty event with her head held high. She thought showing up would prove she had nothing to hide.
Instead, she was slapped. Wine was thrown across her dress. Her hair was grabbed, pulled, yanked like she was some senseless doll in front of influencers, guests, and phones that never stopped recording.
For one foolish second, she thought people would finally see her as the victim. But she was wrong. The world clapped, pointed at her and screamed that she deserved it.
Inside the duvet, however, it was quiet. Eris wanted to stay there forever. But the universe had other plans.
The bedroom door opened softly, and her mother stepped inside carrying a plate of sliced fruit.
"It's noon," her mother said gently. "You already skipped breakfast. Please have some fruit."
Her voice sounded calm, but her eyes betrayed her. She looked like a woman watching strength drain from her beautiful daughter day by day and having no idea how to stop it.
"I just want to sleep," Eris muttered from under the duvet. Her voice was dry and cracked from crying all night. "Don't force things into me."
"I know you want me out of your apartment," her mother said. "But I won't let you be alone on an empty stomach. Finish this plate, and I'll leave."
For a moment, nothing moved. Then the duvet shifted and Eris emerged slowly.
Her dark circles were terrible. Her hair was wild and tangled from a sleepless night. Her face looked smaller somehow, as though grief had carved pieces out of her while she slept.
She reached for a slice of apple and took a bite. She chewed slowly.
They said patience was a virtue, but her mother had run out of it.
"Eris, please eat." Her voice tightened. "Do you think those people will care if you die? They won't. If anything, they'll use it as proof that all the rumors were true."
Her eyes shimmered.
"I just want you to live. For you. Not for them. Not for anybody else."
Eris stared down at the plate.
"I just…" Her voice broke. "I don't know who I am anymore."
Her mother's face softened.
"You are Eris Endellion," she said firmly. "The most amazing human being I know. You are not worthless. And you don't have to prove that to anyone."
She picked up another piece of apple and pushed it gently toward Eris's mouth.
"Time will come when you'll have to get out of bed and face the world again," she continued. "It's not today. But it will be soon."
Twenty minutes later, the fruit was gone. And Eris was alone in her room again. Only this time, she was no longer in bed. She walked to the window and parted the curtains with her fingers. Sunlight slipped into the room.
Outside, the city stretched on as usual, cars moved, people rushed somewhere important. Nothing had changed. The city before the rumors and the city after the rumors were exactly the same.
Eris let out a slow breath.
"It never mattered," she whispered.
Her fingers tightened around the curtain.
"I don't matter."
...
ONE MONTH LATER
The Hill was a small middle town, four hours from the countryside and two hours from the city.
It was the kind of place people could drive past without realizing they had missed something beautiful. Flowers bloomed everywhere—along fences, around porches, and between stone paths. Music drifted through the streets during the day, and at night, fireflies blinked between the trees.
The sunset was the same sunset seen everywhere else. But somehow, in The Hill, it looked prettier.
...
At exactly six in the morning, an alarm clock began to beep.
A well-manicured hand emerged from beneath the sheets, reaching blindly for the snooze button. But before the mission could be completed—
Bang!
Someone slammed a fist against the door.
It was not a polite knock. It was heavy enough to make the door tremble, as though the hand behind it was made of hard wood.
"Don't press snooze!" a masculine voice shouted from the hallway. "Wake up!"
Lanelle pushed the sheets off her face.
Her eyes opened slowly. Early morning, and she was already annoyed. Sometimes, she wondered if she even needed the alarm clock at all.
…
Thirty minutes later, Lanelle was ready to go.
She wore a light blue nurse's uniform neatly pressed against her figure, her long braids twisted into a bun at the back of her head. Her bag rested on one shoulder while her car keys dangled from her fingers.
She was the last person left in the apartment.
Before leaving, she made sure to lock the front door properly. Living above a restaurant in the middle of town meant people were always moving around downstairs. The Hill was peaceful, but peaceful didn't mean careless.
She hurried down the staircase and entered the restaurant below.
The smell of bread, coffee, and fried eggs immediately wrapped around her like an old familiar blanket.
Her brothers were already working.
Meshack, the eldest, stood behind one of the tables wiping it down with a towel. He was gigantic—broad shoulders, thick arms, and intimidating enough to make strangers think twice before speaking too loudly in his presence.
Duante, the second-born, was at the fridge arranging bottled drinks in neat rows. Unlike Meshack's heavy build, Duante had an athletic physique, tall and agile with the restless energy of someone who never truly ran out of battery.
"Morning," Meshack greeted brightly.
"Which one of you banged on my door this morning?" Lanelle asked immediately, narrowing her eyes at Duante.
He looked exactly like the type to violently wake people up before sunrise. But Duante pointed at himself in offense.
"Not me."
"It was me today," Meshack admitted calmly.
Lanelle blinked.
"You?" She laughed softly. "I should sell my alarm clock then. You two are louder and more punctual than it."
"A nurse should never be late," Meshack replied.
His tone carried humor, but underneath it sat something deeper.
Years ago, when Meshack had been a high school senior, Duante a freshman, and Lanelle still in middle school, the brothers had noticed something very early: Their little sister was frighteningly smart. And with their family's shaky finances at the time, difficult choices had to be made.
Instead of all three siblings struggling through college halfway, Meshack and Duante decided it was better to fully support one dream properly. Lanelle's.
They worked longer hours at the restaurant, sacrificed opportunities, and stretched every dollar they had to send her to nursing school. To them, it had been an investment. And thankfully, it paid off.
Now Lanelle worked as a nurse in one of the biggest nursing homes in the city, while Meshack and Duante successfully kept the family restaurant alive after their parents retired back to the countryside.
The siblings still lived together in the same building—the apartment upstairs, the restaurant downstairs. It made life cheaper. And lonelier days shorter.
The front door suddenly swung open and Yuster rushed inside like somebody was chasing her. Before saying a single word, she bent over with both hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
She wore the same blue nurse's uniform as Lanelle.
Yuster had only one serious flaw in life: She possessed a PhD in being late.
"I'm right on time, right?" she panted dramatically.
"Yes, geez," Duante laughed.
"Thank God." She straightened quickly and grabbed Lanelle's wrist. "Let's go."
"See you later, guys," Lanelle said as they headed out.
"Don't kill anybody," Meshack joked.
"I'll try my best," Lanelle replied dryly.
Outside, the morning town's air felt crisp and fresh. Flower baskets hung from balconies, bicycles rolled lazily along the sidewalks, and somewhere nearby, soft music played from an open shop window. The town always felt awake in the gentlest way possible.
Lanelle and Yuster climbed into their car.
It was Lanelle's turn to drive.
The vehicle had taken years to afford. During nursing school, the two friends had saved money obsessively—part-time jobs, skipped luxuries, wore secondhand clothes, and ate homemade meals. Eventually, they managed to buy the car together. Half-half.
And according to their very serious agreement, whoever got married first automatically lost ownership rights. Unfortunately—or fortunately depending on perspective—it was taking forever for either of them to qualify.
Yuster buckled her seatbelt dramatically.
"At this point," she sighed, "we might grow old together and pass this car down to our grandchildren."
"You'd first need a boyfriend," Lanelle pointed out while starting the engine.
Yuster gasped loudly.
"That was violent."
"It was honest."
"I could get a man anytime I want."
"Then why haven't you?"
Yuster folded her arms. "Because the dating pool is contaminated."
Lanelle laughed quietly as the car rolled onto the street.
...
A truck pulled up outside the restaurant.
The back was loaded with large basins full of fresh seafood. Crabs crawled over each other, octopuses shifted lazily in shallow water, and silver fish flickered beneath the morning light.
The driver's door opened and Deborah climbed out. Everyone in town called her Deb.
She was the fisherman's daughter—the woman who inherited her father's seafood business after his passing and somehow expanded it into one of the most reliable supply businesses in the region. She delivered seafood to restaurants across both The Hill and the city, but the brothers' restaurant always came first.
Priority customers.
She looked young, almost deceptively so, but nobody questioned her capability anymore. Deb had long proven herself to be one of the smartest businesswomen in town.
Today, she wore her usual work clothes: a white T-shirt beneath oversized denim overalls and black plastic boots splashed with dried seawater stains. Her hair was tucked beneath a faded cap.
She was effortlessly beautiful. And absolutely allergic to compliments.
Meshack stepped outside carrying two empty buckets.
"Morning," he greeted first.
"Morning." Deb smiled. "How's business?"
"That depends on what's in the trunk." Meshack walked closer and peered inside. "Let's see."
There was no need for him to tiptoe. The truck bed sat at the perfect height.
Seafood splashed against the water. Fresh and lively. Exactly the kind of sight he loved.
"You like what you see?" Deb asked with amusement.
"I love what I see."
He handed her one bucket.
"I'll take the crabs in this one." He lifted the second bucket. "Squid and octopus here."
"Yes, sir."
Deb began filling the buckets with practiced ease.
Inside the restaurant, however, Duante was struggling through his own private war. He peeked through the doorway, saw Deb and immediately hid again, with one hand pressed against his chest while he silently inhaled.
He was so painfully in love with her that standing too close sometimes made him fear he would accidentally confess everything.
"Duante!" Meshack shouted from outside. "We need another bucket, bro!"
Duante closed his eyes briefly. It was now or never. He grabbed the bucket beside him and finally stepped outside.
The morning wind brushed against his face, cooling the nervous sweat forming along his neck.
"Morning, Duante," Deb greeted brightly without even looking at him. She remained focused on sorting the seafood.
"Hi, Deb," he replied.
"Deb's telling me she found a tenant," Meshack announced.
"Great," Duante said automatically. "When's he coming?"
"It's a she," Deb corrected. "And she's moving in today."
Duante handed her the third bucket and watched quietly as she filled it with squid. Her movements were efficient. Like somebody who belonged near the sea more than land.
When the bucket was full, Duante carried it inside before returning for another. By the time he came back out, Meshack was already counting the money.
He handed the payment to Deb.
"Thank you for doing business with us," Deb said proudly.
"Thank you for bringing us the good stuff."
Duante immediately looked away. Because he knew what came next. Meshack leaned forward and kissed Deb gently on the lips. Duante's jaw tightened almost invisibly.
Yeah.
They were dating.
And unfortunately, Duante was catastrophically in love with his brother's girlfriend. Deb was older than him, and he had loved her for so long that sometimes it felt woven into his bloodstream.
Their family had moved to The Hill twenty years ago.
Duante still remembered the exact moment he first saw her. Their moving truck had driven past her father's house. A younger Deb had been outside helping untangle fishing nets while yelling at somebody near the dock.
He had been a child. And somehow, even then, he knew. Over the years, he blamed himself constantly for never speaking first. If he had been braver…If he had been faster…Maybe he would have been the one kissing her now. And somehow, the more unreachable she became, the more he wanted her.
Deb climbed back into her truck, and shortly after, the engine rumbled alive.
Meshack stood there watching her leave with a grin so stupidly happy it almost hurt to witness.
"Can't get enough of that woman," he admitted shamelessly.
He sounded bewitched. Hopelessly in love.
Duante forced a smile.
"It's a good thing, right?"
"Of course it's a good thing."
The brothers picked up the buckets and carried them toward the kitchen.
"If that new tenant is your type," Meshack continued casually, "you should go for it."
"First of all, I don't have a type."
"You do. You just don't know it yet. Everybody has a type."
"Having a type is why most people get disappointed." Duante shrugged. "A person should stay open-minded."
"You?" Meshack laughed loudly. "Weren't you obsessed with that celebrity at some point?"
Duante nearly stumbled.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You had her poster in your room, bro."
"No, I didn't."
"She was literally your phone wallpaper for months."
"I seriously think you dreamt that."
Meshack burst into laughter.
And despite everything—despite the secret lodged painfully inside Duante's chest—they still had the kind of brotherhood most people envied. Mostly because Duante worked very hard to keep it that way.
***