*Camille*

I woke up with Daniele’s face in my mind. His kiss still clung to my lips,  a lie.
I am an idiot.
Something in my gut twisted. A quiet, creeping wrongness I couldn’t name.

Sunlight sliced golden stripes across the bed. My heart fluttered like a secret hummingbird.

I reached for my phone.
Did he even text—

Lena’s name lit the screen. Calling.
I answered, voice still wrapped in sleep. “Hey.”

Her tone cut through everything. “Have you checked Instagram?”

I sat up. “No? Why?”

She didn’t answer.
A second later—ding.
A text.
Screenshot.

Daniele’s profile.
5.7 million followers.

At the top of his feed:
A photo of us near the subway. His hand on my waist. Our faces blurred, but unmistakably close.

The caption?
Not even his voice.

“Have a tiny glimpse of Daniele in a meet-cute…”

It was a promo. For the app.
Putain de merde.

Lena’s voice sliced through again. “The comments are a warzone. Don’t read them.”

Too late.
I already had.

"Who's the dollar-store Lana Del Rey?"

"Bro went from models to meth chic 💀"

"She looks like she smells like wet cigarettes."

"Another clout goblin. Yawn."

"Who’s the basic bitch with Daniele?"

"Bro downgraded HARD."

"Is she wearing trash bags or is that her style lol 💀"

"Bet she can barely stand, or?"

 Someone had photoshopped devil horns onto my head.

Another buzz. Message request.

“You should disappear.”

I put the phone down with the care of someone handling a live blade. It was too late, though; the words had already made their first incisions. My stomach turned. My hands shook.

“Lena…” I whispered, barely making sound.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

*Daniele*

I was staring at the message I’d typed at 3 a.m., the words hovering there, a bruise I couldn’t press down on.

I can’t wait to see you again… there’s something I want to tell you.

No reply.

Nothing.

Did she already see it? Did something happen?

I dragged a hand through my hair, nerves crawling under my skin. I didn’t know how to fix it—not without unraveling everything.

I was reaching for my phone again when Vince popped his head into the room wearing the grin of a smug cartoon villain.

“What’s the panic?”

I bolted upright. The phone slipped off my lap and smacked facedown on the floor.

“You—” My throat burned. My fists clenched. “What the fuck did you do?”

Vince just blinked, as if I’d asked what was for dinner. “Easy. Relax. Engagement’s up three hundred percent overnight.”

The air in my chest turned sharp. “You posted that? That wasn’t even supposed to exist. What the hell was that for?”

He leaned against the doorframe, treating my life like a board meeting instead of a betrayal. “It’s content. Mystery girl with sad eyes and chaotic style? It’s gold, D. Pure engagement bait.”

I stepped toward him, my voice dropping. “Did she know? Did you talk to her?”

Vince let out a short, sharp laugh that grated on my nerves. “What do you mean, ‘did she know’?” He looked at me with a sudden, mocking suspicion. “Are you telling me she didn't recognize you? Come on, Daniele. Don't tell me you're actually falling for the 'clueless girl' routine.”

“Answer me, Vince. Was she in on the post?”

He held my gaze for a beat too long, then gave a small, dismissive shrug. “No.”

He shook his head, still smirking. “But trust me, nobody is that oblivious. She knew exactly whose hand was on her waist.”

I wanted to believe him. I needed to. But the way he looked at me made my skin crawl—like he was hiding the punchline to a joke I wasn't in on yet.

“You broadcast my life as a fucking rollout plan.”

Vince’s smile returned, cold and professional. “You’re welcome. She’s not even verified and now she’s trending.”

Something snapped. I grabbed his phone off the table and threw it. It hit the wall and shattered, the screen splintering into a web of jagged glass.

“Get the fuck out.”

Vince actually blinked then. He saw my face and thought better of saying another word. He left.

The door clicked shut.

I stood there, jaw locked, chest tight, the silence was a loaded gun against my temple

And all I could think was how she’d see it. How she’d think I’d done it to her.

Fuck. I didn’t even get the chance to know her yet.