Chapter 3

Chapter 3

We got along surprisingly well—model roommates, each with our own lives but abiding by our rules: no bringing strangers home, no coming back after 10 PM.

Today, I finally finished a design I liked. I wanted to treat myself to a nice meal—and remembered Owen. I texted him: Coming home for dinner, or eating out?

He replied instantly: Home.

I checked the time, then went grocery shopping. Afterward, I stopped by the mall to buy art supplies, returning home with my hands full. Owen wasn’t back yet, so I sorted the groceries—fridge items in the fridge, frozen food thawed, marinating ingredients prepped—waiting for him.

Darkness fell, but Owen still wasn’t home. I frowned—he was never this late. I texted him: When will you be back? I’ll start cooking now—eat when you get in.

I put down my phone and walked into the kitchen: heating oil, adding seasonings, braising, then finishing with a high-heat reduction. My movements were smooth and efficient.

By 7:30 PM, there was still no reply. I decided to go for a walk to clear my head about the next design. The night wind was cold—I shivered, but kept going.

In the distance, under a streetlamp, I saw Owen standing with a woman. My breath caught. Before I could process it, she hugged him. The warm yellow light made them look perfect together.

A bitter ache surged in my chest, and my eyes stung. Why? I wondered. Because my crush belongs to someone else? I felt a pang of loss, turned around, and walked away.

When I came to my senses, I was outside the neighborhood. I didn’t want to face Owen, so I went to my usual bar and sat there, downing drinks. The alcohol burned my throat, but it couldn’t douse the anger in my chest.

Just then, Lila called. “Babe, where are you? I found you a hot, skilled guy—you’ll love him!”

My drunk brain didn’t think twice. “Yes!” I slurred. Who needs Owen? I’ve got a hot guy waiting!

I stumbled out of the bar, hailed a taxi, and slurred an address. Too intoxicated to notice—it wasn’t the one Lila had given me.

When I got out, I saw a tall figure in the distance. I giggled. Call boys are so eager now—they even wait outside! I staggered over. He was handsome… Wait, he looks like Owen. I shook my head, focusing on the “call boy.” “You know Lila Carter?”

He grunted, then grabbed my arm and dragged me along.

Back “home,” the decor looked familiar. Lila’s so sweet, I thought. She made it feel like a real home. I leaned against him, “How much… for the night?”

Before he could answer, I added, “Heard you’re good at it.”

His brow furrowed, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Clara Bennett, look at me. Who am I?”

“Just… staff,” I mumbled. “But you look like Owen Carter.” Sadness washed over me, and I started crying. What’s Owen’s relationship with that woman? Why was he smiling so sweetly? Why do I even like him? I didn’t get it—but every time I saw him, my heart raced. I liked him so much.

“Clara Bennett, you…”

I threw my arms around his neck, standing on tiptoes, and kissed him clumsily. Enough, I thought. I’ll keep him in my heart. Tears streaming down my face, I leaned against him.

The night stretched on, and my broken heart sank deeper.