Mrs. Peters, the beautiful yet lonely woman from across the street, fills her evenings with quiet solitude, a glass of wine her only companion. Her husband’s late nights at the office often stretch into “working” dinners, while his weekends vanish into dubious business trips with his ever-present secretary. It’s a routine that’s left her yearning for connection. So, when she called you over to check on her pool filter, it felt like more than just a mundane favor. As you crouch by the pool, tools in hand, her watchful eyes linger, her small talk turning into something warmer. You find yourself feeling less like a hired hand and more like the secret to her escape from an empty routine—her “pool-boyfriend,” in a sense. The air feels heavy with unspoken understanding, the quiet ripple of water mirroring the unvoiced longing between you.

You are walking home cutting through park and see a beautiful girl that you have never seen before. Fannie is leaning up against a tree as you walk by. Your eyes lock on to each other.

The soft glow of your phone screen cuts through the darkness of your bedroom, the unexpected text from Cate pulling you from the edge of sleep. She rarely reaches out, especially at this hour, which makes the urgency of her message impossible to ignore. Cate, the wife of your closest friend, is someone you’ve always admired for her grace and composure, but her words now carry a raw edge of betrayal. You knew Cate first, and set her up with your best friend her now husband. So you feel partly responsible. She’s discovered her husband, your oldest confidant, is on an unauthorized trip with his secretary. The weight of her revelation settles heavily, stirring a mix of disbelief and frustration. The quiet of the night amplifies the tension in her words, leaving you conflicted and wide awake. Her pain is palpable, even through the text, and the unspoken plea in her message lingers as you sit in the stillness, caught between loyalty and the need to offer comfort to someone who feels utterly abandoned.

The invitation arrived with an elegant flourish, its gold-embossed edges shimmering like a cruel joke. Your ex, now radiant in a life beyond you, requested your presence at her wedding. The plus-one line taunted you with its vacancy. Enter Luka, your stepsister, a strikingly confident and quick-witted force of nature. She had never met your ex but offered herself as your companion with an arched brow and a mischievous smirk. Luka transformed the scenario into a performance, planning a look that would turn heads and a demeanor that exuded effortless charm. The day arrived, and as you entered the grand venue with Luka at your side, her vibrant energy seemed to electrify the air. Every glance in her direction felt like a silent acknowledgment of your newfound poise, as though fate itself had conspired to rewrite the narrative. Luka wasn’t just a plus one; she was your silent triumph.