Just Pretend

Chapter 3

Just Pretend - Chapter 3



The air outside was colder than when she arrived.

Her only source of warmth—the sweater—was soaked and stuffed into a bag. By the time Evelyn Carter reached her apartment door, she felt like she was moving in a body that no longer belonged to her. She unlocked the door, stepping inside, but before she could stop herself, her gaze flickered toward the door across the hall.

At this hour, the guy next door probably wasn’t back yet.

Most nights, it was past two or three in the morning when he returned—when she was already deep asleep. That was when he would casually stroll past her door, knock twice—hard enough to sound like thunder in the dead of night—and then retreat into his own place.

And that was it.

He never did anything beyond that.

Infuriating.

And yet, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

She had already complained to the landlord multiple times, but it didn’t seem to make any difference.

Locking the door behind her, Evelyn put on a kettle of water and shot Chloe a text:

[Home.]

Chloe, who was still on the subway, texted back:

[Damn, that was fast. I still have a few more stops.]

Then—

[Hey.]

[I was thinking… what if West threw you his jacket because he was worried you’d be cold? But he was too embarrassed to say it, so he made up that excuse.]

Evelyn was halfway through pulling out some fresh clothes from her wardrobe when she saw the message. She paused, then typed:

[Say something realistic.]

Chloe: [?]

Chloe: [How is that NOT realistic???]

Evelyn: [He was just handling a problem.]

Evelyn: [Probably just didn’t want me catching a cold and suing him for medical expenses.]

Chloe: […]

Chloe: [Then why not just get someone else to give you a coat?]

Evelyn: [It’s freezing. Not exactly an easy task.]

Chloe: [?]

Evelyn: [He might not have been able to borrow one.]

Chloe: […]

At that moment, a low battery warning popped up.

Evelyn tossed her phone onto the table to charge, then headed to the bathroom. As she slowly removed her makeup, she caught her own reflection in the mirror and, for a moment, froze.

The memory of those dark, unfamiliar eyes flashed through her mind.

She looked away, tossing the used cotton pad into the trash.

Even back then—when they had been closest—she couldn’t say she truly understood West Langley. So now, she had no way of telling whether he was pretending not to recognize her.

Or if he genuinely hadn’t.

Like flipping a coin.

No clues. No patterns to track. Just pure luck determining the outcome.

Because honestly?

Either scenario seemed equally plausible.

After drying her hair, Evelyn settled in front of her laptop and worked on an article for a while. She didn’t stop until the exhaustion began to creep in. When she finally climbed into bed, she grabbed her phone and saw that Chloe had sent more messages.

[Anything is possible. Even if it’s not true, we can still make up stories to entertain ourselves.]

[Also, I’m kinda curious… how does it feel seeing West again?]

Followed by a gossip-hungry emoji.

Evelyn thought for a moment before replying:

[He’s still pretty hot.]

Chloe: […]

Chloe: [That’s it?]

Evelyn: [Haven’t thought of anything else. I’ll let you know if I do.]

Evelyn: [Going to sleep. Dead tired.]

Truthfully, claiming she felt nothing would have been a lie.

But it wasn’t something worth talking about.

She knew how this would go—one mention of it, and Chloe would drag her into an endless conversation. She’d rather get some extra sleep instead.

Or at least… try to.

Evelyn’s sleep was, as expected, terrible.

Tangled in half-formed dreams, stuck in a constant state of half-sleep. Just when she thought she was finally slipping into deep rest, the loud BANG of a fist against wood jolted her awake.

She threw the covers off her head, seething.

Evelyn was known for her patience. No matter the situation, she always handled things with measured calm. Rarely did she let emotions get the best of her.

But everyone needed a place to vent.

For her?

It was this.

Getting woken up?

Instant rage.

And this time, she had been seconds away from truly passing out.

She forced herself to breathe, to wait—hoping that, like usual, he would knock a couple of times and leave.

But tonight, for whatever reason, he didn’t.

The knocking continued.

And then—

A voice, thick with alcohol, slurred lazily, “Not up yet? Hey, gorgeous, do me a favor, will ya? My bathroom’s busted… mind if I take a shower at yours?”

Evelyn closed her eyes, counted to three, then calmly reached for her camera, adjusting the angle to record the door.

Next, she grabbed her phone.

And dialed 911.

With unwavering clarity, she reported her address and the situation.

That was that.

Whatever lingering exhaustion she had left was completely gone.

Middle of the night. Living alone. A drunk man at her door, harassing her.

By all logic, she should have felt scared.

But all she felt was pissed.

By the time the officers arrived, the man had already retreated into his own apartment.

Evelyn showed them the footage and requested that the issue be handled at the station. Since she had gone as far as calling the cops, she wasn’t interested in “resolving” it. She had already decided—after this, she was moving.

The video was clear.

The pounding on the door. The slurred, unsettling voice.

It was disturbing to watch.

The officer knocked on the man’s door.

It took a while before he answered. And when he did, his expression was irritated.

“Who the hell—”

“We received a complaint,” the officer stated. “You were reported for disturbing and harassing your neighbor.”

“…Harassment?” The man fell silent, then tried to play dumb. His tone wasn’t as aggressive anymore. “Come on, officer, I just got home from drinking. I was wasted. Probably knocked on the wrong door. Honest mistake.”

The officer’s face remained blank. “There’s video evidence. You ‘knocked on the wrong door’ while repeatedly asking to use her shower? Cut the crap. Let’s go.”

The man hesitated.

Despite the cold, he was only wearing a tight t-shirt, his arms inked with a massive tiger tattoo. His frame was built—solid, muscular, like a damn wall.

He tried making more excuses.

When that didn’t work, he gave up.

His gaze lifted, locking onto Evelyn standing behind the officers.

Evelyn leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Expressionless.

Unbothered.

Staring at him like he was filth.

At the station, the man stuck to his claim that it was all just “drunken nonsense.” Evelyn calmly detailed the repeated disturbances. However, since there was no physical harm done, only psychological stress, the punishment was minor—just a small fine and a few days of detention.

Before she left, one of the older officers advised her, “You should move out of shared apartments. Not just because of this—it’s a general safety issue.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

By then, the sun had already risen.

Instead of heading home, she went straight to the station.

That night, as Evelyn walked through the cold streets, her phone buzzed.

Chloe: [EVELYN, I’M DEAD.]

Evelyn: [?]

Chloe: [I LOST MY BRACELET. MY FAVORITE BRACELET. MY BOYFRIEND GOT ME THAT BRACELET.]

Evelyn: [Checked at home?]

Chloe: [Yeah, nowhere to be found. I think I left it at West’s bar.]

Chloe: [Can you check for me?]

Evelyn sighed. [On it.]

Seven minutes later, she was back at Overtime.

She walked inside.

The bar was livelier tonight, a rock band now on stage. The music was loud. Lights flashing. The atmosphere electric.

She approached the bar.

The same bartender from last night turned to greet her.

“Evening, gorgeous. What can I get you?”

Evelyn shook her head. “I was here yesterday. My friend lost a bracelet. Did anyone turn it in?”

The bartender nodded. “Yeah. Hold on.”

He checked a drawer.

Then another.

Then—

His hand paused.

And he looked toward a familiar figure across the room.

Evelyn followed his gaze.

And standing there—arms crossed, watching her with an unreadable smirk—was West.