He Hates Me In Real Life

chapter 3

Aiden’s face twisted in pure disgust.

“Bro, I told you that girl is for the streets. She’s probably playing five other dudes right now. You’re the only i***t treating her like royalty.”

Dorian’s head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot and feral. Without warning he shoved Aiden hard enough that my brother stumbled back two full steps.

“Don’t you ever speak about my girl like that.”

I was already vibrating with rage. Watching him defend me with that raw, shaking loyalty while he had just called me a stalker and a desperate fangirl in our private messages pushed me straight over the edge. I marched forward and punched Aiden clean on the arm.

He clutched his bicep and stared at me like I had lost my mind.

“What the hell was that for?”

I planted both hands on my hips, chest heaving. “We are no longer speaking.”

I turned on my heel and left them both standing there in the middle of the crowded night market. I didn’t look back. Not when Aiden called my name. Not when I heard Dorian’s voice c***k again behind me.

By the time I reached my apartment the anger had settled into something heavier and colder. Iris took one look at the dark cloud hovering over my head and wisely said nothing. She only tossed me a half-open bag of chips before disappearing into her room and shutting the door with a soft click.

I didn’t even take my coat off.

I unlocked my phone and opened the app.

99+ unread messages.

They poured down the screen in a desperate flood.

Babe what did I do

Tell me what I did wrong

I reported everything to you tonight

I was so good

Babe please don’t ignore me

Babe please don’t do this to me. I nearly had a heart attack just now

Babe we are not breaking up. I refuse to break up

Babe it’s been 2 hours 45 mins and 6 seconds since you looked at me

Babe are you busy

Babe please answer me I’m begging you

I stared at the last message. A traitorous wave of affection washed over me before I could stop it. My thumb hovered. Then I typed.

Is your roommate’s sister pretty?

The reply came in under ten seconds.

I don’t know. Probably ugly.

Does she have a nice body?

Not interested. Didn’t look.

Did you feel even a tiny spark when you saw her?

I feel absolutely nothing for anyone on this earth except you.

If someone forced her to be your wife, would you do it?

I’d rather they shoot me in the head.

My chest ached.

You are going to deeply regret everything you just said.

I have no regrets babe. You’re the only woman I’m ever going to marry.

I stared at those words until they blurred.

Then I blocked his number and deleted the entire app.

The silence that followed felt loud.

I called my brother. He answered on the second ring, voice low and raspy.

“Hey, pumpkin. I thought we weren’t speaking anymore.”

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “How’s Dorian? Did his girlfriend reply to him?”

“Nope,” Aiden said. “Apparently she blocked him. Poor guy. I told him that girl was no good. Can’t say ‘I told you so’ now or he’ll just punch me in the face, and my face is my pride.” He paused. “He doesn’t even seem that sad, though. He’s been shopping nonstop since we got back. Buying nothing but laundry stuff and toys. They broke up. Why is he buying all that? Was he planning to use them for his crafts? He was always weirdly enthusiastic about that stuff. I bet his ex dumped him because he wasn’t good in bed.”

I went very still.

Aiden kept talking, oblivious. “He’s probably gearing up to impress the new girl.”

My blood turned to ice. “Wait. What? What new girl?”

“Who else?” Aiden said, like it was obvious. “His new prospect. His parents set him up on a blind date last week. Apparently she’s drop-dead gorgeous. He was just talking about taking her to the movies tomorrow.”

Last week.

Last week he told me his younger cousin had just been accepted into the university and he was taking her out for a celebratory dinner.

He went on a blind date.

That absolute bastard.

He had been playing me this whole time—keeping me on the hook with soft voice notes and desperate “babe” messages while he entertained other women in the real world.

I said nothing. I simply hung up.

The phone slipped from my fingers onto the bed. I stood there in the middle of my room with my coat still on, breathing hard through my nose.

How could he?

Not only had he called me a stalker and a desperate fangirl to my face through a screen, but he had been seeing other girls behind my back. What did he take me for? Some convenient online toy he could put down whenever a real-life option appeared?

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as I could stand. Steam filled the bathroom. I braced my hands against the tiles and let the spray beat against my shoulders, trying to wash the fury out of my skin.

It didn’t work.

Every soft thing he had ever said to me replayed in my head like a cruel joke. Every late-night “you’re the only good thing in my day.” Every photo he sent “for my girl’s eyes only.” Every time he begged me to let him wear my name.

And all the while he had been going on blind dates.

I stayed under the water until it ran cold. When I finally stepped out, my skin was pink and my eyes burned, but the rage had settled into something sharper. Something colder.

I wrapped a towel around myself and walked back into my room. My phone still lay on the bed, dark and silent now that his number was blocked and the app was gone.

Good.

Let him feel what it was like to be ignored.

Let him sit in that dorm room with his laundry detergent and his stupid toys and wonder what he did wrong.

I dried my hair slowly, methodically, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. Grey eyes. Flushed cheeks. The same face he had looked at with pure disdain only hours ago.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

And tomorrow, when he took his drop-dead gorgeous blind date to the movies, I was going to make sure he regretted every single word he had ever typed to me.

I crawled into bed still wrapped in the towel and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged me under.

Somewhere across campus, I knew a certain biochemistry senior was refreshing an empty chat, waiting for a reply that would never come.

Good.

Let him wait.