Chapter 2

So they dragged me here in front of all these people just so Vivian could get more footage.

I take a slow breath and look the doctor dead in the eye.

"You're right. I was delusional. But I'm wide awake now."

I stand up, leave those two sitting there, and walk straight out.

I find an empty corner of the waiting area and pull up the National Photography Prize on my phone.

Vivian's entry pops up first. It's called *Real*.

The cover photo is me. My face, mid-breakdown.

"Gardi." Jasper's voice behind me. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere."

I look up at him with a tight smile.

"You're Vivian's boyfriend. What do you want with me?"

His face stiffens, and he drops his gaze for a second. Guilt, maybe. "Gardi, are you mad? Showing the doctor those texts, that was for your own good—"

"Sure." I nod. "Hey, my phone's dead. Can I borrow yours?"

I hold out my hand like nothing's changed between us.

He exhales, relieved, and hands it over.

I unlock it on the first try. Muscle memory.

I open every social app one by one, delete my account from his contacts, and block, unfriend, and wipe everything.

Then I hand the phone back.

"Well, this appointment cleared things up. I won't bother you and Vivian again. Wish you both the best."

His eyes drop to the screen. His face goes white.

"Gardenia!"

"What are you two doing?"

Vivian comes running around the corner, sees his phone in my hand, and her face drops.

"Gardenia, why the hell are you touching my boyfriend's phone? Get some self-respect. Stop using your little 'condition' as an excuse to cross every line."

I let out a cold laugh.

Right. Boundaries. When exactly did they stop having any?

I think back.

Jasper and I had been together for two years when Vivian got sick and I asked him to drive her to the ER.

That's where they swapped numbers. She insisted on taking him to dinner to say thanks.

After that, she somehow ended up on every date, at every dinner, and on every weekend trip Jasper and I took.

Jasper started remembering her favorite drink, her birthday, even her allergies.

I asked them both about it more than once. They always had the same excuse.

Jasper: I'm only nice to her because she's your stepsister.

Vivian: I'd never even talk to that guy if he weren't your boyfriend.

I believed them. Both of them. For years.

Now, watching Vivian panic over his phone like she's about to lose everything, I get it. That drunken party joke wasn't a joke. "Jasper and Viv have been together for years" was true.

Behind my back, my fiancé and my stepsister had been together for God knows how long.

It's almost funny.

I swallow a bitter laugh. "You've got the wrong idea. I was just—"

"Wrong idea? Seriously?"

Jasper snaps. He yanks the phone out of my hand so hard I stumble.

"How many times do I have to say it? I'm not your fiancé. I'm Vivian's boyfriend. Leave Viv out of this."

"Stay away from us. Stop wrecking our lives."

He shoves me hard enough that my knees hit the floor.

I know this is another setup, another shot for her camera. It doesn't stop the chill running down my spine.

People are stopping, whispering, and pointing.

I force myself upright, ignore the throb in my knee, and raise my voice so the whole hallway can hear.

"Your boyfriend is the one crossing lines—"

Before I can finish, Vivian tenses. Jasper shoots her a reassuring look, then says, "Oh, shoot," and something small hits the tile.

A dog tag. Skidding across the floor.

Etched into the metal: BUDDY.

I lunge for it, grab it, and scramble up.

"Where the hell did you get this?"

Buddy is my dog. I brought him home from my grandparents' farm when I was little.

Mom left me with my grandparents in rural Ohio while she worked in the city.

They were old and set in their ways. Most days I might as well have been invisible.

Only Buddy followed me around the yard. Buddy found me when I got lost in the cornfield.

When my older cousin snatched my toys, Buddy would sneak into his room and drag them back to me, one by one.

When my mom finally came for me, I wouldn't let go of him, wouldn't budge, and wouldn't stop crying. They had to bring him too.

I made that tag myself the summer we moved to the city, copying the store-bought ones the kids down the block had.

When he sees the panic on my face, Jasper exchanges a smug look with Vivian.

"Don't overthink it. Your parents had no choice."

I grab his collar. My voice rises.

"Just tell me. What did they do to Buddy?"

He presses his lips together and puts on that pained, sorry look.

Finally, he says, "Come on. Let's go home. Your mom's making soup."