It was a Friday at 5:15 am when the first light of dawn seeped into the sky, and the flowers outside began to bloom in vibrant colors. Marjorie had woken up as usual, stretching and preparing for her day, but an unusual sensation troubled her—something different than her typical feelings. Instead of love, she experienced a deep-seated hatred for Reece. She had loved him for four years, yet now, she couldn't shake this overwhelming resentment. This inner conflict made her feel deeply uncomfortable, as she sensed that her feelings were completely wrong. But she still got up and went to work anyway Marjorie stood in front of the mirror a moment longer than usual.
Her reflection looked the same—same soft eyes, same careful posture, same routine. Nothing had changed. Nothing should have changed.
So why did it feel like everything had?
She picked up her phone from the bedside table. The screen lit up instantly, as if it had been waiting.
Reece 💛
A message from last night.
"Sleep well. I love you."
Her chest tightened—but not in the way it used to. No warmth. No flutter.
Just a sharp, unfamiliar irritation.
Marjorie's fingers hovered over the screen. She tried—really tried—to feel something. Anything. The way she used to when she read his texts over and over, smiling like an idiot.
Nothing came.
Instead, a thought slipped in, cold and uninvited:
Why did I ever love him?
She flinched, dropping her phone onto the bed like it had burned her.
"No," she whispered to herself. "That's not right."
It wasn't just wrong—it was impossible.
Four years didn't just disappear overnight.
Four years of laughter, late-night calls, inside jokes, quiet moments. Four years of knowing someone better than you knew yourself.
You don't wake up and suddenly feel—
Her thoughts cut off.
A flicker.
Not a memory. Not quite.
Just a split second of something off.
Reece standing in front of her... but his expression wasn't the one she remembered. It wasn't soft. It wasn't kind.
It was... cold.
Marjorie blinked, and the image was gone.
Her breathing picked up.
"What was that...?"
She pressed her hand to her temple, trying to force the thought back, but it slipped further away the more she reached for it.
Like it didn't want to be remember Marjorie barely remembered the walk to work.
The world moved as it always did—cars passing, people talking, the quiet hum of morning life—but it all felt distant, like she was watching it through glass.
By the time she stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee and printer ink grounded her—if only slightly.
"Morning, Marjorie."
She turned, forcing a small smile. "Morning."
And then she saw her.
Autumn.
Leaning casually against the edge of a desk, sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable—but her eyes...
Her eyes were already on Marjorie.
Something twisted sharply in Marjorie's chest.
Not hatred.
Not quite.
Something deeper. Warmer. Dangerous.
Autumn tilted her head slightly. "You look tired."
"I'm fine," Marjorie said quickly—too quickly.
Autumn didn't look convinced.
She pushed herself off the desk and walked closer, each step slow, deliberate. "Did you sleep at all?"
Marjorie's throat tightened.
There was something about the way Autumn spoke—like she already knew the answer. Like she knew too much.
"I said I'm fine."
A pause.
Then, softer this time—
"Reece texted me this morning."
The words slipped out before Marjorie could stop them.
The second they did, silence dropped between them.
Autumn's expression didn't change—but something in her eyes darkened.
"Did he?" she said quietly.
Marjorie's pulse started to race.
Why did that feel like a mistake?
Why did it feel like she'd just said something she wasn't supposed to?
Another flicker—
A memory trying to break through.
Autumn's hand brushing hers.
A door closing.
A voice—hers? Autumn's?
"This has to stay between us."
Marjorie sucked in a sharp breath.
Her hand trembled slightly at her side.
Autumn noticed.
Of course she did.
She always did.
"...You don't remember, do you?" Autumn murmured.
