Chapter Three
__________
Anya
What was she doing?
That question echoed in her mind long after she came back from the store with Alessio. Dinner passed in a blur. When she met the rest of the participants, the polyamorous trio’s dynamic stuck in her mind.
Despite their frequent bickering, the three of them seemed content with one another. They argued every two minutes, from grievances over one partner receiving too much attention to complaints about an unwiped sink. Yet, stubbornly, they held hands through their quarrels and ate with their non-dominant hands.
When she watched them, Alessio watched her. His gaze stalked her with the stealth of an evolving panther. He hadn’t tried to hide his unnerving staring and was not ashamed of it, even after Meryl called him out. He gave her the shortest span of his attention with a simple blink of his eyes, and even Anya felt the boredom that emitted from his indifferent composure.
Meryl said she had never felt so offended in her life despite receiving thousands of hate messages on her socials.
The only woman in the trio partnership asked Anya about her deal with Alessio.
Rebuttal never left her mouth as quickly as that one did. The temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees when she said that, and she saw the tightened scowl on his face, knowing he was not pleased with her hastiness to deny whatever happened between them.
Her mind and heart admitted they would never let go of Alessio. She had come to terms with it a long time ago, but the irrational part of her soul encouraged the temptation to give in and fall into his arms.
If she had gone to Meryl for advice, she would’ve told her to toss that man into the gutter and dragged her on a shopping spree to clear her mind. Her friend never liked Alessio even before they started dating; she said he looked like a volatile egoist. But Meryl was cordial for the sake of Anya, so she thought nothing of it until now.
Everyone finished dinner with small talk, a requirement from the director to force them to mingle in a salad bowl. There was no dramatic reveal of anyone’s secret or instant attraction toward someone easy on the eye.
The trio was a solid triangle, Meryl dreaded her estranged husband’s impending arrival, and Alessio and Anya were their own mess of misaligned stances on where they stood with each other.
This clearly wasn’t what the director had hoped for.
He likely wanted drama, cheating, fistfights, and vicious fights.
Or he was going for heart-wrenching confessions, raw emotions, and enough tears to open backup tissues.
Either way, Anya planned to lie low and be a piece of wallpaper. If she could make it through the show, she’d take a much-needed vacation to ease her mind from Alessio.
It nearly broke her the first time she saw him, and it certainly would need more to rip him from her heart again. He lingered like a phantom in her heart, never truly gone.
He was an addiction, compulsively reminiscing what she could’ve and should’ve owned. He was hers, and he could still be hers. Alessio didn’t hide it, and they both knew from the moment he saw her in the hall.
Anya smacked her forehead several times and shook her head, hurling the idea of reconciliation out the window.
She went to her last resort, an advice forum, and signed in to her account. She had been using it for years, and it was practically a map of her life.
Thankfully, everything was anonymous. Commenters had no usernames, only posters were assigned a set of characters as their account ID, and photos of people and identifiable places were heavily regulated.
Anya loved the privacy and anonymity it gave her to spill her thoughts into the void with no fear of judgment.
Oddly enough, she had a lot of lurkers follow her account. She never thought her life was that interesting.
She opened a new thread, typed her concern into the title, and then submitted the post. Comments flooded in instantly, as though everyone had been waiting for her to share the latest minor inconvenience of her life.
THREAD : I think my ex-boyfriend still likes me. How do I get him not to?
1: OP
A good ex is as if he never existed. We work together now, and I try to keep it professional. But he has a marvelous and menacing face, so it’s hard to act like an average Doe.
2
Bury him.
3
I don’t know if I should feel bad for OP or the friend-zoned ex.
4
Although I have no experience, I’m keeping watch… you know, just in case my ex-fiancée ends up as my boss.
5
Read OP’s older posts. Not all are about her relationship, but they’re funny. They go back 12 years, and it’s like reading a diary. It feels icky but so entertaining. Let me reread and brush up on the details before I give advice.
6
What level of hot is he? That’ll determine if I persuade you to stay or ghost him.
7
@OP Do you still want him? Like and want are different things. One is for the mind, and the other is for the body. You could come out ahead with that physical deal. Take advantage of him.
8: OP
I prefer not to get involved with him again.
9
I’m back. I have to say, OP’s old posts are… really something. My favorite as of now is: “I made my boyfriend eat everything I bite once, but he still won’t break up with me.”
When asked why she won’t initiate, OP was like: “I haven’t gotten a leave-him-for-100-million-dollars ultimatum yet.”
10
Please, my side hurts from laughing.
11
From what I gathered from her other posts… he’s stupid. He gave her access to his bank info and cards. Who does that? It’s so dangerous, especially when they aren’t married. He’s lucky OP is a standup citizen, allegedly.
12
How much was there? Asking for a friend, and drop his number if it’s got a long line of zeros.
13: OP
He had 5 different bank accounts and a lot of zeros. I really liked those numbers.
14
Sneaky OP, I see what you’re going for. You want us to say go get his money, so you won’t be the bad guy.
15
Not a bad idea, though. Nobody likes to date people after their money. Ask for $8,000 to avoid getting flagged. If he says no, he’s a cheap man. You’re better off without him.
Anya sucked in a shaky breath and sent him a message, following the commenter’s plan to avoid any legal complications. She never had his number blocked or deleted, but it was buried under other contacts after she unpinned him from the top.
He answered three minutes later, and she was shocked he hadn’t deleted her contact either. Part of her couldn’t help but feel a blissful wash of giddiness in her chest as she fixated on the text.
Alessio asked why, and she said her necklace was broken as an excuse. The next notification wasn’t a rejection but a screenshot of a receipt for a pricey necklace, dated barely twenty seconds ago.
“Large transfers are monitored,” he said. “Didn’t want you to wait.”
Anya blinked, bewildered. Somewhere in their communication, the wires had crossed. But if she had started this ridiculous plan, she might as well commit.
She patted her chest as a sign of courage and offered him photos of her for an outrageously large amount of money. She was counting on him to call her an idiot or leave her on “read.”
Before Alessio could respond, she hit him with pricing details: $5,000 for a headshot, $10,000 for a half-body shot, and $30,000 for a full-body photo.
The text bubble lingered. She could imagine him on his bed, ready for her next clownish move and to mock her with a bemused gaze the next time he saw her.
A $50,000 bank transfer was alerted from her online banking app.
She sent a row of question marks to him because that was how speechless she was. What was he thinking, sending her that much money as if she had retainer lawyers to explain away the suspicion?
“It should get released before tomorrow’s business hours end,” the text read, “I want those photos, and it’s not illegal.”
The last part wasn’t reassuring, so she did a quick search online. It turned out that selling and buying non-explicit photos was, indeed, legal.
For explicit photos, there was more yellow tape to cross.
Without much hesitation, she sent a headshot of her passport photo, a copy of her upper body x-ray from last year, and a picture of herself in an inflatable tube dancer costume from her summer job at seventeen.
Technically, she fulfilled the requirements for the transaction. He couldn’t sue her for that.
She was stuck on what to do with the extra five thousand he sent, so she asked him. There was a five-minute silence from the other side, but strangely, she didn’t feel nervous about being in trouble.
He was probably regretting his choice and was phoning the bank’s customer service. She knew all his banks had around-the-clock phone lines, but that was if he still used those specific ones.
If he canceled the transaction, it would not have been like she had lost much since those photos weren’t embarrassing or could have been used as blackmail. Although they were broken up, she would still vouch for his character.
Maybe it was gullible of her to assume he hadn’t changed for the worse.
“I want my greeting tomorrow and every day after that.”
Anya stared at the text, her mind racing into the void as the words became a fuzzy double. She tapped the screen on autopilot, a skill she mastered after working with Meryl for years, and sent one last text.
“Of course, boss.”
That extra five thousand dollars was the cherry on top of her sugar-loaded adrenaline rush as she squealed into her pillow.
She reopened the thread and updated those who were still commenting with ideas. There were speculations in the lower and more recent comments. They thought she was not going to do it, and some tried to educate Anya on gray areas of the law.
THREAD : I think my ex-boyfriend still likes me. How do I get him not to?
246: OP
It didn’t go as planned. I had to make up an excuse as to why I wanted $8k and said my necklace broke. He got me a pricey replacement and sent $50k for some photos.
247
Are you rubbing it in our faces? Receipts, or it didn’t happen.
248
Some photos? Do tell me what those are.
249: OP
@248 Nothing risky, just boring pictures. He even gave me extra money just to greet him every morning. I don’t know what to think about that. I just now screen-recorded all the transactions and our texts.
250
Now I’m super interested. Who is your ex? I’ve only ever heard of people spending that much on risqué photos or for blackmail. How rich is this guy?
251: OP
I can’t name him. He’s quiet and kind, though blunt at times. He’s just rough around the edges, but he was really good to me.
252
Sounds like a classic pick-up artist trying to game you.
253
More like, “I catfished and scammed a sucker,” if what she’s saying is true.
254
@253 Cut OP some slack. I think she’s just covering her bases and avoiding liability. OP, I hope you’re buying a new washing machine with that money.
255
Neither of you spared her.
She sighed as the comments veered off track. She had already gotten her answer, so she logged off and tossed her phone onto the pillow beside her.
It was too early for sleep but late enough for the house to go silent when everyone retreated to their rooms. Thank goodness the bedrooms weren’t on a live feed, and views were expected to die down late at night.
No one wanted to watch an empty house unless they were ghost-hunting.
She took this opportunity to get a glass of water without encountering people. Small chats made her uncomfortable, especially with strangers.
Her slippers muted the sound of her footsteps as she pressed her ear to the door, listening for movement. When she heard nothing, she stepped into the common area and made a quick beeline for the open-floor kitchen.
“A mouse makes less noise than you,” Alessio muttered from behind her.
She spun around, a frown tugging at her lips, but she had no witty comeback. His words sounded like a jab, yet they didn’t sting.
“Would you prefer I walk in heels?” she grumbled as she opened the cupboard for a glass.
“I still have yours at home,” he reckoned casually.
Her eyes widened at his remark just as she noticed the blinking red light on the camera mounted beneath the cupboard, a prime spot for capturing the kitchen.
His narrow waist leaned on the marbled counter, and his piercing eyes trickled down the arch of her spine when she tip-toed for support to reach higher.
There were already online speculations about their relationship when the show started. She didn’t need Alessio adding fuel to the fire, but there wasn’t a private space where they could talk.
He couldn’t go into her room, nor the other way around, because there were cameras in the hall.
The director might love the attention, but Anya was never one for the spotlight or PR disasters.
“When was this taken?” he asked, shoving his phone in her face.
She nudged his hand down to keep the camera from catching a glimpse of her chest X-ray on the screen.
His hand was rough from grip friction, the muscles underneath his long-sleeve shirt were a smooth transition from wrist to shoulder, and the constant drawing of bowstring had toned his back as well.
He was all lean muscles and egoist superiority. A sense of pride, something she shouldn’t and was not entitled to feel, raised chills to her scalp.
I had that , she thought mindlessly.
“When?” he repeated, less patient this time.
She bit the inside of her mouth lightly, just enough to keep her grounded. “Last year.”
He was quiet, waiting for her to continue. Anya rubbed the cold glass in her palms, planting many fingerprints on the reflective surface while she rummaged through her brain to find the right words without causing any misunderstandings.
She couldn’t risk people accusing Meryl of unsafe workspace practices.
“I tripped and fell,” she said, hoping it would suffice.
In truth, her foot had snagged the studio light’s power cord, and her chest hit the corner of the makeup table. It was painful for a moment, but Meryl insisted she get checked out even after the pain was gone.
Alessio studied her for an uncomfortably long second as if to dissect the pathetic attempt of her trickling the truth. He made no mention of it and took her glass to fill it with water from the water distiller system beside him.
When the glass made it back to her hands, it was as warm as her skin. She muttered a stiff gratitude before she stated she was heading to her room.
“Goodnight,” she said so fast that she bit her tongue.
The pain couldn’t mask the burning blush on her cheeks as she held the glass tighter. Anya left the area without hearing him echoing it back, or maybe he never had the intention to do so.
She gulped down the full glass, instantly regretting it with twisting pain in her stomach, and leaned on the wall until the initial fullness subsided.
The effect he had on her was overbearing, and sometimes, it made her want to cry about it.
He gave her conniving emotions, and she gave herself nothing but confusion. She wanted to be with him, to be able to laugh together on weekend mornings and bathe in his selfish affection.
She didn’t know why they broke up; maybe she did, but only a vague concept of everything. She just knew she wanted everything he gave her, yet there would always be the urgency under her feet to run away from it.
“What am I doing?” she whispered, but the sounds were swallowed by dull heartbeats in her ears.
A vibration on her pillow dragged her eyes to her phone, and it lit up with a message notification. She wanted to ignore it. Nonetheless, she’d rather not have Meryl knock on her door, especially if it was about her unanswered text.
She flopped onto the bed and opened the message from Alessio. Her traitorous heart ran another marathon behind her ribs as she played the voice memo he sent.
“Goodnight.”
Simple and soft, the message itself was an afterthought. His voice, deep and deliberate, demanded attention, yet it emptied her thoughts like hollowed wickedness.
It had the weight of gravity, and it grounded his sincerity in something tangible.