CHAPTER ONE — STEPHANIE
The triumphant feeling I had seconds after walking away from David is gone. I sink deeper into the bathtub until the bubbles are right underneath my lower lip, contemplating everything.
How do I feel so different now than I did an hour ago? Right after confronting David with John, I felt victorious.
Yeah, there was that moment when David looked at me with those sad eyes, where I questioned everything, but I quickly shoved that feeling back and reveled in the glory of a plan well carried out.
And it was well carried out.
When I found out earlier today that David had been planning to evict me, I quickly jumped into gear. I enlisted John's help because John was the one who told me about David's shady discussions with legal. Just thinking about it now hurts all over again.
I can't believe that after everything, after all the sweet things David was telling me this morning, that he wants to spend his life with me, that he would go to work an hour later and email lawyers about the most foolproof ways to avoid a tenant retaliating. It's cruel.
He totally deserved what I did. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.
I gave John, David's coworker and arch-nemesis, some of David's clothes to change into. It was easy to get David's clothes since he left me in his bed this morning when he went to work.
Then, with the help of ChatGPT, I spun up a few documents that looked like I had been doing recon on David, like I'd hired a private investigator or done a background search.
Then John and I met up at the park where David runs every day.
I "bumped into" David and spilled the papers on the ground.
David had a quick look at them, and then at me and John, and then at John wearing his clothes.
Then David lost it.
And I captured it all on camera.
As expected, David freaked out and got angry. But what I didn't expect was the way he looked at me, like a lost puppy, like a kid who's just given his mom a Mother's Day card and watched her rip it up and spit on it. It broke my heart.
I had to keep reminding myself that he was playing me, that he was an actor. It was easy in the moment, but now, as I sit in the lukewarm water and stare at the stucco ceiling, I'm starting to question myself again.
Is he really that good of an actor? I mean, that would be next-level psychopathy, like Ted Bundy. It doesn't make sense. And besides, why would he do this?
Earlier today, I was so upset at the betrayal that I didn't even think clearly. I thought, Oh, David's playing 5D chess. But really, what 5D chess move is he playing by sleeping with me and trying to evict me at the same time? It's kind of a dumb move, to be honest.
The biggest question mark in my mind, though, the thing that keeps nagging me most of all, is why John would tell me this. Why did John tell me that David's been planning to evict me?
John hates David, so obviously he's incentivized to fuck up David's life. But why would John want to help me? It's not like John's a super altruist or anything. I mean, from what I know about him, he's generally a selfish person.
Maybe there was something in it for John, though. Maybe John thought if he told me David wanted to evict me it would make me angry…so angry that I would do something reckless and hurt David.
Which is exactly what happened.
I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. Something isn't adding up.
I grab my phone and click on my thread of text messages with John and scroll up to the picture he sent me.
It's a picture of the email sent between David and the legal department discussing my eviction.
I stare at it closely, and then I notice that some words seem a little bit off, there's a bit of extra space between some of them, and some icons are kind of slanted.
I screenshot the email and send it to ChatGPT. "Does this look like a real email?" I ask. I wait as the dots appear, as ChatGPT composes its answer. I hold my breath.
No, this looks like it may have been fabricated…
My eyes glaze over as I read the rest. I check with a few other AI models and ask them what they think. They all agree with ChatGPT.
Then, I check for myself. I google David's company's website and find the legal team. Then I compare their names to the lawyers' names from the email.
They're not the same. He didn't even use the real lawyers' names. I guess if you're going to fake an email, it's safer to make people up.
Fuck.
I jump out of the bath immediately and grab a towel. A sickening feeling twists in my gut.
What have I done?
I think of David and how betrayed he must feel. How confused. How sad.
Oh my God.
I wrap my towel around my body tightly and grab my phone again. I click our recent message and start typing.
I'm so sorry! I made a mistake. Can we talk? I text David.
I wait two minutes. No response.
So I call him. It goes straight to voicemail.
I call again. Voicemail again.
Please, I text David again. I need to explain.
Maybe he's busy. I try not to panic. But I can't help it. I'm panicking. Hard.
Then I remember that I don't need to wait around like this when he lives right above me. Before I have time to think what I'm about to do, I run out of the bathroom and then out my front door. I run up to his front door and start banging on it. Loudly.
I'm barefoot, wearing a towel, and my hair is dripping wet. I feel almost as insane as I must look.
I hear footsteps, and I hold my breath. Nothing. I bang again. No one. Silence.
I press my ear up against the door. And then I hear footsteps again, but they're getting quieter. My heart sinks. He knows it's me. He has a peephole. Fuck. I've really betrayed him.
I text him again: I'm so sorry! Can I make it up to you?
My phone dings. I'm excited for a second until I read the text:
From now on, I will only respond to communications sent by email. —David
It feels like a punch to the gut. Somehow, it's even worse than if he'd yelled at me. It's so clinical, like we're strangers, or worse, acquaintances that vaguely hate each other.
Still, the fact that he's so cold shows he cares. If he didn't, he wouldn't be like this. I know he cares. I mean, he mentioned spending our lives together. I know it was a slip, but still, he said it, and I saw that look on his face… he was devastated.
Even remembering that look makes me nauseous.
I have to make it up to him. But he won't let me explain. What can I do?
I know that if I just had 15 minutes alone with him, we could straighten everything out. I could explain what happened, why I helped John out. But more than that, I could explain to him why I assumed the worst of him.
I could tell him more about my past and why I don't trust people. I think he already knows a bit, or at least suspects as much, but I haven't told him everything.
Well, I'm ready to tell him now.
But he won't give me the chance.
With most men, I'd give them a day or two to cool off and then try again, but I know that it won't be that easy with David. He's stubborn like me, and when he says something, he means it.
I could feel the coldness in his email. I doubt I'll even get more than 30 seconds alone with him if I ambush him somehow. Like if I run into him at the grocery store or something, I have a feeling he would just turn around and walk away. No, I'm going to need a better plan.
But short of physically locking him in a room, how can I guarantee his attention for at least 15 minutes? That's all I need. Just 15 minutes.
My phone pings. I check the screen. It's a notification for the auction tomorrow.
Shit. I'd almost forgotten. I'd be tempted to skip it, but I really need the extra cash.
I glance at David's door one last time, hoping I'll be surprised and it'll swing open at the last second. It doesn't though, so I turn and walk back to my place.
I don't know how I'm going to win David over, but I'll figure something out.
I always do.