Chapter002-Busy Simping
The driver didn't understand why, but pulled over anyway.
"Miss..."
Luna didn't answer.
Through the car window, she caught a distant glimpse of Jax.
Jax was Rory's stepbrother — brooding, cold, and dangerously obsessive.
He had looks that rivaled the hero's, and the same razor-sharp intellect as Rory — born into the same poverty.
One of the few students at Kingsley Prep High whose tuition was waived for academic excellence.
In her last life, Luna had hated Rory — and by extension, her stepbrother.
She'd made his life hell on more than one occasion.
Jax took every hit without flinching.
That year's SATs, he scored near-perfect — the highest in the state.
Naturally, he went on to the most elite university and never looked back.
Sophomore year, at Hayes's birthday party, Luna and Rory had both accidentally drunk spiked punch.
That night was when the hero and heroine crossed the line — gave themselves to each other for the first time.
In a hotel suite no one knew about.
Luna woke the next morning in a haze of pain she couldn't name.
She was naked. She scrambled upright, panic surging through her.
Jax sat on the balcony windowsill, shirtless in sweats, an unlit cigarette between his teeth.
He turned at the sound. Their eyes met. He said nothing.
That morning had been chaos. Luna, furious, had said things she couldn't take back.
Jax let her hit him, let her scream, until she broke down crying — and only then, voice raw, did he say: "I'll take responsibility."
Luna, of course, refused to let him.
She threatened him. Told him to forget that night ever happened. Don't tell a soul. Pretend they'd never met.
Jax pulled on his shirt, head down, and said one word: "Okay."
After that, Luna barely saw Jax at all.
Her family fell. The debts piled up. She never even finished college.
While she spent two years dodging creditors, Jax built himself from nothing — clawed his way to the top in New York, a city owned by old money families and obscene wealth.
The gap between them was as vast as ever. Only now, their positions had flipped.
...
"Drive on, Ray."
Luna looked away.
This life, their paths wouldn't cross again.
"Sure thing."
The driver — Ray — acknowledged, and the car rolled on.
Back at the bus stop.
Something shifted at the edge of his awareness.
He lifted his gaze, tracking the black car until it vanished at the end of the road. Then his eyes dropped again, and he went back to the music in his earbuds.
-
The car drove on to Crescent Bay — New York's most exclusive wealthy enclave.
The Harringtons owned Villa Eleven.
When the car stopped, Luna pushed the door open. Her eyes went to the iron plaque mounted by the gate.
— Villa Eleven.
Luna had lived here since birth. The front courtyard had a small ornamental pond, and the koi in it — each worth thousands — were her father Charles Harrington's pride and joy.
Late September. The sun wasn't harsh — it flooded the whole house in warm, golden light.
Luna paused by the pond. Below the surface, koi tails fanned out, catching the light in flashes of gold and white.
She'd missed this so much it ached.
After the Harringtons went under in her last life, the villa had been mortgaged away. She'd had two hundred dollars to her name and spent a full year living in the basement.
"What are you staring at? Falling in love with the fish?"
A woman's voice, cold and clipped, came from ahead.
Luna startled. Turned toward the voice.
Stella Vance stood with her arms crossed, glaring. Her face was gaunt, pale, the dark circles under her eyes deep enough to bruise — like she hadn't slept properly in weeks.
"Mom!"
Luna ran to her and threw her arms around her.
Stella went rigid.
Her daughter was taller than her now. Curled against her, Luna's black hair brushed her cheek, and the faint jasmine of her perfume — a scent Stella hadn't caught in a long time — filled the space between them.
The older Luna got, the more distant she'd become.
Stella's lashes flickered. Her hand, hanging at her side, shifted — barely — and touched the ends of Luna's hair.
Then the cold slid back into place, like a door closing.
"What? Did someone... hurt you?"
"No." Luna's voice was thick. "Who'd dare?"
Stella hauled her out of the embrace. "Then what are you crying for?"
Luna's dark eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped with wet.
As the eldest, the heiress whose word was law — Luna had never been on the receiving end of anyone's cruelty. She was the one who dished it out.
"I'm just PMSing. Mood swings." Luna stared at Stella without blinking.
She used to resent her parents. Both of them.
Her father was too soft. Spent his days tending gardens and nursing koi ponds — technically the company's chairman, but he'd handed every shred of power to his younger brother.
Her mother? Sharp-tongued and volatile. Everyone said Stella was unstable — manic, even.
Take her last life. Luna could never wrap her head around why Hayes would fall for a broke, talentless girl.
She'd finally worked up the nerve to confide in Stella.
Stella had looked at her from across the room and said, with surgical cruelty: "Have you considered that no one in their right mind would put up with that attitude of yours?"
After that, Luna stopped reaching out.
Not everyone is close to their parents. Right?
It wasn't until after the family collapsed — when her uncle took her in, only to try marrying her off to a notorious creep thirty years her senior — that she understood.
She couldn't escape.
Stella had stormed into the company, set fire to her uncle's office, and given Luna the opening to run.
She ran. But Stella was committed to a psychiatric ward in retaliation.
"My mood's worse." Stella looked done with the entire world. "Go find your aunt for comfort."
She tossed that over her shoulder and walked away.
Luna stood frozen for a few seconds, then followed.
The living room was cool and dim. Luna changed her shoes. "Where's Leo?"
Stella headed upstairs without looking back. "Off being a simp."
Luna's mouth twitched. "And my dad?"
Stella was already on the second floor. Her voice drifted down: "Dead."
Luna: "..."
Stella — picture of mental health, as always.
After Stella disappeared upstairs, the housekeeper slipped out of the kitchen, still holding a bulb of garlic. "Mr. Harrington went fishing with some friends. And the young master went out with his."
"Did Leo say where he was going?"
"Someone's birthday, I think. They went to The Aurelia for dinner," the housekeeper said.
Luna checked the date on her phone. A cold smile crept onto her face.
If she remembered right, today was Chloe's birthday.
Her idiot brother was off being a simp again.
Luna went to her room, changed, and this time didn't call for the car. She took a cab to The Aurelia.
The Aurelia was one of those restaurants — impossible to book, absurdly expensive, the kind of place where big-name influencers pulled strings for reservations and the content they posted there went viral every time.