Grace Barron and Oakley Ponciano weren't exactly friends—but they weren't strangers either.
Back in college, they'd attended the same university. Both were stunning, brilliant, and inevitably pitted against each other in every ranking, every gossip thread. The campus forums buzzed with heated debates, every post about them skyrocketing to trending in minutes. Their fans—equally fervent—fought bitterly over who was superior.
Ironically, Grace and Oakley themselves had barely interacted. They were like two parallel lines—close, but never intersecting.
Everything stayed that way… until the day Oakley launched her influencer career on social media. Her debut as a beauty blogger caused a splash—but also drew slander. Malicious rumors flooded in like a tidal wave.
Grace hadn't paid any attention—until she logged into her account and saw someone had hacked it. Not only hacked, but had used her profile to like over a dozen of the hate posts about Oakley.
Though she quickly unliked them and explained that it wasn't her—urging everyone not to believe or spread lies—the damage was done. Trolls gleefully declared, "Look! Even her old classmate Grace Barron liked those posts. That proves Oakley really is trash!"
Oakley, unsurprisingly, didn't believe her for a second.
First, people were already whispering that Grace had always looked down on her. Oakley hadn't interacted much with her, but she believed where there's smoke, there's fire.
Second, everyone around her said the two had always been compared. If Grace resented her for that, well, who could blame her?
Young and sensitive, Oakley's emotions collapsed overnight. She deleted her account. And thus, a rift was born.
Now, Oakley studied Grace with wary eyes, her expression unreadable but her voice sweetly mocking. "Been a while. You look… sharper than ever."
Grace knew that was Oakley's way of calling her a sly old fox. She didn't mind. A soft smile touched her lips. "Thank you. That's kind of you."
Oakley thought, Shameless. Absolutely shameless.
Clearing her throat, she tried to steer the moment. "Wow, can't believe we're running into each other here."
Grace let go of her wrist. "Fate, perhaps."
Oakley rubbed her arm with a dry laugh. "Yeah, sure. So, what brings you here, exactly?"
She'd been half convinced earlier that she was being ambushed by some deranged anti-fan.
Grace leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. "Well, you said your hands were injured hugging a cactus in your sleep. As your new editor, I figured I ought to stop by and check in. You agree, don't you?"
Oakley's smile froze mid-air.
Wait. What?
She's the new editor—babylon? Oakley's feelings swirled into a strange, sour cocktail. Disbelief, embarrassment, dread.
Grace didn't bother with small talk. She patted the door handle. "Alright, Miss Ponciano. Let's head inside."
Oakley pressed her lips together, reluctantly walked to the keypad, and punched in the code.
Inside, she drifted to the open-concept kitchen, pulling open the fridge. "Orange juice or soda?"
Grace, who had just stepped out onto the balcony, turned at the sound. Oakley was leaning languidly against the fridge, chin tilted up, her posture soft and sultry—like a sleepy enchantress in spring.
"Soda," Grace said.
Oakley gave her a small OK sign and grabbed two cans, heading toward the balcony.
Under the sunlight, Grace's figure stood tall and elegant. Her neck was long, shoulders straight, and her profile—sharp nose, sculpted features—retained the same quietly commanding aura she had in college: calm, detached, magnetic.
Suddenly, Oakley understood why so many girls had fallen hopelessly for her back then—why they'd daydream about her, confess to her without even knowing her orientation, and willingly bash their hearts against her emotional fortress.
But no matter how charming, Oakley remained convinced Grace was a textbook hypocrite. And she refused to be fooled.
"Here." She handed Grace the can.
Grace opened it, took a few sips, and got straight to the point. "By the way, deadline's almost here. Have you finished your draft? I'm waiting."
Oakley stiffened, her body reacting as though someone had pulled a trigger. She fiddled with her soda can before sighing and walking over to her desk.
She opened a folder, pulled over a chair, and patted the seat next to her. "Be my guest."
Grace sat down, took the mouse, and opened the draft.
The more she read, the more serious her expression became. "I don't think this will work."
Oakley frowned. "I haven't finished yet. Maybe wait until I'm done?"
Grace leaned back, calm and composed. "It's the story concept itself. It's flawed."
Oakley stared at her. "So… you want me to rewrite it?"
"Correct."
"…The whole thing?"
Grace nodded. "That's one way to put it."
Oakley looked at her and suddenly laughed. "Sure. Alright. Got it. Understood."
What the hell? Was her writing that bad? So bad it needed a total rewrite? Was this some kind of twisted joke?
Given Grace's history of shady behavior, Oakley was certain this was personal. Grace was using her position to mess with her.
Grace stood and checked her watch. "I won't take up more of your time. Rest well. Get in the right mindset. Then rewrite the piece."
"Sure. Safe travels." Oakley said sweetly, while mentally stabbing her a thousand times over.
Once the door shut, she groaned and slumped into her seat, cracking her knuckles in front of the keyboard.
But her mind was blank.
No inspiration, no direction—just static. She could practically hear her brain screaming.
Maybe it wasn't just today. Maybe her whole year had been cursed.
Everything kept piling up. And now, even thinking clearly was a luxury she couldn't afford.
When will this streak end?
Will it even end?
Is the universe seriously screwing with me?
The thought triggered a memory.
That fortune teller.
He'd told her: if she didn't get married this year, she'd keep encountering losers, her career would stall, and she'd never recover.
She hadn't believed it—until he'd predicted every twist in her life with eerie accuracy just from her birth chart.
Hard not to take it seriously after that.
The problem? After what she'd been through with men, she'd developed an almost allergic reaction to them. The idea of dating again was terrifying, let alone marriage.
Still… maybe… she could find a woman?
Someone who also just wanted a pragmatic partnership. No romance. No love. Just a team effort to get life back on track. That sounded… kinda nice, actually.
But finding the right woman?
Not easy.
First, she had to be female. Second, open to marrying another woman. Third, cool with a platonic, emotion-free arrangement.
Harder than it sounded.
Where the hell would she find someone like that?
Oakley rubbed her temples and forced herself to refocus on her draft.
But her mind only grew messier. The noise in her head louder.
Forget it. She needed a break before she actually lost it.
On impulse, she messaged her best friend, Amelia Hayes:
"Hey Amelia, free right now? Want to grab dinner with me?"
She needed to unload, badly.
Thankfully, Amelia replied quickly:
"Free!"
Oakley checked the time.
"Cool, let's meet at 5:30 at Southeast Spice."
"OkOk!" Amelia texted back.
Oakley tossed her phone aside, sighed deeply, and grabbed her bag.
But just as she settled into her seat at the restaurant, her phone buzzed again.
A message from Amelia:
"So sorry Oakley—I just realized my husband's coming home tonight. Totally forgot. Rain check?"
Oakley stared at the screen for a second before replying:
"No worries. Go ahead."
She didn't even know when it had started—all her friends getting married one by one, until she was the only one left. These days, even making dinner plans felt like a solo mission.
She sighed, shook her head with a self-deprecating smile, and scanned the QR code to place her order.
Two dishes, just for herself.
As she waited, she overheard a girl at the next table ranting about her new boss—apparently a former nemesis who now micromanaged her daily.
Oakley couldn't help but think of Grace. Was this what it felt like? A job you couldn't escape, ruled by someone who knew just how to push your buttons?
She sympathized deeply. And felt even more certain Grace was targeting her.
But then she shook herself out of it.
Work was work. Life was life. Keep them separate.
Grace might be a pain in the ass—but so what?
It wasn't like they saw each other daily. They'd only cross paths once or twice a month at most.
And really, that wasn't so bad.
She didn't work at Grace's company. Their lives didn't overlap. They didn't have to share space every day.
Maybe, in a way, the universe was still being kind to her.
She chuckled softly. Look at her—growing up, learning to self-soothe.
Whatever. For now, she'd just enjoy her meal.
This was her time—no Grace, no deadlines, no mental breakdowns. Just her and her dinner.
She picked up a perfectly tender slice of fish, imagined herself lounging on a beach, and took a bite.
That's when the door to the restaurant swung open—and a familiar figure walked in.
Oakley didn't think much of it at first. But then she looked closer.
Her chopsticks froze midair.
It was… it was Grace Barron.
The fish slipped from her grip.