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to love your lies

1ynluna
7
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Chapter 1 - First lie

Michelle

It was a lazy afternoon. I was sprawled on my bed, wrapped in the kind of comfort that makes you forget the world exists. I finally decided to start reading a new novel I'd impulsively bought two weeks ago. Yeah, two weeks. That's how long it took me to find the time. Managing your schedule as a nursing student isn't exactly easy.

Before diving into chapter one, I left a message for my best friend telling her not to disturb me today. She's clingy—but I love her for it.

Just as I flipped the first page, my phone started vibrating. I reached out blindly, patting around the bed like a lost detective, before realizing I'd left it on my study table. Great. Just great. With a groan and a dramatic roll of my eyes, I dragged myself out of bed to grab it.

Without checking the screen, I answered.

"I literally told you not to disturb m—"

"I don't remember you sending me any message about that, Mich."

My eyes flew wide as realization hit me. That wasn't Nicole. My gaze darted to the screen—Dad.

Oh, shit.

"H-hey, Dad. I didn't know you'd call," I said, forcing a laugh that hopefully covered the embarrassment in my voice.

I bit my lip. Seriously, Mich? Couldn't even check who was calling first?

He cleared his throat on the other end.

"Listen, your mom and I need to talk to you. There's something important you need to know. Be here for dinner."

His tone was clipped and businesslike—as if he were talking to an employee, not his daughter. My brows knit together.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be there at eight."

He didn't reply. I opened my mouth to say something else, but the line had already gone dead.

How are you? I miss you and Mom.

Words I never managed to say out loud.

My dad, George Winston, is the CEO of Winston Inc.—a man always traveling, always too busy. To him, his company is my future, something I'm meant to inherit someday. But I want something else. I want to wear a white coat, not a suit. I want to be a doctor. To hold a stethoscope, not a business card. It took a lot of courage and compromise just to convince my dad to let me choose what I want to pursue in college. It may be hard, but I know it is worth the sacrifice to help and save lives.

I glanced at the clock—it was already 1 p.m. I needed to return the book I borrowed from the library. Sure, I could easily buy one; my dad would insist I should just own every book I need rather than deal with the "inconvenience" of returning borrowed ones. But that's exactly the point. I want to experience what it's like to live without relying on privilege. Besides, I don't like spending too much. I'd rather save my money for emergencies—tucked away safely in my piggy bank.

Feeling drained, I decided to start getting ready for dinner later. I'd just book an Uber from the library to Dad's house instead of having his driver pick me up. I can manage on my own—I always do.

My eyes wandered over the clothes hanging neatly in my closet. I was searching for something suitable for a family dinner—a dress, maybe. But my wardrobe isn't exactly filled with them. I've always leaned toward the casual style like jeans and shirt or some polo and hoodies. Still, I should've listened to Mom when she told me to keep at least one proper dress for moments like this. Not that tonight is anything special. It's just been four months since I last saw them.

Four months of unanswered calls, missed messages, and unspoken words. Dad buried in meetings, Mom caught up managing the company's world, and me—lost somewhere between duty and dreams. Sometimes, it feels like we're all living in the same story, just on different pages.

After what felt like the thousandth time staring into my closet, I finally decided on an outfit: a white skirt paired with black stockings and a crisp white polo—my usual nod to the old-money aesthetic. I slipped on my trench coat and boots, just the perfect companions for this fall season. I never really wear makeup on a daily basis I just love holding on to the idea that simplicity suits me better. A dab of lip balm to soften my naturally pink lips was enough and I let my waist-length hair fall freely over my shoulders—it didn't need much effort anyway, the natural blowout waves were already doing their own thing. Not to brag, but I truly love my blue eyes and I think it made me obsessed over myself.

When the clock struck two, I grabbed my bag and headed out. I live at Waterside Towers, about a 25- to 35-minute commute from the University I go to, George Washington University. But since the Southwest Library was only a ten-minute walk away, I decided to go on foot—a small favor for my body, which deserved as much exercise as my brain 'cause I've been doing lots of studies lately, like...always.

The moment I stepped outside, a soft breeze brushed against my hair, carrying with it the familiar scent of fall. The air was cool but gentle, the kind that wakes you up without biting your skin. Leaves rustled as the wind swept them across the pavement, painting the ground with shades of amber and gold. I've always loved this season—the orange and yellow hues, the quiet rhythm of change—it has a way of making everything feel calm, like the world is finally taking a deep breath. It feels like I can finally be free.

"Done with the book already?" Mrs. Smith, the fifty-six-year-old librarian, asked as soon as she saw me walking toward her to sign and return the book I borrowed two days ago.

I smiled. "I needed to be fast, Mrs. Smith," I said, scribbling my name on the return sheet.

Her eyes brightened, though I could still catch the flicker of concern behind them. "That means you haven't been sleeping properly, sweetie."

Mrs. Smith has always treated me like a daughter. Her only child, who's just a few years older than me, moved away from Washington to live independently, so she often channels that motherly warmth toward me instead.

"Well, I guess it's worth it for a good book?" I teased.

She gave me a small, knowing smile — the kind that said she'd given up trying to convince me to rest.

After leaving the counter, I wandered toward the shelves to find something new to read — maybe a classic literature this time instead of another book filled with human anatomy. The classic literature section was tucked away at the far end of the library, and as I made my way there, I scrolled down through my phone to look for a book title in my reading list and found Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. It's been on my list for way too long. Maybe today's the day that I check that book off the list.

When I reached the shelf, I spotted the familiar spine on the top row. I stretched up on my toes, just a few inches short of reaching it — god, why was I asleep when you blessed the world with height? I took a deep breath and trying not to get annoyed by this little thing but before I could try again, a hand reached from behind me and pulled the book down effortlessly.

I turned around, startled, and found myself face-to-face with a tall, surprisingly attractive guy — the kind of hot-looking nerd you wouldn't expect to find in a library. He looked about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a toned build that didn't quite match the image of someone who spent their days buried in books. I would rather think he's one of those guys who'd hit the gym every single day.

"Do you want the book or not?"

I finally snapped back to my senses, which had apparently been hijacked by the sight of this god—I mean, man—in front of me. And seriously, what was that voice? why was it so Deep, calm, and unfairly distracting. Ugh. No. definitely and absolutely not helping.

His eyebrows lifted slightly as he handed me the book. I took it quickly and hugged it to my chest, my eyes refusing to leave his.

"It's not polite to stare, lady."

My lips parted in surprise. "Excuse me? I wasn't staring at all!" I hissed, trying to keep my voice down—because, hello, library.

He took a step forward, and instinctively, I took one back. He leaned down, closing the distance between us until we were almost eye level—though he was still taller, of course. My heart was practically doing cartwheels in my chest. That was when I really saw him—light brown eyes catching the sunlight, a sharp jawline that looked like it had been sculpted on purpose, freckles that suspiciously looks fake and dimples that appeared with his smirk.

Dimples are a defect. He's a defect.

At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

But somehow, I was starting to think I liked defect beings after all.

"Are you sure?" he teased, lips curving into an evil little smirk. "Your face says otherwise."

I shoved him lightly, my palms landing against his chest—solid, warm, and way too real. "I'm just sick," I blurted, forcing a smile. "You know what? Thanks for the help, mister."

"You're welcome, lady," he said, winking before turning back to the shelf. He grabbed another book and walked away, that infuriatingly calm smile still on his lips.

His voice lingered in my head—low, steady, and impossible to ignore.

The kind of voice I thought only existed in the books I read.