Chapter 3: The Truth in the Bullet Comments

[Hehehe, the male lead really bought new underwear. The clueless side character hasn’t even noticed.]

[Morgan is as dumb as a brick, everyone knows it. Our Sydney baby is the smart one. By the way, Sydney has already joined the male lead’s company—can’t wait for them to meet!]

[Yeah, real smart—tripped over herself ten times on her first day, spilled coffee on five guys, annoyed three female coworkers, and threw the financial report in the trash. A little disaster with zero IQ.]

[Hahaha, finally someone said it! The female lead’s young fans are so aggressive, the male lead and side character fans don’t even dare to speak.]

[Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but we don’t call someone with no brains the female lead.]

[Agreed with the above, those are my words.]

[……]

Ethan was the definition of a workaholic. When I woke up, sunlight barely crept through the curtains, and his side of the bed was ice-cold—like he’d left hours ago, more ghost than man. Even the sheets refused to hold his warmth. Maybe the male lead’s gentleness was only for the female lead, after all.

A brand-new pack of Calvin Klein briefs sat on my nightstand, tags still on, like a peace offering from someone who didn’t know how to apologize. I just stared, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity—designer underwear for a marriage circling the drain.

I sprawled back on the bed, phone in hand, letting the bullet comments wash over me. It was like binge-watching a reality show with a live Twitter feed—a train wreck I couldn’t stop watching.

[Morgan is dumb and lazy, just lying in bed all day, while our Sydney baby is so hardworking. Also, the male lead saw Sydney at work but just walked past her—male lead, get ready for the groveling arc!]

[I just DM’d the author. Even though the plot’s changed a bit, the story’s still headed the same way. Let’s just wait for the groveling arc, hehe.]

[Ugh, can Morgan just get written out already? She’s got main character energy but side character brains.]

[Is it really necessary to curse the side character? When do these elementary schoolers go back to class?]

[I can’t stand it either. The side character doesn’t deserve to die. She actually loved the male lead, but the day before her confession, she accidentally called him ‘gross’ while he was in rut, making him misunderstand…]

That last comment was like ice water down my spine. I bolted upright, heart racing.

I remembered—the day before my confession, Ethan and I went to our class reunion. We were in the back booth of a dive bar, sticky floors, neon lights buzzing overhead. He’d had too much to drink, eyes feverish, the usual distance replaced by something raw and hungry. He reached out, hand trembling. The smell of whiskey was overwhelming, so thick it made my stomach churn. Instinctively, I recoiled.

"Ethan, don’t touch me. You reek of alcohol. I feel sick."

As soon as I said it, he froze, a look of utter disbelief flashing across his face. Like I’d hit him where it hurt most.

[Lol, at that moment Ethan was tipsy and only caught the word ‘gross.’ He thought Morgan hated him. As an incubus, he always felt inferior, so that word just crushed him completely.]

[He was in rut and couldn’t help but reach for the one he loved.]

[So that’s why Ethan never drinks.]

[……]

My heart hammered in my chest. That night replayed in my mind, again and again—the disappointment in Ethan’s eyes, the silent retreat. Maybe I’d been wrong all along. Maybe we were both too hurt, too proud, too broken to see the truth.

[Ahhh, why does Ethan secretly keep photos of Morgan? Why?]

[Because he loves her, obviously…]

[Sigh, the male lead is acting strange—he drove back to the house half an hour ago. Morgan’s in danger.]

[Here we go! The hate ship is finally about to have a dramatic scene? Love and hate intertwined—iconic!]

[No way, the male lead belongs to Sydney baby. I don’t buy your nonsense.]

[For the record, the incubus male lead never touched your Sydney baby, not even at the end. Just saying.]

The comments blurred together, words turning to static. I stared at my phone, the screen’s blue glow making the room feel colder.

Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed open. Ethan stormed in, slamming the door behind him, eyes wild, chest heaving. "Morgan, I feel so uncomfortable…" His voice cracked, raw and desperate. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

The sunlight caught on old photo frames—memories of two kids who never learned how to say what mattered. In that moment, the bullet comments faded to static, and all that was left was the truth trembling between us. And for the first time, I wondered if the story I’d been reading was wrong about us after all.