Not Yours to Love

Author: Alicia Newton

Chapter 1: Shadows and Spotlights

I am Mariah Jennings.

Sometimes, when I stare into the bathroom mirror—smudged with last night's Maybelline mascara and streaked with toothpaste splatters—I have to remind myself who I am in this story. Not the main character. Not the heroine. Just Mariah—always a little off-center, always a step behind the spotlight, the kind of girl who can never quite nail the perfect cat-eye even with a YouTube tutorial running in the background.

I realized very early on that I wasn’t the one driving the plot of this story. If life were a high school movie, I’d be the girl always in the bleachers, never the one scoring the winning goal.

It’s wild how two girls can grow up in the same echoing mansion—parents so cold and distant you wonder if you’re just another piece of the furniture—and still turn out nothing alike. Savannah Lee, next door, with her gentle voice and that ballerina posture, somehow managed to be the poster child for grace at every school dance and community event. Me? Every morning, I woke up with one thing on my mind: What can I do today to finally outshine Savannah?

Even though we grew up with the same kind of parents—never home, never asking about our day, just leaving us to roam that oversized, empty house—Savannah turned out sweet and poised, the kind of girl who wins Homecoming Queen without even trying. Meanwhile, I’d sign up for the same clubs, wear the latest Abercrombie, and still come up second. Every day, I woke up plotting my next move to get ahead of her.

That night, there was a charity gala and jewelry auction at the downtown Marriott—a perfect chance for me to finally steal her spotlight and maybe get my photo in the society pages.

It was the kind of event where everyone wore their best J.Crew and Coach, sipping champagne while whispering about who donated what. The air buzzed with talk of silent auctions, designer diamonds, and who would win the trip to Aspen. I’d picked out my dress weeks ago, convinced this would be my night.

But then, disaster struck: we showed up in the exact same dress.

My heart plummeted when I saw her. There we were, side by side in identical floor-length navy gowns—a cosmic joke if there ever was one. But I wasn’t about to let Savannah win. Not tonight. Not again.

I “accidentally” poured red wine all over Savannah, my hand shaking just enough to look believable, my blood-red nails trembling as if in horror. Inside, though, I was fighting back a grin, my shoulders barely holding in the laughter.

The whole room went silent. A few people gasped. I stammered out apologies, eyes wide, but inside I was practically doing a victory dance. The way the wine bled across her dress—chef’s kiss. If this were a romcom, I’d be raising a glass to myself and saying, “Nailed it.”

Savannah was totally helpless. She rushed out of the ballroom, and right then, she ran smack into my beloved Julian Carter.

I caught every flicker in Julian’s eyes in that moment—confusion, concern, maybe even a little spark.

That was love at first sight. For him, anyway.

So, he wasn’t cold or indifferent—he just never showed any emotion toward me.

Unfortunately, I desperately wanted to fall in love with Julian Carter.

Someone like Julian—handsome, wealthy, talented, with a family name that opens every door—should be with me. Then I could finally live basking in everyone’s envy.

Why do girls like Savannah, with her fake sweetness, get all the love?

But Julian always treated me like a kid sister. He said so, and acted the part. Being the little sister was good—it meant we were close. But not close enough.

Savannah was just a passing phase. Maybe she was a shiny new toy for Julian, but that kind of novelty never lasts.

But the private investigator I hired said Savannah kept “accidentally” running into Julian.

That couldn’t be a coincidence—it meant Julian cared.

I was so anxious, I made myself sick.

On Savannah’s birthday, I just knew Julian would show up with a gift for her. He never missed an occasion.

Sure enough, when I saw him through the window, I bolted downstairs.

Then, I “accidentally” tripped right in front of him and twisted my ankle.

"Julian, it hurts," I whimpered, looking up at him with big, watery eyes, trying to look as pitiful and delicate as possible.

Julian sighed. "You gotta watch your step."

"I can’t get up," I said, my voice all soft and helpless, my body limp like I’d just lost the big game.

He bent down, letting me climb onto his back.

Yes, this was the closeness we were supposed to have.

I pressed my cheek against his shoulder, the soft cotton of his shirt warm against my skin, breathing in his cologne—cedar and something sharp, expensive. For a second, I let myself believe this was real.

"What are you holding so tightly? Why won’t you let go?" I lay comfortably on his back, asking even though I already knew the answer.

"Just something small, for someone."

"For Savannah?"

Julian paused for a moment, then tried to sound casual. "Yeah."

"I really envy her."

Julian didn’t say anything, just quietly carried me to my door.

Just as he set me down, I caught a glimpse of Savannah’s window closing out of the corner of my eye.

Perfect. She saw it too.

Of course, Julian should be the gentlest with me—we have a deep bond, after all.

"Goodbye, Julian. Help me wish Savannah a happy birthday." I flashed him my brightest smile.

Julian seemed distracted, just nodded, and left with the gift he’d been holding so tightly.

According to my plan, Savannah might not even accept the gift.

They were ambiguous, sure, but the scene between me and Julian just now should have been enough to burst all those hazy pink bubbles.

—But I saw Savannah open the door for him and warmly invite him inside.

It shouldn’t be like this. How could Savannah allow any flaw in the love she’s about to have? Isn’t she supposed to be the most aloof?

I thought only I could endure such things.

But there was nothing I could do. I could only quietly wait for the good news they would soon announce to everyone.

It’s fine, it’s just making their relationship official. Savannah is still far from becoming Mrs. Carter.

However, in the days that followed, I didn’t hear any news about Julian winning the beauty’s heart.

But I did hear that he had acquired two more companies.

And his assistant told me he was in a bad mood and drank heavily every night.

I was in a good mood.

Very good.

Next, all I needed to do was be the comforting flower by Julian’s side as he drank away his sorrows. Wouldn’t it be easy to win him over then?

But when I calmed down, I realized something was wrong.

Julian isn’t the type to get anxious or lose control. For him to act like this, Savannah must have completely rejected any possibility between them. But how could she reject him so quickly?

I still had plenty of tricks up my sleeve.

With all of Julian’s qualities, could Savannah really feel nothing for him?

I began to question my own judgment, even started doubting if Julian was really all that.

But everyone said he was.

So it must be Savannah’s bad taste.

My relationship with Savannah had always been distant, thanks to my constant provocations.

But I never expected it!

She!

Would actually bring me chicken noodle soup because of my sprained ankle!

She showed up at my door, thermos in hand, with that serene smile. The familiar scent of homemade chicken noodle—steam curling from the thermos, thick with noodles and carrots—filled the foyer. I almost slammed the door in her face out of habit.

But even if she brought ten more bowls, I wouldn’t give her a good face.

Savannah was probably used to my two-faced behavior, so she just smiled gently and showed concern.

But just as I finished drinking, head lowered, and set down the bowl, I caught a fleeting look of disgust in her eyes.

A chill ran through me—my heart started racing, skin prickling with goosebumps.

Savannah had never looked at me like that before. Even when I hid her prom dress or tossed her love letters in the trash, she never showed such an expression.

I felt something was off with Savannah.

Ever since that birthday.

I suspected the soup was poisoned, that she wanted to silence me.

Suddenly, my stomach hurt.

Under Savannah’s startled gaze, I clutched my stomach and collapsed.

Savannah didn’t panic. She capped the thermos, called 911, and after calmly finishing everything, asked, "Do you want to notify a friend? For example, Chris Ramirez?"

Chris Ramirez? The one who’s confessed to me seven times? Who wants to see him—call Julian if you must.

"I want Julian Carter." I said through gritted teeth.

Savannah looked a little disappointed.

I didn’t understand. Savannah had already given up on Julian, so why was she disappointed to hear I wanted him?

I was sent to the hospital.

The soup wasn’t poisoned, it was just my stomach acting up.

Maybe because I cried so pitifully on the phone, Julian still left his meeting to come see me.

But the moment he saw Savannah in my hospital room, his steps toward me faltered.

"Savannah," Julian’s expression softened, cautious, "you’re here too."

Savannah nodded coldly.

I cried even harder.

Julian looked helpless. He picked up my medical record, read it for a while, and his furrowed brows slowly relaxed: "It’s okay."

I pulled him closer, hugged his waist, and rested my head against his stomach. "It hurts, it hurts so much I can’t even walk."

Savannah suddenly spoke: "Yeah, she’s not feeling great."

Julian stiffened in my embrace, and grew even more rigid after hearing Savannah’s voice.

He kept glancing over at Savannah as if by accident.

But Savannah didn’t look at him—she stared at the hospital room door.

I didn’t understand.

Chris’s arrival interrupted my thoughts.

It was obvious Chris had rushed over, sweat beading on his forehead like he’d just run a marathon.

Chris was actually a very elegant and composed person, just like the Julian I was obsessed with. The only difference was, Julian could always keep his cool, but Chris always lost his composure in front of me.

Because he liked me.

Back in school, refined, clean, and polite boys were easily ostracized, and Chris was one of them. One day, when he was cornered, I stood up for him.

The only reason I helped him beat up those guys was because I was in a bad mood for two reasons.

One, my parents praised Savannah’s piano playing as much better than mine.

Two, I saw my childhood friend Julian dating a wild girl. So, in a foul mood, I managed to beat up three jerks at once.

Chris probably had never seen anyone like me.

Since then, he was devoted to me.

I treated him as a little brother, but he wanted to date me.

Even though Chris knew I was infatuated with Julian.

So when he rushed into the hospital room and saw me hugging Julian, even though it was awkward, he still acted like nothing happened and said, "Mariah, you’re okay. That’s good."

Julian pried my hand off him, pointed at Chris, and said, "You take care of her."

Chris dropped the smile he used for me and coldly replied to Julian, "Of course."

At this moment, Savannah said to Chris, "Let’s take turns taking care of Mariah. I have time these days."

If Savannah took time to look after me, she wouldn’t have time to be with Julian.

I was a little happy and wanted to nod, but Chris refused: "No need. If anything comes up, I’ll have the housekeeper come."

Savannah’s expression changed slightly.

Julian’s face turned green on the spot.

Although I didn’t know why this drama was happening, I could tell Julian was very unhappy about Chris’s light rejection of the person he cared about most.

Ramirez family business, danger.

Chris didn’t sense the impending crisis at all, only asked if I wanted soup.

"Yes…" I glanced at Julian’s face and swallowed the words ‘I want Julian to feed me,’ only saying, "Yes, I do."

Still need to be more targeted.

When Savannah left, I watched Julian chase after her, but Chris held me down firmly.

I couldn’t run.

So I vented my anger on Chris: "Why didn’t you let her stay?"

Chris calmly studied me for a moment, then said, "You want to mess with her, don’t you? Don’t—if you get too angry, you’ll end up in the psych ward."

It wasn’t convenient to say my real intentions, so I changed the subject: "Why did you come?"

"Savannah called Julian first, then Julian contacted me."

So angry—Julian came right away, but not because of my call.

However, the day after I was discharged, I got a call from Julian.

Julian’s drunk voice was low and magnetic, sending a shiver down my spine.

Of course, what made me secretly happy was that the person he thought of when drunk at night was me.

But when I arrived at Julian’s place, I saw his phone screen still lit up.

It was my number.

…Apparently, I’d bombarded Julian with calls an hour ago, so the drunk guy just happened to tap my number.

Really, no room for imagination.

…I don’t care.

I sat next to Julian, shoulder to shoulder, in an intimate pose, then raised my phone and snapped a photo, immediately sending it to Savannah: "Julian is very drunk. Do you want to come pick him up?"

I stared closely at my phone.

After waiting so long, Savannah finally replied, but it was a cold three words: "I’m busy."

???

I was disappointed, very disappointed.

Savannah’s indifference made me feel she’d really given up on Julian, she no longer fought with me for him, but I didn’t feel happy at all.

I doubted my own judgment again. Everyone said Julian was the moon in the sky, so why could Savannah just give up on him?

I couldn’t figure it out, so I kept thinking, until Julian’s faint scent enveloped me, and I subconsciously turned my face, just in time to be face-to-face with him.

Julian after drinking was dreamy and alluring.

I felt like we might kiss at any moment.

But at that moment, I was thinking more about whether Savannah would suddenly burst in. If she did, that would be exciting.

Time ticked by, and the tightly closed door didn’t move at all.

Savannah wouldn’t come.

I didn’t really want to kiss Julian anymore.

It’s boring if no one sees it.

When Julian’s head drooped down, he bumped into my forehead.

It hurt so much. As I rubbed my forehead and played with my phone, I saw the latest message and photo from Savannah.

"I’m busy because I’m also drinking. By the way, your friend is here too."

The person in the photo was Chris.

The place where Chris drank was far from both his home and work, hard to run into acquaintances. It was a secret bar only I knew about.