Chapter 1: The Night He Chose Her

Duane Miller’s first love and me? Turns out, we both got dosed with something wild—at the exact same time.

The club lights blurred around the edges. My skin felt too tight—like I was crawling out of myself. The bass thumped so hard I could feel it in my bones, and every breath felt like it might set me on fire. In the haze, it hit me: her and me, both tangled up in this mess. Some kind of cosmic joke. Only in America, right? Friday night in a club and here we are, two women spun out on the same man, both high as kites on something we never signed up for.

She was gasping, quiet and desperate. Me? I was panting like I’d just run the Boston Marathon.

My chest was tight, heart racing like I’d just sprinted the last stretch down Boylston Street. My head spun. Still, I heard everything—her shaky breaths, the low hum of conversation, the way the world tilted, just a little off-center.

“Do you want me, or her?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and impossible to ignore. There was no taking them back now.

Lily Young asked it.

Her voice trembled, but she stood her ground—eyes red-rimmed, chin tipped up like she was daring him to break her heart. There was something so American in her stubbornness—like she’d binge-watched every rom-com and decided she’d never be the girl who just walked away.

She looked like she’d been through hell and back, but still refused to let anyone see her break. That kind of pride was familiar—like small-town girls who learned to grit their teeth and smile through anything. She was shaking, but she wasn’t backing down. Hell, she reminded me of a country song—fragile, but too damn proud to admit it.

I could see Duane’s hesitation clear as day. The hand he’d left on my shoulder went stiff.

It was a dead giveaway—the way his fingers dug in just a little. I felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The club’s neon lights painted strange shadows on his face, making him look older, more tired than I’d ever seen him.

A sour ache washed through my chest; my heart tightened.

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to cry. It was that pain—the kind that hits when your favorite song comes on the radio. Suddenly, every heartbreak you’ve ever had is right there. I wanted to scream, or run, or just disappear.

Suddenly, I was scared to hear Duane’s answer.

My whole body went still, bracing for a car crash I couldn’t avoid. I didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t look away. There was a kind of sick curiosity in it, like picking at a scab just to see if it still hurt.

In the long silence, he curled his lip, his tone cold enough to sting. “Of course, I want her.”

His words hit me like a slap. He didn’t even look at me—just stared past, voice flat and final. The club suddenly felt colder, the music too loud and too far away.

“You…” Lily stared at him in disbelief.

Her face crumpled, like she’d just realized the ground beneath her feet wasn’t as solid as she thought. I almost felt sorry for her—almost.

Duane picked me up from the sofa and walked toward the club’s front door, ignoring her. “You dosed yourself. You should know how to handle it.”

His grip was strong, almost possessive. He didn’t spare Lily a glance, just kept moving, jaw clenched tight. The doorman barely looked up as we passed, used to drama but maybe not this kind. I could hear Lily’s breathing behind us, quick and shallow.

Just then, a few lines of live chat comments seemed to float across my mind:

[The "villain" girl is draped over the lead, all smug. Does she really think he’ll pick her?]

[Ha. She thinks she can replace the main girl just because she’s clung to him for three years while the real heroine was overseas getting treatment. One good cry from the heroine and he’s toast.]

[Sigh, she won’t be smug for long. The lead will take the heroine to a hotel and, thanks to the drug, finally unleash all that pent-up longing. Sparks will fly, and she won’t be walking straight tomorrow. After tonight they’ll get back together, while the lovesick childhood friend goes nuts with jealousy, tries to sabotage the heroine, and gets totally rejected. I mean… the other girl is kind of pitiful, too.]

[I don’t care if the other girl is pitiful! I want the lead to hug the heroine right now and say he chooses her—she’s about to fall apart!]

The comments played in my head like some twisted Greek chorus—a peanut gallery narrating my humiliation. Like a bunch of randos on Reddit, roasting me from behind their screens. I could practically hear the audience at home, popcorn in hand, waiting to see who’d get the happy ending.

Wait a second, am I the lovesick childhood friend here?

It hit me like a bucket of ice water. Was I really the extra in my own story? The realization stung more than I wanted to admit.

As we reached the door, Lily’s soft sobs echoed behind us. “Fine, go ahead and leave… If you walk out that door, I’ll just find someone else. There are plenty of guys who want me.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the threat in it was clear. It was the kind of line you’d hear on daytime TV, but it hit different in real life.

Almost immediately, Duane’s face darkened. “Are you out of your mind?”

His tone was all steel, a warning buried in every word. He stopped in his tracks, shoulders tense, like he was fighting the urge to turn around and drag her out of there himself.

His voice was tight with anger.

You could practically see the storm brewing behind his eyes. For a second, I thought he might actually lose it—right there in the middle of the club, with everyone watching.

“You don’t care anyway, do you?” Lily struggled to prop herself up, her body weak. She wore a pale lavender slip dress, the kind that clings in all the right places. Under the club lights, she looked... dangerous. Too tempting. “If you walk out that door, I’ll call Jesse Carter right now and have him take me to a hotel.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and reckless. The way she said Jesse’s name, you’d think she was daring Duane to call her bluff. Her dress shimmered under the neon, and for a second, she looked like something out of a music video—tragic, beautiful, and just a little bit dangerous.

She held her head high, still proud and fragile, but her tear-filled eyes were locked on Duane.

It was a look that could break a lesser man. I saw the way Duane’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking just below his ear. No one could miss the pain in her eyes, but she refused to let it show anywhere else.

She was the kind of girl men wrote songs about—trouble wrapped in silk, heartbreak in high heels. Even I felt the pull, the urge to reach out and comfort her, to fix what was broken. But some things can’t be fixed.

Jesse Carter came from money and had always loved Lily—would’ve given her anything.

Everyone in our circle knew Jesse—his dad owned half the strip malls in three counties, and he always had a new car and a bigger smile than anyone else. He’d been Lily’s shadow, her bodyguard, her personal cheerleader. If anyone could sweep her off her feet, it was him.

For the three years she was abroad, he was the one by Lily’s side.

He sent her flowers every week. Called her every night. Made sure she never felt alone—even when she was a thousand miles from home. It was devotion straight out of a movie. Made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’d picked the wrong guy all along.

He used to be Duane’s biggest rival.

Their rivalry was the stuff of legend—football games, prom dates, even the annual Fourth of July cook-off. Jesse always played to win, but when it came to Lily, he never quite managed to come out on top.

With the drug burning through me, I lay hot in Duane’s arms, but my heart felt cold and bitter.

It was a cruel twist—my body desperate for him, my heart already mourning what I’d lost. The world spun, but all I could think about was how unfair it all felt. I wanted to scream, to cry, to just disappear into the floor.

I could feel his muscles tense up at Lily’s words, and his chest heaving even though he was trying to keep it together.

Every breath he took was a battle, his body torn between anger and something else I couldn’t name. His grip on me tightened, as if he was afraid I’d slip away if he let go.

His gaze was dark, almost dangerous, as he stared at Lily. His usual self-control and logic were shattered by her in an instant.

I’d never seen him like this—raw, exposed, like all his armor had been stripped away. There was something almost primal in the way he looked at her, a kind of longing mixed with fury.

[The lead is jealous. I love it.]

[Love it, same.]

[He can’t keep up the act anymore. Look at his face—he looks like he wants to kill Jesse.]

[Totally agree. He’s obviously dying inside!]

[He probably wants to take her right there.]

The comments were eating it up, everyone getting hyped.

It was like Twitter blowing up—everyone rooting for the main couple, no one caring about the collateral damage. I could almost hear the crowd cheering, waiting for the fireworks.

In that moment, I understood—he’d already made his choice.

There was a finality in the way he looked at Lily, like he’d already decided how this would end. I felt invisible, like a prop in someone else’s love story.

Almost as if to prove my thoughts and the comments right, after a long pause, Duane finally moved.

He set me back on the sofa, glanced down at me, a complicated apology flickering in his eyes.

For a second, I thought he might say something—anything—to make it better. But the words never came. His eyes said it all: I’m sorry, but not sorry enough.

“I’ll take her home and have her family keep an eye on her. Wait here for me. Don’t let anyone in but me.”

His voice was gentle, but there was a wall between us now. I nodded, too numb to argue. The club lights seemed to blur, the world narrowing down to just the two of them.

My chest felt like it was flooding; even breathing hurt.

It was the kind of hurt that makes you wonder if you’ll ever breathe easy again. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to keep myself together. I could taste salt on my lips and realized I was crying.

I just stared at him.

There were a million things I wanted to say, but none of them would change anything. So I just looked at him, memorizing the way his eyes looked when he was about to walk away.

Questions pressed against my throat, but all I felt was a sour, ridiculous ache.

Why wasn’t I enough? Why did it always come back to her? The questions circled in my mind, sharp and relentless.

Really?

Was this really how it ended? After everything, was I just supposed to sit here and watch him walk out the door?

Once you’re in her room, do you really think you’ll be able to walk away?

I wanted to shout it, to make him promise he wouldn’t let her pull him back in. But I stayed silent, swallowing the words before they could escape.

Duane draped a blanket over me, avoiding my eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look, then picked up Lily and headed for the door.

He moved carefully, almost reverently, as if she were made of glass. The blanket smelled like his cologne, and I hugged it tighter, wishing it was enough to keep me warm.

Just as they were about to leave, in the dim light, I saw a victorious smile on Lily’s lips. She mouthed silently at me—

“Sorry, I win again.”

The words stung, even without sound. Her smile was triumphant, and for a split second, I hated her more than I ever thought possible.

I went silent for two beats.

I let the anger simmer, counting to two like my therapist always told me to do before reacting. But this time, it didn’t help. Not one bit.

Then I flipped her off.

I didn’t even think about it—just let my middle finger fly. It was childish, sure, but it felt damn good. The look on her face was worth it.

A flash of shock crossed Lily’s face.

She hadn’t expected that. For once, she didn’t have a comeback. I almost laughed, despite the tears stinging my eyes.

Yeah.

I’d already lost more than once.

It wasn’t the first time I’d come in second, and I doubted it would be the last. But I still held on to hope, stubborn as ever.

Still, I kept believing maybe the ending would be different.

That’s the thing about growing up in America—everyone tells you to fight for your happy ending, to believe you deserve it. I guess I bought into that a little too much.