I tried to cloak the ache Gray’s biting words left behind, but Elijah saw right through my careful mask. Somehow, that stung even more—the fact that I’d allowed him to witness how deeply those venomous remarks got under my skin.

By the time I got home, Elijah was already in motion, brewing a fresh cup of tea in that considerate boyfriend way that almost made me forget the earlier bitterness. I slipped into the soft embrace of my flannel pajamas, the llama print somehow managing to inject a small measure of humor into the evening, and settled beside him on our generous leather sofa.

There’s an unspoken comfort in rainy days, the kind where the world outside is a wash of muted grays and pattering drops against slanted windows, and the steady rhythm becomes a lullaby against the quiet. I loved wrapping myself in a fuzzy blanket, the warmth from the gas fireplace flickering across the room, while I lost myself in the pages of a good book—or sometimes, it was enough just to sit and let my thoughts drift.

Tonight, though, the fantasy of cozy, carefree cuddles was eclipsed by the weight of what had happened at the bar with Gray. I hated how much power his bitter ultimatum had over my mind, the way his cold gaze and harsh demand echoed in my head, unraveling the calm I craved.

What kind of twisted game was it to force Elijah to pick between his best friend and me? It felt like a cruel joke at my expense, one I hadn’t signed up to play.

“I’m sorry, love,” Elijah murmured, his hand resting gently on my hip through the soft fabric of my pajama pants. “You know Gray was drunk. He didn’t mean any of it.”

I turned toward the rain-soaked window, watching droplets race down the glass as the subtle scent of jasmine wafted from my mug. “If you say so,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

Memories of Gray’s snide remarks and sharp sneers over the past five years rattled around in my mind, each one a tiny jagged stone in the mosaic of my fractured patience.

Elijah shifted closer, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I know, I know,” he said softly.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

Gray’s erratic mood swings were becoming more pronounced, oscillating between playful charm and brooding silence. One minute he was the life of the party, his grin drawing in a crowd of admirers, and the next, he’d retreat into his own shadowed corner, seething in silent fury.

“No, it’s not you,” Elijah replied, searching for the right words. “He just... he jumps to conclusions about some things.”

“You mean, some people,” I muttered, wincing at the sting behind his words.

Elijah’s protective instinct toward Gray was as fierce as it was for me, and the conflict played across his expression like a flicker of lightning. I reached out, cupping his jaw, my thumb tracing the fine stubble along his cheek.

“Yeah. Sometimes those ‘some things’ are people,” he sighed, his features softening into a reassuring smile. “But honestly? It’s Gray. He’ll go off, blow off steam, and in a few weeks, this will be just another forgotten argument.”

But I wasn’t so sure. Gray’s behavior felt like a constantly reopening paper cut, each encounter reopening old wounds sharper than before.

“He looked so furious,” I whispered, still seeing the furrow of his brow, the way his glare had locked on me like I’d personally wronged him. “And then he just stormed out.”

“He’s an asshole,” Elijah said bluntly, his hand moving to rest softly on my inner thigh before he stood. “I’ll handle this. Don’t fret.”

I hated the thought of Elijah caught in the middle of their needless drama, so I stayed quiet as he prepared for bed, the heat from my now-cold tea fading into the background.

Then, he returned down the hall, clad in a tight college baseball shirt that stretched just enough to reveal the strong lines of his shoulders and chest. Somehow, even in casual sweats, he looked like he belonged on a glossy magazine cover—muscular, confident, effortlessly handsome.

His smile—a teasing, crooked thing that always felt like a secret between us—broke through the fog of my sour thoughts. The spark in his clear, blue eyes pulled me up from the couch and straight into his arms.

The familiar warmth of his embrace wrapped around me, grounding me with a sense of safety I hadn’t realized I’d been craving so badly.

I rose onto my toes, pressing a kiss to the dimple beneath his chin—the one that reminded me of Clark Kent sans glasses—and let my hands wander across the firm plane of his chest.

“Ready for bed?” Elijah yawned, stretching his arms upward, exposing the enticing skin above the waistband of his boxers.

That man could wear a pair of Calvin Klein briefs and still look like a Greek god.

“Among other things,” I teased, slipping a finger beneath the elastic of his waistband to trace gentle circles along his hipbones.

The smile that spread across his face was wicked, full of promise. He swept me up like I weighed nothing, pressing his lips to mine in a well-timed, heated kiss.

“Let’s go,” he murmured against my mouth, carrying me effortlessly toward our bedroom sanctuary.

It still amazed me—how someone like Elijah, with his effortless charisma, athletic build, and boyish charm, could want someone like me. A painfully introverted woman whose social awkwardness was often mistaken for aloofness, and whose carefully constructed façade barely concealed the anxious storm beneath.

Back in college, my meticulous nature and rigid routines had my Intro to Psych professor speculating about undiagnosed OCD. Meanwhile, Elijah’s magnetic personality, sporty handsomeness, and natural ease made him a campus favorite.

And yet, he chose me.

We met at one of his fraternity’s notorious end-of-summer bashes—the kind of wild party I would have never agreed to attend, if not for my roommate’s unrelenting crush on Gray.

As I stood nervously by the keg, Elijah was pumping beer, his bright eyes catching mine across the room. He handed off the task to a pledge and offered me a personal tour of the house. From that moment, we were inseparable, navigating the whirlwind of college life hand in hand, completely smitten.

It was serendipity—a modern fairy tale without the tired clichés or archaic roles. Just two people finding each other against the odds, falling hard despite my nerdy glasses and misguided fashion choices.

Our love had unfolded faster than any plan I’d ever made, but who was I to argue with fate—or with the wild, unpredictable heart that had taken over my life?