The Exes' Crematorium: Begging on Their Knees

The wood of my front door vibrated under the violent pounding, threatening to splinter.

My two exes barricaded my hallway, practically tearing each other's throats out over who got to officially claim me. Ex number one was a trustfund billionaire.

I could still picture the arrogant tilt of his chin, his eyes raking over my thrifted dress while his countryclub buddies howled in the background. "A label? Look in the mirror.

You're just a warm body." Ex number two was the ultimate overprotective caretaker—right up until the moment he shoved past me to catch a flight overseas, playing knightinshiningarmor for his married college friend. "She just had a baby and her postpartum depression is severe," he had said, not even glancing back. "Be a good girl and step aside." So, I did exactly that.

I blocked their numbers, wiped them from my socials, and scrubbed every trace of them from my life. I even agreed to the family networking dinner my mom set up for me. But now?

The same two men who treated me like dirt under their designer shoes were having a pathetic meltdown outside my apartment.

Chapter 1 With the holidays approaching, my mom was back on her matchmaking crusade. "The guys you set me up with looked like literal bridge trolls," I brushed her off. "If I ran into one of them in the dark, I'd probably call an exorcist.

Hard pass." She chewed me out for being too picky before finally swearing up and down that this one was genuinely hot. I gave her a noncommittal hum and hung up.

I pushed through the glass doors into the conference room. The director's face was thunderous. He was tearing down the line of employees, ripping into everyone one by one.

But when he got to me? His face practically cramped as he forced a tight, polite smile. "Blair, the data progression is solid.

Keep up the good work." The rest of the room exchanged that look. A mix of thinly veiled contempt, eyerolls, and straightup jealousy.

Everyone knew that my fouryear climb to Product Manager at Zenith Tech was entirely thanks to Killian. My exboyfriend. The first one.

A couple of years ago, a room full of glares would have made my face burn with shame. Now? I didn't even blink. Once upon a time, I actually wanted Killian to love me.

I just didn't realize he only wanted to sleep with me. Once we got that straight, I pivoted. I decided I was only in it for his money and his power.

I ruthlessly weaponized the resources he threw my way, snagging the lead on every major project and clawing my way up from a nobody junior associate.

Honestly, deep down, I was grateful to him.

Without Killian paving the way, a girl like me with zero trustfund connections would probably be stuck running spreadsheets in a cubicle for the next decade.

Fortune 500 companies were a bloodbath. It was survival of the fittest. The people glaring at me were just bitter they didn't have my leverage. They didn't get it.

Bagging a billionaire ex was just another bullet point on my resume, proving my own capability.

I gathered my meeting notes and headed up to the executive suite, routine as ever, to get Killian's signoff.

I pushed open the double doors of Killian's panoramic glass CEO office, and a thick, cloying wave of Black Opium perfume instantly invaded my lungs. My brow furrowed on instinct.

Killian was borderline obsessive about scents. He despised perfume. Back when we were together, he flatout banned me from wearing any.

Once, I tested a tiny sample from a makeup counter right before a date. He took one whiff, his jaw locked in disgust, and he turned and walked out on me.

The entire building treated his preference like an unwritten corporate commandment. Nobody stepped foot on the top floor without triplechecking they smelled like nothing.

Killian was leaning back in his leather chair, a woman draped across his lap.

She was stunning—perfect blowout, draped in a white Chanel suit with tiny camellias embroidered on the cuffs. Every single hair was gelled into flawless submission.

She screamed oldmoney heiress. She sat sideways on his legs, her arms looped lazily around his neck.

Rumor had it Killian was finally settling down and getting engaged to some billionaire's only daughter, someone who actually belonged in his tax bracket. This must be her.

He had to be absolutely crazy about her to let his precious "no perfume" rule slide.

I kept my eyes neutral, striding over to drop the binder on his desk. "These are the rollout proposals for next week.

I just need your signature." Killian always kept business and pleasure completely severed. Professional hours meant professional conduct—zero exceptions.

He set those boundaries years ago, and I played by them perfectly. He arched a brow, grabbed the binder, flipped through it without really looking, and uncapped his pen.

His fiancée wasn't having the silence. She shifted her weight against him, leaning over his arm to watch him sign. "Killian, your handwriting is gorgeous," she murmured playfully.

Killian gave her hip a familiar pat, scribbled his name, and slid the binder back across the polished wood.

I reached out to grab it. "Hold on a second," his fiancée suddenly cut in.

Chapter 2 "Are you Blair?" "Yes." "You must be incredibly smart, then." She flashed an innocently wide smile. "I've heard your name.

They said there was a girl at Killian's company climbing the corporate ladder faster than anyone else. So it's you." I held my tongue.

She glanced down at her feet and let out a sudden, soft gasp. "Oh, my lace came undone." The silk ribbons of her designer ballet flats had slipped loose.

Her tone was pure, harmless sugar. "Could you tie it for me? My skirt is a bit too tight to bend down." "I'll do it," Killian cut in.

The fiancée twisted back around, giving him a pouting, babydoll look. "No way.

I want you holding me." "You." Killian clicked his tongue, a faint smirk playing on his lips, before his eyes flicked to me.

Nestled comfortably against his chest, she lifted her foot toward me. "Thanks so much." I stared at the silk ribbon for a long second, then dropped to a crouch and tied her shoe.

It was a blatant power play. I knew Killian saw exactly what she was doing. But he just sat there and let her play her little game. A quiet breath slipped through my teeth.

This was only the beginning. The petty drama was just going to escalate from here. Good thing I had that resignation letter sitting in my drafts for the last two weeks.

It was time to hit send. By the time I left the building, the sky was pitch black. I stood on the curb outside the lobby, glaring at the Uber app on my phone.

The driver was still ten minutes out. A sleek Bugatti crawled to a halt right in front of me. The tinted window rolled down.

Killian rested one hand lazily on the steering wheel, tilting his head my way. "Get in." "I'm good, Boss. I've got an Uber." I waved my screen at him.

He barely glanced at the screen before reaching straight out the window, snatching my phone right out of my grip.

His thumb swiped across the glass, canceling the ride. "Not anymore." "…Is that really appropriate, Boss?" "Drop the act." He arched an eyebrow, his tone completely matteroffact. "It's not like you haven't been in my car before." He paused, his gaze darkening. "We've done a hell of a lot more than just ride in it." I stared right back at him and let out a dry laugh.

Alright then. The playboy was finally taking off the corporate mask. I yanked the passenger door open, dropped into the leather seat, and buckled up.

Killian hit the gas, merging smoothly into the evening traffic. He had ditched his jacket, leaving only a dark gray dress shirt.

The sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing his lean forearms. Faint veins mapped across the back of his hands, his knuckles sharp and prominent against the wheel.

I knew those hands way too well. Back when we shared a bed, he didn't have an ounce of the stuffy, professional restraint he paraded around the office.

He was unadulterated chaos behind closed doors. Ruthless, dirty, and lacking a filter. I dragged my eyes away and stared out the passenger window.

We hit a red light, and the silence broke. "Are you mad?" I turned my head, catching his gaze.

He was watching me, a flicker of searching curiosity in his eyes. "Why would I be?" I flashed him a plastic smile. "What exactly is there to be mad about?" A faint smirk touched his lips. "You've definitely learned to play nice." Killian looked back at the road, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel. "The old you wouldn't have handled that little stunt in the office.

You would've been in tears." I kept my mouth shut. The light flipped green, and the Bugatti surged forward.

I leaned my head against the headrest, letting the silence stretch before I finally spoke. "I know my place. Why would I ever want to piss off the future Mrs.

Killian?" His favoritism was written in neon lights.

I wasn't stupid enough to ignore it. "When you two tie the knot, I'll make sure to pick the most expensive gift off your luxury wedding registry." All I wanted was for the royal couple to show some mercy.

To stop making life a living hell for a lowly corporate drone like me. Killian shot me a freezing, sideways glare. I offered a provocative shrug. "A thousanddollar check.

Generous enough?" He gripped the steering wheel so hard the veins on the back of his hands bulged against his skin.

His face darkened instantly, plunging into a chilling, absolute gloom. Chapter 3 I chewed on the silence, wondering if Killian thought the amount was too cheap. Makes sense.

The great Killian wiped his hands with thousanddollar bills. A grand was definitely an insult to his tax bracket.

I carefully raised the bid. "Then… three thousand?" He remained silent. I sucked in a sharp breath.

Was this guy trying to extort my entire month's salary? "Five grand!" I gritted my teeth. "That's my final offer, Boss.

I still need to save up for a down payment." Killian slammed on the brakes. The Bugatti's tires shrieked against the asphalt.

Momentum pitched me hard forward before the seatbelt viciously snapped me back against the leather.

He suddenly lunged into my space, his forearm bracing heavily against my headrest to box me in. His chest heaved.

The dark, consuming possessiveness in his eyes looked ready to swallow me whole. "Blair," he snapped, the usually immaculate mask of control slipping to reveal raw frustration. "How the hell can you say those things so casually?" "Did you completely forget how you used to be?

Back then, if I even glanced at another woman, you'd be jealous all night. You'd cry until your eyes were swollen shut and hide your face at the office the next day." I froze.

I couldn't believe he actually remembered that humiliating, braindead era of my life. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Did I?

My memory is a little blurry." Killian scoffed, exhaling a heavy, jagged breath. I was lying. Of course I remembered. That was the year I was genuinely, stupidly in love.

My first encounter with Killian was in the pouring rain.

I had found a stray kitten with a crushed leg on the asphalt, and I was standing on the curb, soaked to the bone, trying to hail a cab.

Killian was the only one who bothered to pull his car over. We exchanged numbers. It wasn't until a few days later that it finally clicked.

My handsome savior was actually the apex predator of my company—the big boss himself. He started pursuing me.

He played the perfect, patient gentleman, burying my cramped apartment in enough designer gifts to sink a ship. Dating, falling in love—it all felt dangerously effortless.

I was so naive back then. Completely blind to the massive, glaring gap in our social classes.

I was too busy patting myself on the back, convinced I had somehow landed my own sweet, romantic comedy ending. I comfortably slipped into the role of Killian's official girlfriend.

I started managing his wardrobe, nagging him about his meals, and questioning his drinking habits and latenight friends.

Killian possessed toptier genetics—sharply carved bone structure and a dangerously intoxicating aura. Especially those eyes.

He could look at a fire hydrant with agonizing devotion.

He used to hook his arm around my waist, flashing me a wicked grin. "Babe, you look so fierce when you scold me." His fratboy friends would jeer and whistle in the background, their tones dripping with thinly veiled mockery. "Uhoh, the wifey is pissed!

Better grovel, Killian!" But the old me was too oblivious to catch the toxic sarcasm. I just blushed and played the part.

I genuinely believed we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I tried to return all the platinum credit cards and luxury handbags he threw at me.

Whatever I couldn't return, I carefully locked away. I was actively trying to save his money, budgeting like a thrifty housewife.

Right up until the day I borrowed his laptop and accidentally opened a thread of explicit, flirty texts between him and another woman.

I tracked him down at his exclusive VIP club like an absolute lunatic, my hair a mess and my face blotchy. The private booth was packed walltowall.

Every single head turned to stare at me in stunned silence. Killian didn't try to comfort me this time. He sat back, a thick cigar clamped between his long, elegant fingers.

He took a slow drag and blew the heavy smoke directly into my face. "Look," he drawled carelessly, "you acting like this is incredibly embarrassing for me." The tear tracks burned against my flushed cheeks like acid. "But you said it," I choked out. "You swore you loved me.

You said you wanted to be with me forever." Killian casually threw his hands up. "Are you kidding? It's called dirty talk.

I say that to half the women I sleep with." "But it's different! I'm your girlfriend. I—I'm not like them…" I couldn't compute where the gentle, devoted Killian had gone.

I was still desperately clawing, trying to drag him back to the surface. But Killian's patience had evaporated. His lips curled into a cruel, mocking smirk. "A label?

Look in the mirror. You really think you're worthy?" "We were just having fun. Don't take it so seriously." Chapter 4 After that day, I cried until I dryheaved.

But eventually, the fog cleared. Crying over a man was pathetic. What was the point?

I swore to myself right then and there: from now on, the only thing that would ever make me cry was money. God, please, bury me in cold, hard cash until I weep.

For the next couple of weeks, I worked like a dog. I didn't have a single spare second to throw a pity party. Half a month vanished in a blur of spreadsheets and meetings.

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and stopped dead in my tracks. My apartment was spotless. A fresh bouquet of flowers sat dead center on the dining table.

The rich, savory smell of simmering soup drifted from the kitchen, filling the entire space. Elias stood there with an apron tied around his waist.

His amber eyes crinkled at the corners, soft and warm. "Blair. Time to eat." He looked completely serene.

As if, right before his flight, we hadn't been screaming at the top of our lungs over his precious college friend.

As if I hadn't looked him dead in the eye and prayed his plane would crash. I was almost shocked at the pure venom that had spilled out of my mouth that day. But right now?

My heart flatlined into an icy calm. I leaned against the doorframe. "Well, look who it is.

The baby daddy returns." Elias ladled soup into a bowl, a strained, bitter smile touching his lips. "Blair, don't joke about that. It was an emergency.

Her husband got stuck overseas on a business trip and couldn't make it back. I had to step up." I kept my face deadpan. "Oh, definitely.

With your incredible sense of duty, it'd be a crime if that kid didn't call you godfather." "You're still mad, aren't you?" Elias lowered his gaze, playing the submissive saint. "I'm sorry.

It was my fault.

Have you been eating on time these past few weeks?" "If your period is still late, I already pulled some strings and booked you an appointment with the top gynecologist at the Mayo Clinic." "I also stocked up on fresh ibuprofen and a heating pad for you, and—" I let out a sharp sigh and dropped my spoon.

My appetite was completely shot. "Elias, we broke up. The exact day you got on that plane. Did you get amnesia?" Elias's chest froze.

His soft, flushed lips parted, but no words came out. Finally, he choked out a single, broken syllable. "Yeah." I crossed my arms, staring at him with a dead, freezing gaze.

This was classic Elias. Standing there like a kicked puppy, completely defenseless, practically begging to be stomped on.

And every single time, it triggered a dark, twisted urge inside me to completely tear him apart. I didn't pull my punches. "Did you sleep with her?" Elias's eyes blew wide in shock.

He violently shook his head. The tips of his ears, hidden under his soft hair, burned bright red.

Still a complete virgin. "Good." I stalked over, straddled his lap, and boxed him in, staring down at him with absolute authority. "Kiss me." Elias froze, blinking frantically. "Blair, the food is getting—" I smashed my mouth against his, shutting him up.

I took total control, guiding his hands, using him entirely for my own pleasure until I hit the peak. He resisted at first, all tense and awkward.

But soon, his eyes were rimmed with red. He clung to me, shedding quiet tears, but his hips refused to stop moving. We went until the early hours of the morning.

Elias's eyes were shut tight, his arms wrapped possessively around my waist. A sweet, contented smile curved his lips. He was completely out cold. My face remained absolutely blank.

I grabbed his wrist, peeled his arm off me, grabbed my prepacked suitcase, and walked out the door. I was going home for the holidays.

Day one at my parents' house: I was the golden child. Day ten: I was absolute garbage.

We sparked a massive, nuclear argument over what kind of stuffing to put in the Thanksgiving turkey.

My dad stood between us, grabbing one of my arms and one of hers, his face crinkled in pure agony.

My mom glared at me, her eyes practically popping out of her skull. "Blair, you ungrateful brat!

You live in the city for a few years, and now you think you're too highclass for your own mother!" "You stuffed it with so much garlic and onion, my breath is going to reek for days!" I fired back. "Go ask anyone on this block!

Who makes turkey stuffing without onion and garlic for flavor? Get out of my kitchen and go back to your room!" Chapter 5 I almost blurted it out.

The stuffing Elias made never had any. My mom narrowed her eyes. "What are you muttering under your breath?

Are you cursing me out?" "You need to dial back that attitude, young lady.

When you go on that networking dinner date, you better leave a good first impression, you hear me?!" "With that garbage temper of yours, nobody is going to put up with you!" Wrong.

Elias put up with it just fine. Back in my room, I scrubbed my hands down my face and collapsed onto the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I'd been thinking about Elias a lot lately.

Was it because he relentlessly cycled through different burner numbers, blowing up my phone and begging me to text him back, pleading with me not to end things? Not really.

It felt more like winning a plushie out of a claw machine—one you didn't even really like to begin with.

But it just happened to fit perfectly in your arms, making it the most comfortable thing to hold. So you got used to sleeping with it every single night.

When it suddenly disappeared, the bed just felt a little hollow. So why not just settle? I asked myself. Probably because my obsessive stubbornness was acting up again.

I didn't do leftovers. And that applied to people, too. In the beginning, I really did give Elias a chance.

The year Killian completely shattered me, I learned how to drown myself in alcohol. I was at a college alumni mixer, hanging out with a senior from my sorority.

One conversation led to another, I knocked back a few too many shots, and ended up crying so hard I was practically hyperventilating.

Chloe—my sorority sister—and Elias were the ones who dragged me home. Technically, he was an upperclassman from my university, too. I threw up all over myself in the cab.

He didn't even flinch. Chloe held my face, trying to sober me up, while Elias meticulously cleaned the vomit off my clothes.

When I finally sobered up the next day, the humiliation set in. I bought some expensive thankyou gifts and tracked them down to apologize.

Chloe flashed a teasing smirk. "Elias, isn't my little sorority sister the cutest? You've been single for years.

Why don't you two give it a shot?" I immediately waved my hands in panic. Elias didn't reject the idea, but he didn't agree either.

He just looked at me, his eyes crinkling with a smile that felt as soft and warm as a spring breeze.

But one thing led to another, and we actually started spending a lot of time together.

He was a research fellow at a tech institute, and my company often needed to collaborate with his lab for product development and data mining.

I was the lead project manager on the account, which meant the pressure was absolutely crushing. It was so bad that I didn't even realize my period had arrived a week early.

Elias was the first one to notice. He cleared his throat quietly, slipping off his suit jacket and handing it to me. "Blair, do you need to use the restroom?" It clicked instantly.

I grabbed the jacket, tied it tightly around my waist, and bolted. Elias ran out to buy me clean pants.

Since he didn't know what brand of tampons I used, he bought a box of every single kind on the shelf, tossing in a pack of flushable wipes for good measure.

He drove me back to my cramped apartment. The cramps were so agonizing I felt completely drained, curling up into a tight ball on the mattress, refusing to move.

Elias moved around the apartment, keeping busy. He cooked up a pot of easytodigest soup. Then, he actually handwashed my stained pants.

By the time I realized what he had done, they were already hanging on the balcony to dry.

I wanted the ground to swallow me whole right then and there, screaming internally in absolute, mortifying despair.

Elias immediately apologized, then quickly explained himself. "If you leave them soaking too long, bacteria will build up." "I used a Tide To Go pen and hydrogen peroxide.

The internet said it works wonders on blood stains." "I promise there isn't a single mark left. Just get some rest." He offered a faint, peaceful smile.

Maybe I was bewitched by that quiet smile.

Or maybe the soup he made just hit the exact right spot. "Elias," I asked, "do you want to make this official?" Elias gently ruffled my hair. "Yeah." Chapter 6 My relationship with Killian was basically a highend sugar baby arrangement.

The cute, everyday details of a normal couple? Nonexistent. So, I projected all those missing fantasies onto Elias. He was incredibly gentle.

He absorbed every toxic mood swing and tantrum I threw at him like a sponge. Naturally, I let it go to my head. We became that obnoxious couple.

Matching hoodies, matching Yeti tumblers—I even forced him to use a matching phone case. After we got together, I don't think I touched a hairdryer once. He opened my car door.

He tied my sneakers. If I casually mentioned a craving for a specific dish, it would magically appear on the dining table the very next evening.

Even if it was some complicated recipe he'd never tried, he'd watch YouTube tutorials until he nailed it. Elias habitually stayed three steps ahead, smoothing out my entire life.

He treated taking care of me like a research project.

He actually paid a physical therapist to teach him professional massage techniques just to work the knots out of my stiff shoulders.

When he found out how bad my period cramps were, he pulled strings to get me into a toptier women's health clinic.

He drove ten hours roundtrip just to pick up a specialized prescription for me. Compared to Killian's aggressive dominance, Elias treated me like fragile glass.

We dated for an entire year, and our lips hadn't even touched. The guy was a walking green flag, almost agonizingly pure. I genuinely believed he was obsessed with me.

Sometimes, a flicker of guilt would twist in my gut because I knew my feelings for him weren't nearly as deep.

That was, until the day I noticed he quietly changed his matching Instagram profile picture.

And then I saw the bank statement: a wire transfer of fifteen thousand dollars sent straight to an overseas account.

I slapped the printed statement on the counter, demanding an explanation. Elias's brow furrowed, a shadow of melancholy crossing his face.

But for the first time ever, he stonewalled me. "Blair, this is my private business. I don't want to talk about it." "Then why change the profile picture?

Who are you trying to hide me from?" He just stood there in deafening silence. Since Elias refused to spill, I bypassed him and cornered Chloe.

She looked genuinely taken aback, chewing on her lower lip for a second. "I'm the one who set you two up, so I'm not going to lie to you.

But Blair, promise me you won't blow up at him after hearing this.

Just sit down and have a rational conversation, okay?" I gave a stiff nod, and she let it out. "Elias used to be completely hung up on this girl from his master's program.

Their personalities clashed, so they never officially dated." "She ended up moving to Europe with her boyfriend, and they actually just tied the knot a few days ago.

That fifteen grand… it was probably a wedding gift." She quickly grabbed my hands. "But that is ancient history, Blair.

I swear to you, they never even dated." "It was totally onesided on his end.

It's been so long, I honestly thought he was over her." "That's why I… God, did I just screw this up?" "Thanks, Chloe." Strangely enough, hearing the actual truth extinguished the burning anger in my chest.

Whatever. Everybody had baggage. Plus, Elias tracked me down in an absolute panic to grovel.

He handed over his main bank cards, swearing up and down he would never touch a dime behind my back again.

I gave him the cold shoulder for a solid two weeks before finally letting him off the hook. Honestly? Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Digging too deep only ruins a good thing.

We slipped right back into our old routine. He worshipped the ground I walked on, and I soaked it up. I even caught myself thinking—maybe I should just marry this guy.

Fast forward to our twoyear anniversary. I booked a table at a Michelinstarred restaurant, bought a pair of custom platinum bands, and prepared to pop the question.

I figured I'd lean into the romance, so I even hired a string quartet to play his favorite indie tracks. The restaurant manager was a total pro.

He set up a hidden photographer and briefed the waitstaff to act as a hype squad to cheer for us when the moment happened. But Elias never walked through those doors.

Instead, my phone buzzed. His voice came through the speaker, frantic and breathless. He told me his college crush was suffering from severe postpartum depression.

She was having a breakdown, threatening to end it all. He was already on his way to the airport. Chapter 7 That was the moment I finally got it. They had never stopped talking.

Every single one of her frustrations, her little worries, her latenight heartbreaks—Elias had been the one listening. I stared at the phone, my skin crawling.

Every "thoughtful" habit he had, every way he knew exactly how to take care of me—had he practiced those moves a thousand times on her first?

The memory of him changing his profile picture flashed in my mind like a neon warning sign.

He hadn't changed it because he wanted to; he'd changed it because she noticed, because she'd pulled away, and he couldn't handle the distance.

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. The magic was gone, replaced by a dull, aching sense of futility.

I stood there, surrounded by candlelight and expensive floral arrangements, and I started to laugh. I didn't care about the confused stares from the other tables or the staff.

I just looked at my phone. "Elias," I said, my voice eerily calm. "If you step foot on that plane, we're done. If you leave, don't bother coming back.

You can rot in Europe for all I care." Silence hung on the other end for a long, heavy beat. Then, he hung up. The second he chose to go to her, he made his choice. And so did I.

When my mom found out Elias and I were history, she went into a matchmaking frenzy. She was determined to get me "off the market" before the new year.

The latest candidate was a guy named Wyatt. He was handsome, wellmannered, and carried himself with a refined grace that felt almost alien to me. My god.

Have I been dating in a dumpster for so long that God finally took pity and gave me a jackpot? But by the end of dinner, the reality set in. There were zero sparks.

He was a great guy—funny, charming, and sharp—but he just wasn't my type. "Blair," he said with a playful glint in his eye, "it's a shame we're not a match.

But… how do you feel about a business proposal?" I arched a brow. "I'm listening." "Look, our parents are breathing down our necks.

If this 'date' fails, they'll just find someone else next weekend." "Why don't we just pretend to date?

We can keep each other's families happy through the holidays." Wyatt let out a long, weary sigh. "Since I hit 'marriageable age,' I haven't had a single peaceful Christmas." "That," I said, leaning back, "is actually a brilliant idea." I thought it was a winwin.

But I had seriously underestimated my mother. On Christmas Eve, I was fully committed to my role as a professional couch potato.

I was wearing my oversized "caterpillar" pajamas, and I'd messily tied my hair into a greasy, chaotic bun. I was basically a sentient pile of laundry.

My mom walked into the living room and groaned. "Blair, look at you.

Can't you at least try to look like a human being?" "Too lazy." "You're going to turn into a literal slug if you don't move." The doorbell rang.

My mom's face transformed instantly, a massive, practiced smile appearing as she rushed to the door. "Oh! Wyatt, you're here!" I froze. My eyes locked with Wyatt's.

He was standing there in a tailored coat, holding two elegantly wrapped gift baskets. I was sitting there, scratching my hip, looking like I'd just crawled out of a basement.

Wyatt blinked, his gaze traveling from my greasy hair down to my fuzzy feet. "And you are…?" I just stared. "I'm kidding, Blair," he laughed, stepping inside. "Your mom invited me for dinner.

I hope I'm not interrupting your… relaxation." "Of course not! Come in, come in!" My mom chirped. I shot her a death glare. She just shrugged, completely unbothered. "What?

I told you to get dressed. You didn't listen.

Now Wyatt gets to see the real you." My mom was clearly convinced Wyatt and I were the "endgame." She was hovering over him with an intensity that was honestly embarrassing.

My dad leaned toward me, whispering sourly, "Look at your mother. She hasn't stopped grinning since he walked in.

Can you please do something about her?" "She's your wife," I hissed back. "You deal with her." "I… I wouldn't dare." While my parents disappeared into the kitchen to finish the Christmas roast, I grabbed a couple of controllers and pulled Wyatt into a coop adventure game in the living room. "My mom hasn't let me touch this console in two years," I said, focused on the screen. "I owe you one, Bestie." "Don't mention it, Sister," Wyatt replied, his thumbs flying over the buttons. "Mutual aid is what the holidays are all about." The vibe was actually great.

We were trashtalking each other and laughing, completely at ease. That was, until I checked my phone and saw my mom's latest post on her WeChat Moments. Chapter 8