Kayla woke to find herself in a hospital room.

A nurse was adjusting her IV with a serious expression. "If you had been brought in any later, we might not have been able to save you. You're severely allergic to alcohol. You can't touch it again, ever."

The memories came rushing back all at once. Kayla's chest tightened painfully as she remembered exactly how she ended up there.

She had barely nodded in response when the door to her room opened.

Darren walked in. Relief washed over his face when he saw Kayla was awake.

"Kayla, about last night—I'm sorry. Winona and I just started dating, so she's insecure. Please don't take it to heart."

Kayla said nothing. She only nodded faintly.

That seemed to reassure him. He ladled a bowl of clam chowder from a tray and handed it to her, watching carefully until she took a few sips. He stayed by her side, not saying much more.

Kayla finally sensed something was off. She looked up and asked softly, "Is there something else?"

Darren hesitated for a second, then finally said, "Actually, yeah. You placed first in the design competition, didn't you? Winona came in fourth.

"She said this competition means everything to her. If you could drop out, she'd move up in the rankings."

He was referring to the highly competitive triannual design contest hosted by Sterling University. The top three winners would be mentored by a renowned professor. It was a golden ticket into the elite world of fashion design.

That opportunity was huge. To someone like Kayla, who had no family connections or financial backing, it was priceless.

So when she heard his request, her first instinct was to say no. "I'm sorry. I need this opportunity too."

"You don't have to give it up for nothing. If you agree, I'll make sure you're compensated. Money, jewelry, a car, a house—whatever you want."

Each word landed like a blow to Kayla's chest, sharp and cutting, leaving a sting that wouldn't fade.

She looked down and took a long breath. Then she asked hoarsely, "Mr. Tate, do you really think I'm the kind of person who can be bought? Is my dream—my life—so worthless to you?"

He flinched slightly.

She hadn't called him "Mr. Tate" in years. She had only ever called him that once, back when they first met. After that, he told her not to. He said it felt too formal, too distant.

He hadn't expected to hear it from her again.

Something flickered across his expression, and a strange, unfamiliar tightness appeared in his chest.

He furrowed his brow, but still went on speaking. "That's not what I meant. Kayla, you're incredibly talented. Even without this competition, you'll succeed. But for Winona, this is the closest she's ever been to making the finals.

"I just… I don't want to see her crushed. You're her roommate, too. Could you help her this once?"

His words were disguised as praise, but Kayla knew better. Every compliment was just another step toward softening her up for that final request.

He didn't want Winona to feel disappointed, so he chose to sacrifice her dream instead.

"I know after your parents divorced, your dad racked up a mountain of gambling debt. People are coming after your mom every other week because of it.

"But if you drop out of the finals, I'll take care of all of it. No more threats, no more bills. Just think about it," he said.

They had known each other for years. Even with the distance between them, Darren had always been careful never to mention the parts of her life that left her raw and ashamed.

He knew how sensitive she was. He used to protect her silence.

But now, for Winona's sake, he didn't hesitate to tear open old scars and dig into the very pain he once tried to protect her from.

The color drained from Kayla's face in an instant. Her chest tightened, like she couldn't breathe.

Her fingers curled into fists so tight that her nails broke skin, the pain dull compared to what she felt inside. She bit down hard and forced herself to keep it in.

Upon noticing the shift in her expression, Darren's voice faltered. He tried to fix it. "What I mean is… you'd be giving up one opportunity, sure. But in return, you'd be getting rid of a huge burden."

That did it.

That one sentence crushed the last shred of her pride.

She closed her eyes. The words caught in her throat, but she pushed them out. "I'll withdraw."

After hearing Kayla's answer, Darren let out a quiet breath of relief.

He stood to leave, but before walking out, he turned back to remind her one more time. "Don't worry. I'll take care of the debt collectors. No one's going to bother you or your mom ever again."

His footsteps faded into the hallway. Kayla held back her tears for as long as she could—until they finally spilled down her cheeks.

She buried her face in her hands as memory after memory surged through her mind.

She remembered her mother after the divorce, dragging them from town to town while juggling jobs just to pay off the debts. Her father had disappeared after gambling everything away, leaving them to face the threats, the pounding fists on the door, and endless sleepless nights alone.

And then there were the whispers, the insults, the relentless judgment from everyone around them.

If giving up one chance to make a name for herself meant her mother could finally live in peace, then maybe she could leave this place without guilt.

With that thought, Kayla's emotions finally began to settle.

She reached out to the design competition committee and officially withdrew from the finals.

Right after, she planned to lie down and rest. But just then, her phone buzzed.

It was a message from Winona, attached with a screenshot of the official notice confirming she had been bumped into the finals.

"Hey! I heard you dropped out of the competition. Honestly, I didn't even care that much about winning. I just mentioned it to Darren in passing, but he took it to heart. I know how much this meant to you, but he cares so much about me… I guess you got caught in the middle. Sorry about that!

"Oh, and how was the clam chowder? I had a craving this morning and asked Darren to go wait in line for it. But when he brought it back, I wasn't feeling it anymore, so I told him to give it to you instead. Hope you liked it."

Winona's smugness nearly seeped out of the screen.

Kayla read through every word, each line making her chest tighter. She had spent three nights in the hospital, taking care of herself.

Every day, Kayla would scroll through Instagram and see Darren flooding his feed with love-drunk updates.

There were photos of him and Winona at trendy restaurants, screenshots of her gushing over a puppy, and a full grid of her selfies filling up his profile.

The comments underneath were dripping with envy.

"You didn't post a single thing for over a decade, and now you're flooding everyone's feed just because you're in love? Seriously, are you that happy?"

"Are you even the same Darren I used to know. Ugh, so lovey-dovey."

This version of Darren was the first time she had ever seen him like this.

Kayla let out a bitter laugh, her eyes stinging with tears. It seemed he really did love Winona.

The first thing Kayla did after being discharged was return home and pull out the old box from under her bed. Inside were all the things tied to Darren—the first fountain pen he ever gave her, every birthday gift he had picked out, and the movie ticket stubs from all the films they had watched together.

She struck a match. The flame flickered at her fingertips.

"Kayla, what are you doing?"

Kayla's mother, Beatrice Robson, had just returned from the market when she saw the flames and dropped the grocery bags in shock. She rushed forward to stop it.

Kayla stopped her with a firm grip. "Mom, I did this. I wanted to burn them."

"Why? Aren't those your most treasured things?" Beatrice asked, bewildered.

Kayla was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked up and said calmly, "I just got my student exchange placement. I'll be heading overseas soon."

Beatrice's expression lit up, but it quickly darkened with concern. "Does Mr. Tate know? I thought you... You've always liked him. Once you're gone, there's no going back."

Kayla knew exactly what her mother meant. Once she left, with an entire ocean between them, any chance of being with Darren would disappear completely.

But the truth was, even without the distance, there had never really been a chance at all.

Her eyes lingered on the last photo curling in the flames. It was from the junior year of track and field. She had snapped it in secret. Darren was in a white school jacket, standing tall on the podium as sunlight cast a golden outline around him.

She said softly, "Mom, I don't like him anymore. I never will again."

The fire consumed his soft smile and gentle eyes, devouring the secret Kayla had kept hidden throughout her youth.

Then came the loud bang of the front door swinging open.

Darren stood at the entrance, jacket draped over his arm. His gaze landed on the fire flickering in the metal bin. "What was that about not liking someone anymore?"

Kayla froze. She quickly moved the bin behind her. "It's nothing."

Thankfully, Darren didn't press her.

He turned toward Beatrice, a faint, effortless smile on his face. Even the way he stood carried the quiet nobility of someone born into privilege. "Beatrice, I remember you used to make that stew that's good for the stomach, right? Could you teach me how?"

Beatrice wiped her hands on her apron. "Mr. Tate, if you want it, I can just make it for you."

"No need," Darren said with a soft smile, warmth flickering in his eyes. "It's for my girlfriend. I want to make it myself."

"Your girlfriend?" Beatrice blinked in surprise. "You… have a girlfriend now?"

Darren nodded as he rolled up his sleeves. "Yeah. I'll bring her by next time to meet you."

His voice softened unconsciously at the mention of her.

Kayla stood in the shadow of the hallway, watching the man she had loved for ten years. Now, every bit of his attention belonged to someone else.

Beatrice shot a worried glance at Kayla, her face tightening with sympathy. But after a moment, she nodded and said, "Alright… I'll teach you."

Soon, the sound of running water filled the kitchen. Kayla lingered at the doorway, watching Darren's long fingers wrap around the handle of a kitchen knife.

A moment later, he hissed under his breath.

Blood welled up from a shallow cut on his finger, but he didn't seem to care. He rinsed it under water and went right back to slicing ginger.

Through the rising steam, Kayla felt dazed. She used to imagine that one day—if they ever ended up together—that cool, composed man would roll up his sleeves and cook for her in a quiet kitchen.

She would slip her arms around his lean waist from behind, rest her cheek against the warmth of his back. And he would set the spatula down, turn around, and pull her into his arms.

Now, she was finally seeing him in the kitchen, but it was for someone else.

Turns out, everyone had been right. A one-sided crush was exactly what they said it was—a solo act. From start to finish, she had been the only one on stage.