In my previous life, I practically dragged my useless childhood sweetheart to Harvard with me.

My academic record was top-notch, and I spent three years tutoring him.

I asked my father to donate a library to Harvard University, ensuring that they would extend an additional offer of admission to Felix.

Finally—when he rejected the offer in favor of taking a gap year to go work in Australia with the girl he was infatuated with—I raised such a massive scene that I ultimately forced him to go to Harvard with me.

After graduation, we got married. The natural ending. He built a tech empire and made me the wife of the richest man in the country.

One regret. He died too young.

Didn't leave me a single word at the end. Just went.

And I — I inherited his billions, and lived comfortably all the way to eighty-eight.

But when I died, I saw his soul.

His eyes were blood-red.

"You forced me onto this path. You took me from the only woman I ever loved. I died with regret. Pray we never meet again in the next life."

...What the fuck?

He'd been in that much pain?

And I was the only one — happily riding it out?

Captions drifted across my vision.

[Lmao — how thick is this side character's skin?]

[Male lead dies young in agony, she breezes through to 88 as the richest widow in the country.]

[The girl he actually loved was the one who flunked her SATs and ran off backpacking, hello???]

[They both died young, missed each other, and the side character had the time of her life.]

Even I felt bad.

When I opened my eyes, I was back — standing in that basement he'd sworn would be his life of freedom, on the day he was supposed to reject his Harvard offer.

This time, I am not stopping him from going to Australia.

"Stop it already. I will only ever love Naomi, for the rest of my life."

Felix's eyes were rimmed red. He was hunched over his open laptop at the foot of the mattress like he was guarding it with his body.

The basement was a shrine to his idea of freedom.

A thrift-store mattress on the concrete floor. It smelled like weed, damp laundry, and the takeout from two days ago congealing on the floor.

He'd signed the lease a week ago, the minute he and his mother stopped speaking

In my previous life, he was in the middle of drafting an email to decline Harvard's offer when I found him.

I'd yanked the laptop out from under him and sent the acceptance in his place — to the seat my father's money had bought him.

He'd gone on to become the richest man in the country. Then he'd died young. And he'd left me an estate worth billions.

In my dreams, he'd stared at me with bloodshot eyes and cursed me.

He'd said I'd ruined his entire life. That I'd cost him the only person he'd ever loved.

Captions drifted across my vision.

[Here comes the side character rewriting fate again.]

[Poor male lead — about to get press-ganged into Harvard and condemned to a fortune.]

[Let him go. Can we please just let him have his Aussie gap year?]

I took a long breath. "Fine."

Felix froze.

Whatever big defiant speech he'd rehearsed died in his throat.

His face went dark red.

"Y—you — what did you just say?"

"I said fine."

I pulled a folding camp chair out from against the wall and sat down, smoothing my skirt over my knees.

"Send the email. You're right. Real love is more important than an Ivy League degree. I support you."

Felix squinted at me.

He genuinely thought I was some scheming monster.

"What are you playing at now?"

He laughed, thinly, mouth pulling into a sneer.

"Don't think I'll soften if you pretend to back down."

"I'm telling you — even if you drop dead on that mattress, I'm still getting on that plane with Naomi!"

I looked at his valiant, ready-to-die-for-love face.

It was honestly kind of funny.

"Then hurry up and hit send. Your mom's going to kick the door down in ten minutes and you know it."

Felix gritted his teeth. His hand was shaking when he clicked the button.

A confirmation popped up: Your response has been received.

He exhaled like he'd just gotten a boulder off his back. His whole body went slack.

"See? That's my conviction."

He stood and looked down at me with the arrogance of a man who'd just won something.

"From now on, stop embarrassing yourself chasing me around."

"You can't give me the kind of love I want. All you can do is weigh me down with society's expectations."

I looked at him — earnest, deluded, convinced he was a romantic hero.

"Okay. Wishing you both all the best. Long happy life."

I stood up — and right on cue, Felix's mother Mrs. Davenport stormed in.

"Felix! What did you just send?!"

Mrs. Davenport shoved me aside and stumbled to the laptop.

When she saw the outgoing email in his sent folder, the color dropped out of her face. She nearly fainted on the spot.

"This is a disaster. You absolute idiot!"

She whipped around and stabbed a finger at my face.

"Are you deaf?! I told you to keep him in line! Why didn't you stop him?!"

I stepped back out of range.

"Mrs. Davenport. Felix says love is priceless. I was afraid that if I stopped him, he'd hate me for the rest of his life."

Mrs. Davenport was shaking with fury.

"He doesn't know the first thing about love! Are you standing there watching him self-destruct on purpose?!"

"I knew you were up to something! You've been jealous of him since you were kids — jealous he's smarter than you — and now you've finally gotten what you wanted!"

I almost laughed out loud.

"Smarter than me?"

"He got a 1020 on his SATs, Mrs. Davenport. I got a 1580."

"The only reason he even had a Harvard offer to throw away tonight was because my father put his name on a library there last year."

"So let's be clear about which of us dragged which one into that school."

"Mrs. Davenport. You've got a very generous definition of 'smart.'"

The captions flared up again.

[LOL — she's got a mouth on her.]

[Mrs. Davenport is something else. Blaming other people because her son's a loser.]

[And he's still standing there pretending he's Mr. Devoted. Unreal.]

Felix pulled his mother behind him and squared up in front of her, shielding her like I was about to throw a punch.

"Shut up. Don't talk to my mother like that!"

"You're just jealous that Naomi has my heart."

He looked at me with absolute certainty, convinced he'd seen straight through to my soul.

"Your heart is bleeding right now, isn't it?"

"You picked a fight with my mom on purpose to get my attention."

"Drop the act. I saw through you a long time ago."

I sighed.

How did this man's brain work?

"Yes. Yes. I'm dying of pain. Take your devoted heart and go find Naomi."

I paused, then added helpfully:

"Better hurry. I hear the working holiday visa quota fills up fast."

Mrs. Davenport was still wailing.

"I don't care — go email them back! Tell them it was a mistake! My Felix is Ivy League material!"

I couldn't be bothered with her anymore. I climbed the basement stairs and pushed out into the alley.

The summer sun hit me like a slap after the mildew and the dark.

This time around, I was done waiting on these people.

Behind me, from down in the basement, Felix's frantic voice:

"Go ahead, walk away! Don't come crawling back later!"

"Hey. Wire me two grand."

Late November. Thanksgiving break. Felix was back stateside for two weeks to renew his US passport before heading back to Australia.

Felix's voice came through the phone like I owed him something.

No hello. No preamble.

I was sitting in Widener Library, pulling sources for a paper.

I flipped the phone onto speaker and tapped record.

"Who is this?"

"Don't play dumb — it's Felix!"

He clicked his tongue, annoyed.

"Naomi wants a dress. I'm a little short on cash."

"Send it over. Don't make me mad."

In my previous life, his tuition, his living expenses, even the presents he bought Naomi — all of it had come from me. Late-night tutoring gigs. Cash tucked into his wallet without a word, so I wouldn't hurt his pride.

This time, I just wanted to laugh.

"Felix. Are you panhandling?"

The line went dead for a beat.

Then he exploded.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Two grand, that's all I asked for!"

"You used to fall over yourself throwing money at me. What's with the high-and-mighty act now?"

My voice stayed level.

"I used to be blind. My eyes are working again."

"If you call me begging one more time I'm filing a harassment report."

I hung up. Blocked his number.

One clean motion.

Captions drifted by.

[Satisfying. Finally quit being his personal ATM.]

[The gall on him — what'd he do to earn that tone?]

[Wait for it — he's about to drag his princess straight to Harvard Yard for a scene.]

[Brace yourselves, the side character's about to get ambushed.]

The captions cleared just as I was walking out of the dining hall with my tray.

Someone stepped into my path.

Felix, in a thin hoodie that had seen too many washes, planted himself in front of me.

Next to him, Naomi — doing her fragile-victim routine.

Naomi was in a new cashmere coat that clearly cost more than his entire wardrobe, a designer bag dangling from her wrist.

"You actually blocked my number?"

Felix's eyes were burning like I'd committed a capital crime.

Students nearby slowed to watch.

I kept my tray steady.

"Congrats on the gap year, flunk-out. You're blocking the trash bin."

Felix went pale with rage.

He grabbed my wrist. Harder than I expected.

"Cut the sarcasm!"

"You're just mad I picked Naomi over you!"

"Cutting off my allowance? What a cheap move!"

Naomi tucked herself behind him. Her eyes were red.

She looked frightened.

"Iris — please don't blame Felix. This is all my fault."

Her voice was small and watery.

"I know you love Felix, but feelings can't be forced. You can't cut him off just because you can't have him."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"So this is a love-turned-hate situation?"

"Cutting off his allowance — that's cold."

"Pretty girl, too. Who knew she was so vicious."

I looked at the two of them, playing off each other, and my patience snapped.

"Naomi. Are you out of your damn mind?"

I yanked my wrist out of Felix's grip.

"Is he my son? Why am I funding his lifestyle?"

"The two of you are dating. And you expect me to pick up the tab? Seriously?"

Felix shoved me.

I stumbled back. Leftover food almost tipped off my tray onto me.

"Take it up with me. Leave Naomi out of it!"

He was losing it.

"You think because you got into Harvard and your family is rich, you're better than her?! Naomi is worth ten of you!"

I looked at him — all lit up with his sense of righteousness.

I was one heartbeat from slapping him across the face.

And then a campus security officer came jogging over.

"What is going on here?! Are you two causing a disturbance?!"

She glared at me.

"Iris Fairfax. You. Dean's office. Now."

"You're making a spectacle of yourself!"

I took a long breath to push the heat back down.

Felix smirked at me.

"You'd better start behaving. Or I'll show up here every single day."

By my sophomore year, my tech startup had launched.

Caleb Kingsley — the venture capitalist who'd spotted me at a freshman pitch competition and written the first check — had come on board as my partner. With his backing, and what amounted to two lifetimes of business instinct, the product landed hard in the market.

I'd made my first real fortune. My profile had taken off.

Meanwhile, Felix was most of a year into his Australian working holiday and already cracking.

Naomi's Instagram was full of sunsets on Bondi Beach, açaí bowls, and long captions about "escaping the system."

Felix's actual life: graveyard shifts at a meat-packing plant in rural Queensland, sleeping eight guys to a bunkhouse, scraping by on instant ramen.

Then a trending article popped up on his phone — a business magazine cover story on me.

He maxed out his credit card on a standby ticket and flew back to the States. His tourist visa let him back in — barely.

He turned up in the lobby of my office building in Boston.

Wrinkled shirt. Hair oily.

His expression, though, was still superior.

He planted himself in front of my car with his hands in his pockets.

"You started a company? Something this big, and you didn't think to run it by me?"

I was in the backseat. I rolled down the window.

"Security. Get this vagrant off the premises."

Security stepped up and had him by the arm.

He thrashed against them.

"You're throwing me out?! Did you forget we grew up together?!"

"You wouldn't have a company without the ideas I gave you!"

"I'm entitled to half the equity!"

The sheer, polished nerve of it was almost funny.

"Ideas you gave me?"

I pushed open the door, stepped out, and stood in front of him.

"Are you referring to your idea about selling hot dogs outside the dorms?"

A few of my employees laughed out loud.

Felix's face went hot.

"Don't twist this! Naomi told me you used my ideas!"

"You have money now. You're going to give me a VP title."

"Or I'm suing you."

I looked at him, cold.

"Go ahead. I'll even cover your filing fee."

"Friendly reminder, though — extortion over five thousand dollars is a felony."

I turned to security.

"If this man shows up again, call the police."

Felix kept cursing as they dragged him out.

I thought that was the end of it.

I'd underestimated how low he could sink.

The next day, a post blew up on the Harvard subreddit and got cross-posted to every tech forum with a pulse.

"Behind the Tech-Prodigy Facade: How Iris Fairfax Stole Her Childhood Friend's Ideas and Threw Him Away."

In the post, Felix had cast himself as the quiet genius who'd done all the thinking behind the scenes.

He claimed the core logic of my product had been his.

He said I'd burned the bridge the second I crossed it. That I'd pretended not to know him the moment I had money.

He'd even attached photos of us studying together in high school — twisted into evidence of "strategic planning sessions."

Public opinion went up in flames.

People always love watching someone get built up just to tear them down.

My company inbox filled with hate mail.

A couple of investors I was in talks with quietly asked to reassess the risk profile.

"These people are insane."

My assistant was actually crying.

"They convicted her off a handful of blurry photos!"

I sat in my office chair, scrolling.

Strangely calm.

"Don't panic. Let it play out."

Caleb pushed the door open, two coffees in hand.

"Want me to get the story killed?"

He handed me a cup. Steady eyes.

"No."

I took a sip.

"Killing it would just make me look guilty."

"He wants to play. We'll play big."

The captions streamed across my vision.

[Why isn't she fighting back yet, I'm dying.]

[This is unbearable — how is this loser winning the PR war?]

[Relax. She's just loading up the big move.]

I looked at Felix's smug face on the screen.

"Caleb. Tomorrow night's industry gala. Get me on the list."

"I'm going to show him what real public humiliation looks like."