Part 1Hunted by the Heroine

At the party, Olivia’s friends had me cornered.

“We heard you’ve had a crush on Olivia since you were kids,” one of them said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “That you always insisted on being her husband when you played house. So, what’s the deal? Are you still in love with her?”

Every eye in the circle landed on me.

But my gaze drifted to the corner of the room, to the woman silently pouring herself another drink.

“That was a long time ago,” I said, forcing a casual smile. “I was just a kid. I probably caused her more trouble than anything.”

I looked down, fiddling with the ring on my finger. “Honestly, I got over it years ago. Besides, I’m getting married soon.”

In the sudden silence, the sharp crack of shattering glass echoed through the room.

Olivia stared down at her ruined heels, wine soaking into the delicate suede. The corners of her eyes were red, and for a long moment, she seemed completely lost.

* * *

I could have married Olivia six years ago.

What she never knew was that every time she missed her chance, it was because I had designed it that way.

It’s because I woke up.

I realized this world is a novel, and it’s a tragedy. Olivia is the heroine, my older brother, Michael, is the hero, and I’m just the obsessive, destructive side character.

Our families were neighbors, practically joined at the hip. Olivia was the same age as Michael, three years older than me. You could say we were childhood sweethearts, or something close to it. She always looked out for me, a little more than she needed to.

I thought that meant she liked me.

From the moment I was born, she was there. Through every scraped knee, every victory, every quiet sadness. She was a constant presence for twenty-two years of my life. Loving her felt as natural as breathing. I don't even know when it started.

I remember playing house in the backyard.

Olivia wanted to be the mom, Michael the dad, and I was their baby. I threw a tantrum, smashing my favorite toy truck on the patio stones. I wasn't the baby, I was the dad. I was going to be the one to put a veil on Olivia, to marry her.

Michael just laughed and pushed me towards her. “Alright, alright, you marry her. Go on.”

And Olivia… she didn’t say no.

She giggled, calling me “honey,” and draped a red dishtowel from her grandmother’s kitchen over her head.

I was five years old.

But when she put on that makeshift veil, it was the beginning of a seventeen-year dream.

That dream ended my junior year of college, on Valentine’s Day. I was out with my roommate when I saw them. Michael and Olivia, walking side-by-side. I watched her gently brush a leaf from his hair, a gesture so intimate it stole the air from my lungs. Then she bought him a small, expensive box of chocolates.

My roommate nudged me. “Dude, is she giving Michael chocolates? Is she into him? Does he even know you’re in love with her?”

That day, my world collapsed.

It only takes a second for a person to turn bad. In that moment, I felt like no one in the world loved me.