Part 2My Rival Is My Biggest Fan

The doorbell rang.

Along with the pristine bakery box came a gift. A custom silk scarf from a top-tier European house, in exactly the color palette and vintage cut I favored.

Almost simultaneously, a text from her lit up my screen.

“I was in a good mood today, so the scarf is yours. Bonnie MONTGOMERY!!! I am warning you, do not play the pathetic card with me again. I don't buy it!”

I looked between the mango cake and the heavy silk, my thumbs moving smoothly over the glass screen. “Thank you for the gifts. I love the scarf.”

The floating text in my vision went absolutely feral.

“I’m screaming. One sentence and she’s probably flushed beet-red, muttering 'psycho' while smiling at her phone.”

“These two girls are the absolute best. Please stop fighting over that trash man.”

“Just coax her a little! The kitty just needs a little chin scratch.”

I ran my fingers over the rolled hem of the silk scarf, a quiet, unfamiliar warmth blooming in my veins.

The next morning, an artisan coffee and a pastry sat on my office desk. Parker leaned against the edge of the mahogany, watching me.

"I'm sorry about last night, Bonnie. Hannah is just too impulsive. I’ll make sure everything is handled properly before the wedding." He paused, his gaze dropping to my neck. "That scarf looks stunning on you today. It suits you."

This was Parker’s signature move. A tone so indulgent it bordered on patronizing, always leaving just enough ambiguity. I was never quite sure if that indulgence was meant for me, or for Hannah.

Looking at the man before me, it would be a lie to say I felt absolutely nothing for him. When we first started dating, it had aligned perfectly with my family’s corporate restructuring. Tech startups were becoming the new empire builders, riding the wave of emerging algorithms and digital infrastructure. For a legacy company like ours to stay at the apex, integrating with new tech money was essential.

But there were a hundred ways to achieve that. It didn't have to be Parker Cole.

I hadn't been entirely opposed to marrying him, perhaps even building a life together. But reality had a funny way of stripping the gold paint off base metal.

"Yesterday was my birthday. Did you know that?"

Seeing the sheer, unadulterated shock flash across his face, I looked down, adjusted the silk scarf at my collar, and let out a cold, internal laugh.

It must have been so much work for Hannah. Racking her brain, fabricating an emergency to drag him away from me on the exact day of my birthday. And in the end, her meticulous plotting had been entirely wasted on a man who hadn't even realized what day it was.

Parker lost his smooth composure, standing up straight. A rare flicker of genuine guilt crossed his features. He opened his mouth, closed it, and ultimately said nothing.

I flipped open the quarterly proposal, mentally calculating the delivery dates for our joint venture. I didn't even look up to see when he finally slinked out of my office.

Corporate life spares no one. Even the heirs to the throne have to grind.

At noon, my assistant trailed behind me, her expression unusually bright, a secretive smile playing on her lips. As soon as I stepped into the executive dining room, a chaotic chorus of cheers erupted. The crowd parted, and Parker emerged, pushing a massive, multi-tiered cake on a cart.

"Happy Birthday, Bonnie!"

I studied the towering confection, my expression pleasant but entirely detached. "If it’s not from the bakery on the Upper East Side, I won't eat it. And I only eat fruit fillings if they're mango." I met his eyes. "I’ll pass on the cake."

My phone buzzed incessantly in my pocket. The private group chat with my inner circle was exploding, everyone demanding I host a party tonight to properly celebrate.

I typed out a quick, gracious agreement, and explicitly tagged Hannah Sinclair.

The chaotic group chat went completely dead.

She replied almost instantly. “Beg me. Beg me, and I might show up.”

The floating text surged again.

“Ahhhhh the leopard and the cat, I’m ascending! Is this not love?!”

“The girls are the main event! Drop the dead weight of a man.”

“Who else understands the pure delicacy of a defensive rival? She’s definitely avoiding eye contact right now, feeling like something is slightly off, but stubbornly tilting her chin up anyway.”

I was finally starting to grasp the precise emotional texture of the word tsundere the comments kept using. I lowered my head, a genuine smile breaking across my face.

“I’m begging you.”