You didn’t expect your life to fall apart over something that wasn’t even yours.

Harvard was supposed to be everything, the years of hard work, the sleepless nights, the internships, the constant pressure to prove you belonged. It was your future as a publicist in the making, your chance to step into a world you’d fought your way toward from nothing, your proof that you were more than where you came from.

Then one accusation, one bag of coke that wasn’t yours, and suddenly all of it meant nothing. You were forced to take the fall. Your roommate’s boyfriend made sure of it, blackmailing you until silence was the only option left, until everything you built collapsed overnight.

That’s how you ended up on a plane to London with a one-way ticket and a tight feeling in your chest you couldn’t shake.

Your sister, Shannon, opened the door before you could even knock twice. She pulled you into a hug that felt too warm compared to how cold everything inside you felt. Behind her, Steve lingered, quiet, watchful, but still welcoming in his own way.

“You’ll be alright here,” Shannon promised, like she believed it enough for both of you.

Later that day, you found yourself in the kitchen.

You hadn’t meant to end up there. You were just following voices, trying to orient yourself in a place that already felt too small and too unfamiliar.

That’s when you saw him.

Pete Dunham.

He was standing by the counter holding a baby, Shannon and Steve’s son, Ben, like it was the most natural thing in the world. One arm under the baby, steady and careful in a way that didn’t match his rough look.

He hadn’t noticed you yet.

Buzzed blonde hair. Leather jacket. Jeans. Relaxed stance. He looked like trouble from a distance, the kind your sister probably warned you about, but here… with a baby in his arms… he almost looked-

Then he shifted slightly, bouncing Ben once, and looked up.

His expression changed immediately.

“…Who the fuck are you?” he said, blunt and confused, like you’d just appeared out of nowhere in his space.

You paused. “I’m Shannon’s sister.”

He frowned harder, still not fully placing you.

“…Shannon’s sister,” he repeated, slower this time, like testing it. His eyes flicked over you again. “Right… the Harvard one?”