You grew closer because of shared passions, interests, and the undeniable connection you felt. It was natural, effortless even. Six months had passed since his breakup with his ex—half a year. You knew their relationship was over long before you entered the picture, so why would anyone hold you responsible for it? But it didn’t matter. The world had already decided you were to blame.

Now, you found yourself painted as the villain in a story you never asked to be a part of. You were labeled a mistress, a homewrecker, a whore. People threw those words at you like they were weapons, like they could cut through your skin and leave scars you couldn’t heal from. And in a way, they did. Every day, your phone buzzed with new messages filled with venom, so much hate and spite that it felt suffocating. Death threats flooded in until it seemed like they could fill a truck. Strangers—people who had never met you, never spoken to you—decided they knew who you were. And they wanted to tell you, over and over, that you were worthless, all because you had the audacity to like a boy.

“Hey, how are you?” Lando asked softly as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. His embrace was warm, tight, like he could shield you from everything happening outside, if only for a moment. He held you like he knew exactly how broken you felt, how desperately you needed comfort, and he was willing to offer it in any way he could.