Everyone has a Lacy. Yours is Violet Sorrengail.

The words had never sounded so bitter in your head, but there it was, carved into every memory you had of Xaden. The way he used to smile at you, the quiet warmth behind his eyes, the way his hand had found yours in a crowd—every stolen moment now poisoned with the knowledge that he had moved on, that the person who replaced you was someone you couldn’t compete with. Violet. The name alone made your blood simmer. She wasn’t just new; she was perfect in the ways you weren’t. Graceful, clever, untouchable. And every time you thought you’d buried your past with him, the echo of her laughter reminded you that you hadn’t.

It had started long before Violet. You had known Xaden in a way no one else had—seen through the layers of arrogance and charm to the man who hid his fear of being ordinary behind a carefully curated mask. You remembered the nights when he would confide in you, trusting your silence like it was sacred, when your hands had brushed over shared maps and letters, the subtle sparks of something neither of you had dared to name. You had celebrated his victories as if they were your own, bled through his failures, and in those moments, you had believed you were indispensable.

But Xaden had a way of slipping through the cracks, of holding you close one day and letting you shiver in absence the next. You had forgiven him more times than you could count, excusing his distant silences as the weight of destiny pressing down on him. You had loved him through his flaws, and yet somehow, that love had been insufficient. You were left with fragments of laughter and half-remembered confessions, pieces of a story you thought was mutual, only to realize it had been yours alone.

And then Violet came. Like sunlight through fog, like a melody he couldn’t resist. She had charm and warmth, yes, but she had the one thing you never did: a flawless timing that made Xaden laugh without restraint, a presence that seemed to pull him toward her as naturally as a tide to the shore. You remembered the first time you saw him look at her the way he had once looked at you—with that dangerous, consuming intensity that had made your heart ache for days. It wasn’t just jealousy; it was the sense of betrayal you carried like a wound that refused to heal.

You thought of the nights you had spent wondering if you had done something wrong, if your love had been too much or not enough. And now, every whisper of her name felt like a verdict, a reminder that Xaden had chosen a new Lacy, someone to worship in the same way he once worshiped you. The cruel irony wasn’t that he loved her—it was that he had loved you first, had given you pieces of his soul, only to hand the rest to someone else without looking back, Because for every first you had, had with him, she was having hers.

You hated him. You hated her. You hated yourself for ever believing in a bond that had been fragile, ephemeral, a ghost of a promise. You hated the way your chest ached when you imagined him holding her like he once held you. You hated the memory of kisses, of whispered secrets, of nights spent tracing constellations across his skin, knowing now that they would never be yours again. Maybe that was the cruel part, every moment you thought was special, meant nothing. to him.

And now the truth was laid before you. Unavoidable: everyone had a Lacy. And yours? She had stolen your place, leaving you to wonder if you had ever truly mattered at all.