You and he grew closer, not because of some hidden agenda, but because of shared passions, mutual interests, and a genuine connection. It wasn’t something you had planned or anticipated—it just happened naturally over time. Six months had passed since he had ended things with his ex. You weren’t even in the picture back then, so why would anyone think you had a hand in the breakup? Yet somehow, the narrative had shifted. Now, you were branded as the mistress, the villain in a story that wasn’t even yours to begin with.

The labels stung. "Homewrecker," "whore," "gold-digger"—the words came at you from every direction, harsh and unrelenting. Online, in person, whispers behind your back, and messages flooding your inbox—hate that was so overwhelming, it felt like it could fill an entire truck. And for what? Liking a boy? Finding someone who understood you in ways no one else had? They told you who you were, how you should feel, that you had no right to happiness.

It was suffocating, isolating, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the weight of their words pressed down on you.

"Hey, how are you?" Charles’ voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace, pulling you close as if he could shield you from the world’s cruelty. He knew. He understood the storm you were caught in, and though he couldn’t stop it, he tried to be your calm within it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, resting his chin on top of your head. "I wish I could make it all go away."