Chapter 34 A stranger no longer

Chapter 34 A stranger no longer
Trisha’s POV

The moment I ended the call, I turned toward the hallway where Tom’s nerdy-but-brilliant neighbor had disappeared. I found him right where I expected—hunched over his laptop, fingers moving at a pace that suggested he had been typing long before I walked in.

I crossed the room. As soon as he noticed me approaching, he slid his chair back in a hurry and stood, like someone caught doing something suspicious, even though he was clearly just coding or gaming or whatever it was he usually drowned his attention in.

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset about your phone.” He tried for a casual tone but it didn’t land; his voice jittered around the edges. “If you want, I can help you replace it. As long as your… man doesn’t mind, I guess.”

I studied him properly for the first time. I’d always brushed past him, too focused on Tom to acknowledge anyone else in his orbit. Up close, though, he wasn’t bad to look at. Lanky frame, yes, but there was definition under his shirt that didn’t belong to someone who lived entirely behind a screen. His hands kept shifting, like he didn’t know what to do with them now that I had stopped in front of him.

“Well,” I said, brushing the wetness off my face with a motion I hoped looked unbothered. “I wouldn’t want to bother you like that. My phone went missing, not my ATM card or anything.”

“Right. Yeah. Right.” He nodded too fast and laughed under his breath, nervous enough to trip over syllables.

I stepped a little closer. The reaction from him was immediate. His shoulders tightening, breath catching, eyes flicking anywhere but my face. He wasn’t subtle, and I wasn’t oblivious.

He has a crush on me.

“About that tea you offered earlier,” I said, folding my arms as if this were a normal conversation and not whatever awkward dance he was performing. “Can you give me tequila instead? I just talked to my fiancé. He won’t be coming anytime soon, and I forgot the keycode to his apartment.”

Without saying a word, he turned and moved quickly toward the small kitchen area, opening the cabinet above the counter with the kind of efficiency that came from knowing exactly where everything lived. He pulled down a bottle of tequila—half-full, the label a little worn—and then went to the fridge to grab a chilled glass. He poured for me, careful not to spill a drop, and started to return the bottle to its place.

“I think I might need the whole bottle,” I said before he could set it down. “And get a cup for yourself too.”

He froze for a second, glanced at the bottle, then at me. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Yet you have tequila in your house,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh—uh—only for special occasions.” He scratched the back of his neck as if the admission embarrassed him. “And because I have friends who drink more than I ever do.”

I leaned my hip against the table where he had been sitting earlier, letting my fingers trail along the wood as I watched him. “Well, consider me one of those friends. And you’re drinking with me. Okay?”

Something shifted in his expression—something small and boyish, like he wasn’t used to being included in anything, let alone something that felt like a moment. He let out a quiet breath through his nose, then reached for another glass. A faint scent drifted off him when he moved closer, something warm and clean, the kind of smell that belonged to someone who didn’t try too hard but still ended up smelling good.

He placed the second glass on the counter, and I walked over to join him. He filled both cups, set the bottle between us, and we tapped the rims lightly before taking a drink.

He cleared his throat after swallowing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if deciding whether or not to speak. “I don’t mean to pry,” he said, finally lifting his eyes to mine, “but… was it just the phone? You were crying pretty hard earlier. It looked like you had a rough day. Is everything okay with your relationship?”

The directness surprised me. For a second, the question almost sounded like something he hoped would have a certain kind of answer, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

I set my glass down on the counter, slowing my movements as I considered him. “Actually… something did happen.”

I let the words hang for a moment. An idea eased its way into my mind. 

I leaned forward on the table, settling my weight on my elbows as I let my expression fall into something softer, something carefully sad.

“It is about my relationship,” I said, letting the words settle as I kept my elbows on the table.

He didn’t interrupt, so I continued, slower this time, making sure he stayed with me.

“My fiancé’s ex has been on my tail for the longest time, and I honestly don’t know why. She was the one who was engaged to him first, actually. I’ve been with him since college, and I know he can be shitty sometimes because he was chasing her behind my back at one point. And the worst part is that their whole thing started as some fake-dating arrangement to please her mother. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but she started falling in love with him for real.”

He shifted closer, attention tightening on me.

“At first, I didn’t care about the fake dating. It happened way back in 2019, and I thought it didn’t affect me anymore. But then she started pushing lies on him, telling him her mother needed them engaged, that it was urgent, that it was the only way her family would stop breathing down her neck. He got overwhelmed by everything, and instead of giving in, he said no. And then… he proposed to me.”

I watched his face react—nothing dramatic, but the faint pinch near his eyes told me he was following every detail.

“Ever since then, she’s been delusional. She moves around with different people, does anything she can to ruin what I have with him. I thought she would calm down. I thought all her threats were just empty talk.”

A quiet breath left me as I looked down at my glass.

“Until today. I went to finalize a brand ambassador deal I’ve worked years for. I prayed for that opportunity, worked for it, and she went there before me. Said something to them—I don’t even know what—but whatever it was, they believed her. They kicked me out.”

His face tightened hard, sharper than mine ever did. “Are you serious? That’s a bitchy thing to do. Sabotaging someone else’s work like that?”

I nodded once, steady. “I did get the whole thing in video on my phone though. And I told her if she didn’t leave me alone and stop embarrassing me, I was going to upload it. And I’m pretty sure she sent someone to steal my phone so she could get rid of the proof. I had things I needed to do on that phone. And she took it.”

He stared at me as if every detail was rewiring something inside him. He looked even more upset than I felt, which told me exactly how deeply he had taken the story in.

“And when I finally reached my fiancé with the help of your phone,” I said, pressing my thumb against the rim of the glass, “he told me not to confront her. Not to say anything. Not to do anything. Just leave her alone. And I—it made me feel like he cares more about not upsetting her than he cares about me. I felt stupid for even calling him.”

I looked up, meeting his eyes.

“I wish there was something I could do. Actually there was a leverage I thought I had… of her disrespecting someone at her so called new boyfriend’s Company. I tried uploading it but it wouldn’t upload. The people she has around her that her important and dangerous, keep cutting down anything posted online. I don’t even know how they do that.”

He straightened, not sitting, not standing fully, but leaning toward me in a way that made his next words land with weight.

“I can help you,” he said. “I can help you get back at her. She deserves it. Don’t feel guilty for a second. And trust me—by the time I’m done, she’ll wish she never messed with you.”

The confidence in his voice tugged something loose inside me, and despite everything, I felt the corner of my mouth lift. “You’d do that for me? I don’t even know your name. I’m basically a stranger.”

He reached forward, covering my hand with his. The contact was warm, firm, and too sure for someone who used to avoid eye contact whenever he passed me in the hallway.

“You’re not a stranger to me,” he said quietly. “Not anymore. And I’ll be here for you. Anything you need. Anything at all.”

I looked at him, and the way he said anything made the air between us shift.