Chapter 11: The Unspoken Life Policy of Being Crazy
Odessa's Pov
I inhale the familiar scent of my dorm, reeling in the thrill of being young again. The air smells like lavender and old books, the same combination that used to greet me every morning before everything fell apart.
It's just exactly as I remember it, more blissful too now that I know what I'm coming back to. My dad dropped me off and helped me vacuum the place, install new furniture, move the heavy stuff I could never lift on my own, before finally reassuring me that he won't let Pa Bern's decision stand. He kissed my forehead and told me not to worry, that he'd handle the old man.
Mom had paused my plan pitch back at the house. It was too risky to speak freely there with so many ears listening, servants moving through the halls,family members lurking around every corner. So she promised to drop by the dorm while she was out, just the two of us, no interruptions.
My plan to take over MAM was already set in place. Ten years ago, exactly three weeks after this date, a crisis struck. Players were reportedly getting drugged, some collapsing during the game or being unable to shift. The media went crazy, sponsors pulled out, and the whole company nearly folded. I had saved them back then, pulled them from the fire with my own two hands, and what did I get in return? A clause that kept me chained.
With my thesis actually based on a topic suggested by an Instagram friend, since I submitted late and couldn't graduate, I was paired with a person that was anonymous. Our research was based on the unconventional plagues that happened to werewolf players on the rink. We never met, never spoke on the phone, just traded documents and notes through the university portal like two ghosts passing in the dark.
From my understanding, their major was medicine related and we blended the research from a legal perspective from me and they did the medical part. It worked perfectly, like two halves of the same brain.
I figured they were probably one of those ghost students, the ones who never show up to class but still get straight As, but it helped me solve MAM's problem just before the third major shareholder pulled out. I had drafted and struck an endorsement deal with YellowLeaves, a company that produces traditional antidotes for werewolves. It was my finest work, done in a panic, done under pressure, done when everyone else was running for the exit.
Despite my effort in hosting awareness campaigns with recovered players, showing up at games with Yellow Leaves staff members, smiling for cameras and shaking hands with investors, and putting in my very sweat until shareholders returned, my grandfather still stuck to his sick clause. None of it mattered. None of it was enough.
This time, I was going to let them burn. I'm going to watch the fire consume everything they built, every late night, every deal, every handshake. And when I do save them, when I'm the only one left who can pull them from the ashes, I'm taking the company with me. No clause. No conditions. No grandfather telling me who to marry.
First, I have to resume my classes and find the student I wrote my thesis with. That anonymous partner is the key to everything, the medical half of the puzzle I can't solve on my own.
I lean in on my swivel chair, turning on the pink MacBook that I haven't seen in a decade. The screen glows to life and I log into my old Instagram account, typing the password from memory. A memory slowly seeps in as the page loads, old messages, old photos, old versions of myself that I barely recognize anymore.
And soon, my fingers are clicking into my in-box just as a notification pops up.
\[@nickbyrde: you're back?\]
A smile curls on my lips. Nick Byrde. My unofficial Instagram best friend that I've never met in person, not once, not even for coffee. I lost contact with him on my wedding day. His account was suddenly deleted and I never found him again, no matter how many times I searched. From what I know, he goes to a college in Ireland, somewhere far away from the mess of my life. Relief floods through me knowing that he might've been dead but is alive again in this timeline.
\[@odessamontgomery: I never left, did I?\]
\[@nickbyrde: Maybe about one week? Busy blowing up tabloids?\]
I suck in a deep breath. So he saw it. Everyone saw it.
\[@odessamontgomery: Not for the right reasons, unfortunately.\]
\[@nickbyrde: I know, I saw it. That sucks, really having your every move watched. You got into a fight with your boyfriend?\]
\[@odessamontgomery: Ex-boyfriend.\]
I type the word with a little too much force, my finger pressing down hard on the key.
\[@nickbyrde: Whoa.. what happened? Weren't you both supposed to get married or something?\]
I hesitate for a second, then decide to just say it. He's the only person who ever listened without judging.
\[@odessamontgomery: I called off the engagement. He's been sleeping with my cousin.\]
I let the news sit as I head to the mini freezer to get a drink. The cold air hits my face and I grab a bottle of water, twisting off the cap as the notifications buzz with strings of messages from Nick.
\[@nickbyrde: That's insane.\]
\[@nickbyrde: Why would anyone cheat on you?\]
\[@nickbyrde: the bastard needs another beating.\]
My brows furrow as I get back to my text, settling back into my chair.
\[@odessamontgomery: Another beating?\]
\[@nickbyrde: Yeah...from the videos?\]
\[@odessamontgomery: Yeah sure, my mom already dealt with him. It's just pretty complicated.\]
I don't know how to explain the rest. The time travel, the murder, the fact that I'm supposed to be dead. So I don't try.
\[@nickbyrde: How do you feel though?\]
I sigh, clearly fighting back another random tear. No one has asked me that since ages, and the last person was him, Nick himself, before he disappeared from my life. I've realized that I just feel rage, pain, and the thirst for revenge like some demonic vengeful spirit. There's no sadness anymore, no grief. Just heat.
\[@odessamontgomery: Honestly? I have no idea. My first thesis got stolen, I have to repeat another year to get my degree, my engagement just got called off and I just need some time off after I figure everything out.\]
\[@nickbyrde: And what if you don't figure it out?\]
The question hits me harder than I expect.
\[@odessamontgomery: Then I know I'm living it wrong.\]
\[@nickbyrde: Is there a right way to live, Odessa? You've gotta leave your shell and live, really live. No plans, no 'figuring' it out. Just doing the craziest thing available and living it to the fullest.\]
He is right. I've spent the past ten years on order that led me to misery. Ten years of following rules, of being good, of doing what I was told. And where did it get me? Dead in a parking garage.
\[@nickbyrde: but not too crazy though, at least not anything that lands you in jail.\]
I let out a giggle, nodding in agreement even though he can't see me.
\[@odessamontgomery: I got it. Thank you.\]
\[@nickbyrde: I might have a topic for your thesis that you'd like to write. It's one of the topics I was exploring while working on mine.\]
Yes. Exactly what I need.
\[@odessamontgomery: Thanks, Nick.\]
\[@nickbyrde: it's the least I can do. you really should do something about that creep of a boyfriend you've got. Call a mob to beat him or something, or fake date his enemy.\]
His enemy? He has a lot. Too many to count. Especially the De Luca brothers, with his most hated being Nikolai De Luca. I equally hate him. He's such a prick, the most brash of them all even after college. He got into many fights at conferences or red carpets, always in the news for the wrong reasons. Always fighting, always angry, always... ugh. I hold my back my building rage,he did help me get my phone so maybe, he's changed in this life. Hopefully.
\[@odessamontgomery: Not to worry. I'm going to make sure he pays.\]
I type the words with a finality that surprises even me. Then I close my MacBook with a sigh, the screen clicking shut, just as my phone buzzes with a text from my mom. I text her briefly, telling her I'm settled in, then look up her story on instinct.
It's the website page for the new season of Moonlit Bonds. Over two hundred million dollars for the winner? The sponsors must be loaded, richer than I ever imagined. I read through it further, my eyes scanning the text.
The same backstory of why the show was created pops up. My mom and dad's dating show preference and their mission to promote hybrid romance between werewolves and humans like they did, like the love story that started it all. The registration link is still open, blinking at me like an invitation.
And while scrolling through the form, filling out the questions in my head just for fun, the craziest idea I could think of comes into my head.
It's insane. It's reckless. It might actually work.