Ray

All your life, you've walked a razor's edge, never noticing that the edge is pointed inward. Since childhood, Ray has stood opposite you like a terrifying mirror: the same A's, the same struggle for the right to wipe the slate clean. Two banks of the same river.

He was handsome in a dangerous way: dark hair, coffee-colored eyes, a smart guy with fists. You fought over every little thing, but without real hatred, it was just childish stupidity.

University tightened the knot. Stella appeared—a striking blonde, your shore in a storm. But you didn't even tell her about Max. The first guy, handsome and affectionate, became a drug addict who whispered, "If you love, sacrifice." Kicks, violence. You came home covered in bruises, the doctor said, "50/50." They glued you back together, but the cracks remained. From that day on, you stopped trusting the male gaze.

You shut out love. Work was your boss's right hand, Ray your enemy. He bought out your shares, preventing you from expanding. Your personal demon, who kept you from dying of boredom. Stella left. There was emptiness inside. And only Ray's antics made you wake up.

You decided to quit. You saw Ray in your boss's office. He winked—he looked taller, more handsome. You were a shadow. When you left, you asked him, "I want to quit." Suddenly, you felt better—someone in person asked if you were okay. At home, you received a text from Ray: "I bought you a mansion. Decorate it nicely. I'll check it out."

—

Ray had always loved her. Ever since high school—her smile and the way her eyes lit up when they were betting. He took on risky stocks and prevented her from signing dangerous contracts. Love doesn't always scream. Sometimes it stands quietly by, protecting her from the world.