No Longer Your Loyal Pet

The night before our engagement party, I found myself scrolling through my phone, a mindless habit to quiet the pre-wedding jitters.

A headline caught my eye, stopping my thumb mid-swipe: Ive fallen for my daily commute partnerwhat do I do?

I clicked. The poster described her commute partner as a guy she saw every day, always driving a Maybach. She wrote about how theyd shared small moments at stoplights for months. Then, she mentioned an accidenthow shed been clipped by a car while on her bike, and he had leapt out of his luxury sedan to gather her in his arms, staying with her until she felt safe.

The top comment, with thousands of likes, read: "If you dont tell her how you feel, how will she ever know?"

Beneath it, a reply: "I bet shes already secretly in love with you."

I scrolled down further. The poster had attached a photo of the accident scene, likely taken by a bystander. The focus was sharp on a hand reaching out to help the girl. Around that wrist was a braceleta limited-edition Van Cleef & Arpels piece.

I knew that bracelet. I knew it because I had spent three months tracking it down as an engagement gift. I had even paid a premium to have our initialsmine and Camillasengraved on the inner clasp.

I pinched the screen, zooming in until the pixels blurred, staring at that gold chain until my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold, iron fist.

The post had been live for months, but the engagement remained high.

I clicked on the posters profile. It was a digital diary of a young mans agonizing, sweet unrequited love. About six months ago, he had thanked his followers for the courage to confess. He told them they were officially together.

After that, the feed became a highlight reel of their romance.

Buying her peonies. Spending weekends at a secluded cabin.

Last month, he posted a photo of a ring.

Their fingers were interlaced, her hand resting over his.

I put it on her finger today, he wrote. Im just waiting for the perfect moment to officially propose.

I enlarged the image.

I stared at it until my eyes burned and the room went dim.

I had designed that ring.

I had gone through nine drafts, pulling countless all-nighters to get the setting just right. Every time I felt like giving up, Camilla would wrap her arms around my neck from behind, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

Id pull her into my lap and whisper, Almost there. Just one more revision.

Shed murmur, Im right here with you, and sit beside me, working on her laptop until the sun came up.

The original blueprints were still on my desktop. The design was one-of-a-kind.

But weeks ago, Camilla told me the jeweler had lost the custom piece.

I had been naive enough to believe her. Id actually cried, devastated that the symbol of our future was gone. Camilla had been so tender then, wiping the tears from my cheeks, promising shed find a better ring, telling me not to worry.

It wasn't lost.

It was on her hand. She had taken my souls work and given it to another man to claim as his own.

Two days ago, the boy posted again: Shes been so busy lately. Hardly any time for her boyfriend.

I swiped past it.

I didnt like it. I didnt comment.

I just turned my phone face down on the mahogany desk and watched the rain streak against the window.

She was busy, alright. Busy planning our engagement gala.

The phone buzzed. A new post. A location tag for a high-end French bistro downtown.

She told me to meet her here at eight. Shes finally going to introduce me to her inner circle.

The evidence was absolute. The bracelet I bought, the ring I bled for.

And yet, a pathetic part of me still couldn't believe it was her. Not my Camilla.

Driven by a ghost of hope or perhaps a need for total destruction, I changed my clothes. I called for the car and asked the driver to take me to the restaurant.

7:20 PM.

I arrived early.

The hostess gave me a rehearsed smile. I gave her Camillas phone number for the reservation. She checked the system and led me toward a private back room.

The hallway was long, carpeted in a deep, blood-red velvet that swallowed the sound of my footsteps.

I reached the door. It wasn't fully latched. Voices drifted through the gap.

Camilla, youre really going all out for the 'husband-to-be,' huh? An 8:00 PM dinner, and you had the girls get here at 7:30 just to prep?

Hes shy, Camillas voice rang outsmooth, authoritative, effortless. I wanted you all here first so he doesnt feel overwhelmed. And please, watch your mouths tonight.

Dont worry, well be on our best behavior.

Laughter followed, the crystalline clink of expensive wine glasses. Then, someone brought up my name.

But Cami, what about the one at home? What about Emmett? We all grew up with the guy.

Please, another woman scoffed. Lets call it what it is. Emmett is the son of the man who saved Camillas life. In the nicest terms, hes a legacy ward. In reality? Hes just a stray her father left behind.

Hes a childhood playmate at best, someone added.

I stood frozen, waiting for Camilla to shut them down.

I remembered high school, when a bully called me an orphan. Camilla had tackled the guy, pinning him to the dirt until he apologized. She had turned to me afterward, her eyes red with protective fury, promising me, If anyone ever says that again, Ill destroy them.

I waited for that Camilla to speak.

I waited for her to tell them I wasn't a stray.

Harsh, but not inaccurate, Camilla said.

Her voice was light, casual. Like she was commenting on the weather.

But, she paused, dont say it to his face. Hes sensitive. Thin-skinned.

The room erupted in giggles. Aww, is Cami catching feelings for the charity case?

Hardly, she drawled. It was my mothers dying wish that I look after him. He lives in my house, I provide for himits whats expected. Think of him as a pet. Hes low-maintenance enough.

More laughter.

I stood in the hallway, hot tears blurring my vision, my entire body trembling.

A pet.

I didnt care how pathetic I looked. I pushed the door open.

The laughter died instantly.

Camilla sat at the head of the table, twirling a wine glass between her fingers. When she saw me, her mask slipped for a fraction of a second.

Emmett.

She stood up.

What are you doing here? I told you to stay home and rest.

The other women at the table went silent, looking at their plates.

I let out a jagged, hollow laugh. My face was wet with tears, and I probably looked like a madman.

Is that what I am, Camilla? A pet?

Her lips parted. Emmett, let me explain

Explain what? That Im just an extra mouth to feed? That Im low-maintenance?

The words caught in my throat. I choked on a sob.

Or should you explain that my father died saving your life, and in return, you view him as nothing more than a servant?

Her expression shifted.

It wasn't guilt. It was something elsesomething Id seen her use on beggars on the street. A look of profound annoyance. Disgust. The look of someone tired of a recurring nuisance.

She looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

She didn't say a word. But that look said everything.

One of the women glanced at her watch. Camilla, its almost eight.

Camilla nodded. She didn't move toward me.

After a few moments, she spoke, her tone dripping with bored condescension.

Emmett, go home. The engagement party is still happening tomorrow. Youll get everything youve ever wanted. Just stop making a scene.

Everything I wanted

I opened my mouth to scream, to rail against the injustice of it.

She raised a hand, cutting me off. Her eyes fell to my hands, which were beet-red from the cold and shaking uncontrollably.

She frowned and picked up her blazer from the back of her chair.

Its freezing out, she said, draping the jacket over my shoulders.

The movement was brisk, almost clinical, as if she were afraid shed regret the kindness if she lingered.

The jacket still held the warmth of her body.

I looked up at her, startled. She met my gaze, and for a heartbeat, something flickered in her eyes. It was gone too fast for me to tell if it was pity or just twenty years of habit.

Go home, she said, her voice dropping an octave. Just be ready for tomorrow.

The security guards stepped forward.

I didn't move. I stood there, wrapped in her scent, waiting for her to say one real thing. Waiting for that flicker of light to return.

It didn't. Instead, the guards took my arms.

They marched me toward the elevators.

As the doors slid open, a young man was standing inside. He was looking at his phone, the screen glowing with a photo of him and Camilla kissing.

As we passed each other, he gave me a curious, fleeting glance.

Cami! I heard him shout from behind me. He ran into the room and swept her into a hug.

She hugged him back.

She laugheda genuine, bright sound I hadn't heard in years.

The elevator doors closed.

I couldn't see them anymore. I could only see my own reflection in the polished steel.

Face streaked with tears. Pathetic.

The jacket on my shoulders was warm, but I couldn't stop shivering.

I walked out of the restaurant into a downpour. A guard tried to hold an umbrella over me, but I shoved it away.

The rain hit me with bone-chilling force. I didn't want to hide from it. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to wash away twenty years of devotion.

By the time I got back to the estate, I was soaked to the bone.

I pulled her jacket off and collapsed onto the bed.

I was so cold. My brain felt numb.

Eventually, the world turned grey, and my eyelids grew heavy.

When I woke, the world was spinning. My skin felt like it was on fire. My head throbbed as if it were being split by an axe.

I touched my forehead. Burning.

A fever.

Fever dreams began to bleed into reality.

The day I was seven. My father was gone, and I had been brought to the house. Camilla, three years older, stood at the door. She looked like a princess in a storybook. She reached out her hand.

Dont be scared, she whispered. Im here.

The night I turned eighteen. She had bought a cake in secret. Just the two of us.

She lit the candles and said, Make a wish.

I asked, What should I wish for?

She looked at me, her voice steady and sure. Wish that were always together.

Then, the dream curdled.

I saw my father in a pool of blood.

The car had been barreling toward Camilla, and he had shoved her out of the way. He couldn't save himself.

She had knelt in the street, her hands stained red. I had run to him, clutching his body.

His last words to me: Emmett, take care of yourself.

I was crying in my sleep. The tears were drying almost instantly against my feverish skin.

I wanted Camilla. I only wanted her.

I wanted to hear her say Im here one last time.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I fumbled for it, my vision blurred.

I pressed answer.

It wasn't her voice. It was a mans.

Heavy, rhythmic breathing.

I gripped the phone, tears soaking into the pillow.

The line went quiet for a second. Then Camillas voice came through, laced with a post-coital laziness and a hint of a laugh.

Oh, sorry. Wrong button.

Click.

I stared at the ceiling as the room tilted.

My stomach surged. I tried to sit up, tried to get to the bathroom, but I didn't make it. I vomited over the side of the bed. Since I hadn't eaten, it was just bitter bile and tears.

I collapsed back, shaking.

The world was a whirlwind of my fathers dying face and the sound of that mans breath.

I retched again, my body cramping with the effort.

I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.

When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed.

The fever had broken, but my body felt like lead.

Camilla was there. She was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, looking like shed been there all morning.

I shifted slightly.

She opened her eyes. For a second, she looked dazed, as if shed forgotten everything that happened at the bistro.

Then she stood up and touched my forehead. Her palm was shockingly cold.

The fever is down, she said, her voice raspy.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt like Id swallowed glass.

She looked into my eyes.

Why didn't you call the doctor?

...

Why didn't you call me?

...

Emmett, do you have any idea how high your temperature was?

When I didn't answer, she sighed.

The engagement party is canceled. Happy now?

I blinked. I

Forget it. She tucked the blanket around me. Just stop making my life difficult.

The door burst open.

Cami! Who the hell is this?

It was the boy from the elevator. Tyler.

Tyler, what are you doing here?

A buddy of mine works here! If he hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known you were keeping a secret boyfriend on the side!

Tylers voice was high, piercing. It made my head throb.

He rushed over, pointing a finger at my face.

You pathetic loser. Didn't your parents teach you anything? You don't steal other peoples girlfriends!

Before anyone could react, his hand flew out.

Slap.

My head snapped to the side. A searing, white-hot pain radiated across my cheek. My ears rang.

No parents.

He said I had no parents to teach me.

The image of my father in the street flashed before my eyes.

The world started to go black.

I heard myself gasping. Shallow, desperate lunges for air. My heart was a frantic bird hitting the walls of its cage.

Tyler! Camillas voice sounded miles away. Are you insane?

Me? Hes the one trying to take my girl!

Hes sick in a hospital bed, you idiot!

So? Anyone can play the victim!

The voices faded into a dull hum.

Before I lost consciousness, I felt a hand on my cheek.

Light. Terrified.

A cold finger brushed the place where Id been struck.

When I woke again, the room was empty.

Camilla was gone. The sun was gone.

Outside, the sky was a bruised grey.

I heard voices at the doornurses talking in the hall.

The guy in 402?

Yeah, thats him.

I heard hes trying to trap that tech heiress? Using his dead dad as leverage?

More than that. Apparently, his dad died saving her, and now the son thinks hes entitled to her hand in marriage. Talk about predatory.

Shameless. Using a dead man to guilt-trip a woman into a wedding.

I lay there, paralyzed.

Tyler had posted a video.

I fumbled for my phone and found the thread. Millions of views.

He was on camera, eyes red, looking like the victim of a grand conspiracy.

His father saved my girlfriend once, and weve always been grateful, he sobbed. But hes using that debt to blackmail her. Hes forcing her to marry him. Shes too kind-hearted to say no. Hes a parasite.

The comments were a bloodbath.

This guy is disgusting.

His father is probably rolling in his grave.

Dox him. Make sure he can never show his face again.

They found my name. Emmett Vance.

They found the old police reports of my fathers accident.

Single father, one kid I bet the dad planned the whole thing. A heroic suicide to get his kid into a rich family.

Like father, like son. Con artists.

I set the phone down.

No parents to teach me.

He was right. My father was dead.

But my father didn't save her for a reward.

His last words weren't Make her pay. They were Take care of yourself.

It was Camillas mother who insisted I stay. It was the family who insisted on the debt.

Not him. My father was a good man.

The door was kicked open. A woman in a nurses uniform rushed in, holding her phone up.

Here he is, guys! Live!

Emmett Vance! The blackmailer!

Tell the truthwas your dads accident just a failed insurance scam?

The comments on her screen were scrolling so fast I couldn't read them.

I only had one thought: Find Camilla.

Make her tell them its not true.

Make her tell them it was an accident.

If she said it, I could leave. I could disappear forever. I just needed my fathers name to be clean.

I ripped the IV out of my hand. Blood bubbled up, but I didn't feel it.

I ran out of the room.

Hey! Stop him!

I didn't stop. The hallway was an endless stretch of white.

My bare feet hit the cold linoleum.

I had to find her.

I burst through the lobby, past the screaming nurse, and out into the street.

I didn't know where she was, but I had to look.

The hospital lights were blinding. I leaned against a wall, my feet bleeding on the pavement.

Wait for me, Dad. Im going to fix this.

I saw the light turn green. I saw the flash of a car.

I didn't see anything else.

CRACK.

My body went airborne, then hit the asphalt with a sickening thud.