They Shared a Stage, She Shared His Bed

§01

The moment Static Bloom won, the bassist, Amberlyn, launched herself into Reid Dawson’s arms with a triumphant shriek.

It wasn’t a simple hug.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her glittery crop top pressing against his chest as he laughed, spinning her in a dizzying circle under the stage lights.

The crowd roared.

The rest of the band whooped and sprayed cheap champagne.

The air in the dive bar was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled beer, and victory.

From my corner booth, I watched the scene unfold on my phone.

The university’s online forum had exploded.

The cover video, already going viral, was of Reid and Amberlyn.

The headline screamed: *Rock's New Power Couple is Born! Reid Dawson & Amberlyn Troy's Championship Night Chemistry is Off the Charts!*

The comments section was a firestorm.

*【Campus King x Queen! They’re literally perfect together!】*

*【SHIP IT! Please get married on stage, right now.】*

*【I’m overdosing on this sugar rush!】*

Someone, buried deep in the thread, had posted: *【Wait, doesn't Reid have a girlfriend? The genius from Blackwood University…】*

The reply was swift and dismissive.

*【LOL, you using Internet Explorer? That’s ancient history. They broke up ages ago.】*

"Hey, Fiona?"

Amberlyn’s voice, deliberately loud and dripping with manufactured surprise, cut through the noise.

She detached herself from Reid, sashaying over to my booth.

"Why are you hiding over here playing on your phone? You don't look too happy. Are we being too loud for you?"

I locked my screen.

Reid finally noticed me, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second.

He came over, putting a casual arm around my shoulder.

"It's fine, Sunny," he said, using her nickname. "Fiona's just like that. Quiet. Not a party person."

Amberlyn cooed, leaning her body against Reid’s side, her voice laced with a cloying sweetness.

"Ooooh, I get it. So, Reid… how did two people from completely different planets even get together? Who chased who? I'm so, so curious!"

She batted her eyelashes, the picture of innocent curiosity.

Reid chuckled, a sound that grated on my nerves.

"We grew up together. Lived in the same neighborhood since we were kids. It just… happened."

Someone from the band yelled, "It's a classic childhood sweetheart story, you guys! The real deal!"

"Oh, that explains it," Amberlyn chirped, then giggled as if she'd said something clever. "You were probably too young to know what love really was. No offense, but you two just don't seem to... match."

Her eyes, sparkling with a not-so-innocent glint, flickered over me.

A slow, cold smile touched my lips.

I lifted my gaze, meeting hers directly.

"Oh? I don't match with him," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "So, you do?"

"How about I give him to you?"

§02

The music seemed to screech to a halt.

Every head in our vicinity turned.

In our entire relationship, I had never, ever embarrassed Reid in front of his friends.

I was the quiet, supportive girlfriend who packed his gear and proofread his essays.

The shock on their faces was almost comical.

After a beat of suffocating silence, the drummer jumped in, forcing a laugh.

"Whoa, Fiona, don't take it seriously! Sunny's just a motormouth, she doesn't think before she speaks! Right, Sunny?"

Amberlyn immediately covered her mouth, her eyes wide with fake horror.

"Oh my god, Fiona! I'm so, so sorry! My stupid mouth! I just say whatever pops into my head! Please don't take it to heart!"

I didn't respond. I just held her gaze with that same, unnerving smile.

Seeing my lack of reaction, Reid’s face hardened.

He dropped his arm from my shoulder and glared at me.

"Fiona, what are you doing? Everyone's having a good time tonight. Why are you trying to ruin the mood?"

His voice was low, laced with annoyance.

"Sunny is just a straightforward person. She doesn't have a malicious bone in her body, not like you, getting sensitive over every little thing. Do you have to be like this?"

Sensitive.

Ruin the mood.

So, in his eyes, I was the problem.

And Amberlyn’s calculated provocations were just her being "straightforward."

The last bit of warmth in my chest turned to ice.

Fine.

If he wanted me to ruin the mood, I would burn it to the ground.

I met his angry stare without flinching.

I picked up my phone and opened Amberlyn's Instagram profile.

"Last month, on the twelfth," I began, my voice clear and steady. "Your band practiced until two in the morning, well past campus curfew."

I tilted the screen to show her post: a picture of Amberlyn, wearing a ridiculously oversized band t-shirt—Reid’s t-shirt—smugly hugging a pillow on his large, charcoal-gray bed.

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