He Loved My Fake Self Chapter 01

He Loved My Fake Self Chapter 01

My best friend cornered Peyton Vale for an entire week before he finally added me on Facebook.

To thank her for helping me take that first step, I spent every last dime of my savings on a designer bag.

Then I started racking my brain for ways to talk to Peyton.

Daytime check-ins. Late-night confessions.

A year later, we were inseparable.

I finally worked up the courage.

[Tomorrow’s supposed to be nice. Want to meet up?]

Peyton replied instantly.

[Baby, didn’t we just say goodbye?]

I sat there, completely confused, until my best friend pushed open the door with an armful of roses, her cheeks flushed pink.

“So when I got his Facebook,” she said, biting her lip, “I kinda forgot to mention I was asking for someone else. He’s thought the person messaging him this whole time… was me.”

The entire dorm room went dead silent.

Only my phone kept buzzing.

Peyton’s messages came rapid-fire.

[Did I freak you out? I’ve been planning that confession for a while now.

[Talking to you this past year… I can tell you’re genuine. Sweet.

[At first I thought we were just friends. But then I’d check my phone and feel sick when you hadn’t messaged.

[I’m sorry for just showing up and springing this on you—]

He wasn’t finished.

Every single message disappeared. Unsent.

“Sorry about that.” Jolene Shore smiled sweetly, setting the roses down. She pulled a gift box from her bag, kept the necklace, and pressed the matching earrings into my palm.

“Clover, I already said yes to Peyton. So obviously, I can’t let him keep talking to you.”

She crouched at my feet, chin resting on my knees, beaming up at me.

“I gave him my account and told him the old account got hacked. So—”

Sweat prickled across my forehead.

My brain struggled to catch up, connecting dots I didn’t want connected.

Hands shaking, I typed a single question mark into the chat and hit send.

Message not sent.

My stomach dropped.

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

Peyton had blocked me.

Just last night, we’d talked until past midnight.

“Don’t overthink it,” Jolene said, forcing the earrings into my hand with a grin.

“Let’s be real—if I hadn’t been the one asking for his Facebook, Peyton never would’ve talked to you in the first place.

“You know how he is. Ice cold. Girls throw themselves at him, and he doesn’t even blink. So think of those earrings as—”

“Jolene.” I looked away, voice drained. “I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Before she could respond, I pushed past her and climbed into bed, clinging to whatever scraps of dignity I had left.

I yanked the curtain shut, pulled up Messenger, and scrolled.

All the way back.

Back when every thread was just me sending messages into the void. Back when he’d reply once in a while. Back when if I went quiet too long, he’d send a question mark just to check in.

These last three months, the roles had flipped.

He was the one constantly reaching out.

I’d been so damn happy. Felt like pink bubbles floating in my chest, like every ounce of courage I’d poured into talking to him had actually meant something.

…

Now it was shattered.

I buried my face in my pillow and cried until I passed out.

The next morning, someone shouted through the door.

“Clover! There’s a guy downstairs looking for you. Tall. Lean. Stupid hot. Says his name’s Peyton Vale.”