Chapter 3 : The Unfinished Business
2134 Words
On the way to the venue with a sour face, she's all prettified and well-dressed.
But the person she's expecting to come with her can't go.
"Stephanie, stop being so irrational. It's an urgent call, and it's my job. It was a good offer, so I took it. Besides, I'm sure you've got plenty of people in there to interact with—some old friends and probably some guys you’ve dated, but—"
Terry sighed when he noticed that Stephanie wasn’t listening to his explanation.
It was supposed to be a sweet and peaceful ride to the venue until he opened up about being unable to come with her because of his manager’s sudden call for a photoshoot in Barcelona. And he was needed tonight.
"Look, I'll make it up to you as soon as I get back. I'll be gone for maybe a week or so. And I promise, we’ll go wherever you want when I return."
He reaches for her hand resting on her thigh and squeezes it lightly.
Her head is turned away from him, her gaze fixed outside the window. Her eyes are on the verge of tearing up.
If this is what a relationship feels like, she guesses she’ll never truly learn.
She’s been through so many heartbreaks before, yet she keeps falling into someone’s pit. And now, as she notices how distant Terry has been lately, she can’t help but feel even more critical.
Hearing him let out his fiftieth sigh, she already knows he's keeping his cool. Terry is a very patient man. He has never shouted at her, never lost his temper, never acted violently. He’s either silent or trying to stitch together whatever part of them he tore apart.
But as this relationship begins to blur after years of being together, the atmosphere grows darker and heavier. It’s suffocating.
All she wants to do is ask him if he still feels the same way, but she knows she’ll sound possessive and completely unreasonable if she does.
She doesn’t want him to think she’s that kind of girlfriend.
"If you don't want to talk to me, it's fine. But I'm telling you, the moment I get back, I'll make sure you're happier than on our last date. Hm?" He tries to use a cheerful voice, but still—no response.
Silence fills the car until they reach the venue, Griffith SHS Academy.
Stephanie immediately opens the door, but Terry abruptly takes her hand and pulls her back gently.
"Hey, let's not fight. I don't want us to fight, please?"
His eyes plead for forgiveness, but she offers none.
"Stephanie, this night is for you to enjoy with your former classmates. I’d just be bored as hell if I went with you. Why don’t you just have fun? Huh?" He asks sweetly, but instead of replying, Stephanie pulls her hand away and steps out of the car with heavy shoulders.
Listening to the sharp tack of her heels against the pavement, she feels her eyes sting with unshed tears.
This is just not her night.
She was supposed to stand out from the crowd and show off her boyfriend like a trophy. But now? Now she has nothing to distract herself with—since that was her plan all along.
Now, she’s walking into the stadium like a loser without a lover.
As soon as she steps inside the Academy’s spacious gymnasium, the dancing lights highlight her milky-white skin.
The calm yet poppy rhythm of Hungry Heart by Bruce Springsteen plays faintly, echoing through the space.
There are already plenty of people inside, all engaged in small talk—false greetings and over-the-top compliments.
How fake.
"If it isn’t the great Stephanie Mason! Queen of the night for four consecutive years and now the Queen of media and the world! Oh my goodness, look at you! I hope you still remember me. I’ve been your biggest fan since we were in the same class! I’m Kayle!"
A woman in her early thirties greets her at the entrance, her natural auburn hair tied in a ponytail, a pair of oversized glasses perched on her nose.
Her dress suits her figure—she’s a curvy genius. That one white girl with brains who used to get bullied for her chubby belly.
Stephanie has a knack for calculating if someone is successful in life or not, and in Kayle’s case? She seems somewhere in the middle.
"I’m so happy to see you again! You know, I’ve watched almost all your movies, and I’m madly in love with your latest film, The Queen of Karma!" she squeals, trying to keep up with Stephanie’s fast pace.
"That’s great, and of course, I remember you, Kayle. President of the student council."
Stephanie forces a small smile that stretches her mouth uncomfortably.
She doesn’t want to be fake, but this night just isn’t in her favor.
Kayle acts like she’s having a mini panic attack before pulling Stephanie into a sudden hug.
"Whoa!" Stephanie exclaims but eventually returns the hug. "You’re too sweet!"
Pulling away, Kayle fixes her glasses and scratches her head, disheveling her neatly tied hair.
"Sorry, I just got too excited," she apologizes like a kid who accidentally spilled a glass of water.
"It’s okay, Kayle. If you want, I could sign something for you and take a picture together later, after the event," Stephanie offers, deciding not to let Terry ruin her usual grace.
"Oh my gosh! For real? Yes, please!"
But instead of waiting for later, Kayle immediately pulls out her phone from her black purse and opens the camera app.
"Okay? Ready? Cheese!"
Stephanie bends slightly, flashing her signature demure smile—but then Kayle’s face crumples on the screen when she realizes the camera isn’t saving any pictures.
"What?! Full storage?!" she shrieks, nearly having a meltdown.
"That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll find me later. Maybe I can get someone to take pictures for us tonight."
Patting Kayle’s back, Stephanie excuses herself and gets swallowed by the crowd.
She receives countless greetings from former classmates—some familiar, some whose names she can’t remember.
And finally, she starts to enjoy the night, standing under the limelight where she belongs.
Her lips are already tired from smiling and bending down for pictures with almost everyone in the gym.
It was all fun and games until she found herself gasping for air outside the gymnasium, sitting on one of the bench gardens of the Academy.
Pouting her lips, she gently pats both cheeks. Her back aches, and her feet are desperate for a massage.
Regret is settling in—why did she even decide to wear four-inch pumps?
Taking deep, slow breaths, she closes her eyes for a moment, trying to meditate. She needs it before heading back to that loud, chaotic space.
Finding her peace of mind, she pulls out her foundation and mirror from her purse for a quick touch-up.
While applying a deep red tint to her lips, she accidentally tilts the mirror slightly to the side—just enough to catch what’s behind her. Or rather, who is behind her.
Daniel Chandler.
Looking fine as ever in a maroon suit that flatters his ridiculously good looks.
His hair is styled the same way—waxed and slicked back. He looks neater without the usual piercings in his ears.
He looks like a good man.
The joke’s on her. Why is she even praising his appearance? She doesn’t like him!
"Next time you want to stare at me, try not to make it so obvious. Ever heard of the word apodyopsis?"
His voice startles her. She didn’t realize she’d been staring for so long until he spoke.
Swallowing to dampen her dry throat, she quickly tucks her things back into her purse and stands up from the bench.
She has no interest in a conversation with the one person she swore to never cross paths with again.
"What? So you’re just gonna walk away? Like you always do. Should I even be surprised?"
She stops in her tracks when she hears Daniel’s voice again.
"Or is it because your boyfriend’s inside, and you don’t want the cameras catching you talking to your ex?"
Her jaw tightens as her eyes meet his. Still sharp. Still intimidating. His presence alone is aggravating. But no matter how good he looks, this guy is pure evil.
Probably works part-time in hell.
The maroon suit suits him—just needs a red trident, a tail, and a pair of horns. A low-budget Hellboy missing the muscles and stone hands.
"Haven’t changed a bit, I see," he comments, looking her up and down.
"Same as you. Still looking like a depressed janitor fish," she snaps back, her tone calm but cutting, before flashing him a sweet smile—one she knows will piss him off.
Except it doesn’t.
Instead, he grins, showing off those annoyingly charming teeth.
"If you think talking like that will provoke me, you’re wrong. There are plenty of other reasons for me to be mad at you," he says, his voice low, serious—no hint of a joke.
"I’m not trying to make you feel anything, Chandler."
Stephanie steps closer until only a hand’s width separates them.
"And you’re right. I’m walking away because I don’t want the cameras catching me talking to my ex. Terry and I have a healthy relationship, and I don’t want you messing it up."
She slaps him with the truth and walks past him.
"It’s not like you didn’t ruin me."
It’s almost a whisper. Barely audible. But Stephanie hears it.
She shakes off the thought. Why should she care?
The past stays in the past. No need to dig it up. The only thing that matters is the present. Nothing more.
And besides, she has more important things to deal with—like Terry.
Thankfully, after that brief and unnecessary encounter, she doesn’t run into Daniel again for the rest of the event.
But the interaction lingers in her mind, haunting her throughout the night.
By the time the clock strikes one in the morning, it's time for goodbyes and well wishes.
Kayle finds her again—finally getting her long-awaited autograph and a bunch of selfies.
It’s all farewell hugs and parting waves until Stephanie realizes something crucial.
She has no ride home.
"Great," she mutters, pulling out her phone to call someone—anyone.
No answer.
Not even her manager, who swore to always be available.
"I assume you need a ride."
She nearly jumps out of her skin.
Daniel. Again.
"Can you please stop doing that? I quit caffeine to keep my heart healthy, and you just made me lose 40 calories!" she yells, clutching her chest.
Daniel rolls his eyes, doing that little pouty thing with his lips while his nostrils flare without him realizing it.
He stomps his foot and looks away.
"And for the record, I’d rather walk miles than get in a car with you," she huffs, turning on her heel.
"Your choice," he mutters.
She gasps, whipping her head around so fast it hurts.
Did he really just—
He doesn’t care.
This man has never been a gentleman! When a woman says no, it means persuade me!
Everyone else is gone. She’s the only one left.
And taking a cab at this hour? Risky.
Her manager is unreachable, and all her trusted contacts are MIA.
She has no other options.
"Fine! I’ll take your offer. But don’t talk to me."
She groans dramatically.
Daniel stops walking and glances over his shoulder.
"And who said the offer was still open?" he smirks, raising an eyebrow.
She grits her teeth. "No one. Just take me home. My feet are killing me, and I want you out of my face."
Without another word, she follows him.
When they reach his car, recognition dawns on her.
It’s that car.
Not super expensive. Not cheap either.
A simple four-seater with a sleek red paint job—nothing flashy.
Not the kind of car you use to impress a woman.
But for Stephanie, it’s more than that.
It’s a reminder.
Of the last time they were together. The last time they weren’t enemies. The last time they laughed instead of fought.
"Are you just gonna stand there, or are you getting in? I’ve got work to do, so don’t waste my time," Daniel says impatiently.
She reaches for the back seat, but before she can open the door, the window rolls down.
Inside, Steve and Ben are grinning like idiots.
"Stephie!" Ben practically shouts. "Come on, hop in!"
Steve leans forward, flashing his I think I’m the hottest guy ever smile and waving at her.
Oh, great.
This is definitely going to be a bumpy ride.
- Writer
