Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 74

I don’t sleep.

I lie awake in the guest room staring at the ceiling fan, counting rotations until the numbers blur. Every time I close my eyes, I hear it again—Yes, Harry. My mother’s voice, softer than I’ve heard it in years. Intimate. Chosen.

Harry.

The name sits in my chest like a live wire.

By morning, my body feels hollowed out. Not tired exactly—wired, stretched thin, buzzing with too many thoughts fighting for space. I shower on autopilot, dress carefully, and rehearse normal expressions in the mirror until I can almost convince myself I’m fine.

Almost.

Melissa is already in the kitchen when I walk in. She’s dressed for the day, hair perfect, coffee cup in hand. If she notices the way I hesitate in the doorway, she doesn’t show it.

“Morning,” she says briskly. “You sleep?”

“Not really,” I reply.

She hums. “You should work on that. Sleep affects performance.”

Of course it does.

I pour myself coffee I don’t want and sit across from her at the table. The sunlight streaming through the window feels too bright, too honest. I watch her hands as she checks her phone—quick glance, neutral face. Gone is last night’s warmth.

I take a breath. Then another.

“Mom,” I say carefully.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

She doesn’t look up. “Depends.”

I press my lips together. “Are you… seeing someone?”

That gets her attention.

She sets the phone down slowly and finally looks at me. Her expression is guarded, cool. Defensive in a way that tells me I wasn’t supposed to ask.

“That’s a personal question,” she says.

“I know,” I reply. “I’m not trying to invade your privacy. I just—”

“You’re speculating,” she interrupts. “And it’s unnecessary.”

I swallow. “You were texting someone a lot last night.”

Her jaw tightens. “So now you’re monitoring me?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I just noticed. You seemed… happy.”

The word hangs between us.

“Happiness isn’t a crime,” she snaps.

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?” she asks sharply.

Because my entire reality just shifted, I think. But I don’t say that.

“I think it’s normal to be curious,” I say instead. “You always tell me honesty matters.”

Her lips thin. “Honesty doesn’t mean full access.”

Something inside me bristles. “I’m not asking for details. Just… confirmation.”

“Confirmation of what?” she asks.

“That you’re not alone,” I say softly. “That you’re not pretending you don’t want companionship.”

Her eyes flash. “Be careful, Zoey.”

The warning tone is unmistakable.

“I am being careful,” I reply. “That’s why I’m asking instead of assuming.”

She stands abruptly, carrying her coffee to the sink. Her back is to me now—closed off, rigid.

“My personal life is not your concern,” she says. “You have enough chaos of your own to manage.”

There it is.

The deflection. The pivot. The familiar maneuver.

“I’m managing it,” I say. “Actually… Chase and I—”

She turns sharply. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you’re suddenly above that situation,” she says. “You chose him. You invited that instability.”

My chest tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” she scoffs. “You brought home drama, distraction, and a boy who dragged you down academically and emotionally. I warned you.”

“You criticized me,” I say. “There’s a difference.”

Her gaze sharpens. “You think I enjoyed watching you self-destruct?”

“I wasn’t self-destructing,” I say, heat rising. “I was surviving.”

“Barely,” she snaps. “You were reckless. Emotional. Unfocused.”

I grip the edge of the table. “And now?”

“And now you’re still fragile,” she replies. “Still easily influenced.”

Something inside me snaps—not violently, but cleanly.

“We broke up,” I blurt.

The words land like a dropped plate.

Melissa freezes.

“What?” she asks.

“We broke up,” I repeat, steadier now. “Or we’re in the process of it. I told him he had to grow or I’d leave.”

Her expression shifts—surprise, then something like satisfaction.

“Finally,” she says.

The word cuts deeper than any insult.

“Finally?” I echo.

“Yes,” she says. “You came to your senses.”

“That’s all you have to say?” I ask, incredulous. “No concern? No questions?”

“Why would I question a necessary decision?” she replies. “You chose logic over emotion for once.”

I stand up, my hands shaking. “You don’t get to rewrite this like it was easy.”

“Easy or not, it was overdue,” she says coolly. “That boy was never your equal.”

“That doesn’t make him disposable,” I snap.

She lifts an eyebrow. “It makes him incompatible.”

The words echo something Professor Wilson said, and the thought sends a jolt through me.

“Is that how you see relationships?” I ask. “As transactions?”

“I see them as partnerships,” she says. “With standards.”

“And do you apply those standards to yourself?” I ask quietly.

Her eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

I hesitate. My heart pounds. “You’re being evasive.”

“Because you’re being inappropriate.”

“I overheard you,” I say before I can stop myself.

Silence slams down between us.

“You overheard what?” she asks.

“Your phone call,” I say, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay calm. “Last night.”

Her face goes pale for just a fraction of a second—enough to confirm everything.

“That was not intentional,” I add quickly. “I wasn’t spying. I just… heard.”

Her mouth tightens. “You violated my privacy.”

“I heard my mother say another man’s name like it mattered,” I reply. “Forgive me for reacting.”

She exhales sharply, rubbing her temple. “This is exactly why I didn’t want this conversation.”

“So it’s true,” I say. “You are seeing someone.”

She hesitates, then straightens. “Yes.”

The confirmation sends a strange mix of relief and dread through me.

“Who?” I ask.

“That is none of your business.”

“Mom,” I plead. “Please.”

She looks at me for a long moment, weighing something internal. Then she says sharply, “This discussion is over.”

The word hangs there, loaded.

She looks away first.

“Get ready,” she says curtly. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

I stare at her, stunned. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

I nod slowly. “Fine.”

I turn and walk out.