Tomorrow.
Why does that word always sound harmless until it's sitting on your chest like a debt collector?
I ended the call with Arrow and dropped my phone on the bed like it personally offended me. Tomorrow. As in less than twenty-four hours. As in my very real, very obsessed, very hot boyfriend is coming back and I don't even know his favorite color, let alone his trauma.
This life is stressful.
I roll onto my stomach and scream into the pillow. Not too loud though. This is a rich-person apartment. I don't know the soundproofing policy yet.
I pull my face out of the pillow and inhale dramatically like I'm in a telenovela.
Okay.
Let's recap before my brain overheats.
I'm not Ria.
Ria is rich.
Ria has enemies.
Ria has secrets.
Ria has a man who calls himself Carson and knows things he shouldn't.
Ria has a boyfriend named Arrow who looks like he fell out of a romance novel and talks like I'm oxygen.
And me?
I used to be jobless and died while buying painkillers.
Character development is wild.
I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling. It's clean. Suspiciously clean. The kind of clean that says someone had their life together here.
Hell I don't have my life together, ugh sorry former Ria, the wrong person invaded this hot body.
How would it be for Arrow though, like his life long obsession suddenly forgot about him, he probably likes prim and proper girls like former Ria not me, I'm not prim and proper in any way, like at all, I spent my life just eating and reading for Christ's sake, even my death was boring.
The universe was probably just tired of me or some shi.
Hell I think I should know more about myself than other people in this world, what was Ria like?, I never really thought of that.
I don't wanna ask Arrow cause I feel like he'll have a heart attack or something closely related to that, let's see..
I grab my phone again and open Ria's contacts.
Why does she know so many people?
Who the hell needs this many human connections?
I scroll past names I don't recognize, some with hearts, some with emojis that look expensive. Then I see it.
Madison đź’•
Nope.
Absolutely not.
That heart is fake. I can feel it in my bones.
I scroll back up and tap Carson.
Yh I wasn't really planning on speaking to him ever again but I guess it can't be helped.
He answers on the second ring, like he was waiting.
"Miss Ria," he says calmly. Too calmly. "I was wondering when you'd call."
That tone makes my skin crawl.
"Quick question," I say. "How long have you known me?"
There's a pause. Not long, but noticeable. Like he's choosing which truth to give me.
"Long enough," he replies.
I sit up straight.
"That wasn't the question."
A soft chuckle comes through the phone. I hate that. I really do.
"You've changed," he says. "You used to avoid direct questions."
Oh. So Ria was the avoidant type.
"Near-death experience," I reply. "Very clarifying."
Another pause.
Then, casually: "Your boyfriend is returning tomorrow."
My stomach drops.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"I know many things."
That's not mysterious. That's concerning.
"Then tell me this," I say, lowering my voice like he can somehow see me through the phone. "Was Ria happy?"
Silence.
Not the dramatic kind you hear in movies. This one is heavy. Awkward. Like I asked something I wasn't supposed to.
"Miss Ria," Carson finally says, slower now, "you shouldn't be worrying about things like that."
I frown. "That wasn't an answer."
Another chuckle. I swear this man chuckles like he knows he's winning.
"Happiness is subjective," he replies. "Ria was… comfortable."
Comfortable?
That word sits wrong in my chest.
"So she wasn't," I say flatly.
He doesn't deny it.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Carson adds, like we're discussing lunch plans instead of my stolen life, and the call ends.
I stare at my phone.
Tomorrow again.
Why does everyone keep throwing tomorrow at me like it's a solution?
I toss the phone onto the bed and fall back beside it, staring at the ceiling again. I swear it's judging me now. Even the ceiling had expectations for Ria.
Comfortable.
Is that what this life was? Rich, pretty, admired—and empty?
I groan and roll onto my side.
"Great," I mutter. "So I hijacked a sad rich girl with commitment issues and unresolved trauma."
Could've at least given me magic powers. Or a dragon. Or a CEO. But no—just emotional damage and a hot boyfriend with abandonment issues.
Speaking of him.
Arrow.
I grab my phone again, purely out of self-inflicted suffering, and open his chat. The messages are still there. Pages of concern. Worry. Affection.
He loved her.
Like… really loved her.
My chest tightens in a way I don't like.
What happens when he realizes I'm not her?
I'm not soft-spoken.
I'm not elegant.
I'm not even trying to be nice half the time.
Former Ria probably handled situations with grace.
I handle them with sarcasm and bad decisions.
"This is gonna go so bad," I whisper.
I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, pacing the room like I'm rehearsing for a role I didn't audition for. I stop in front of the mirror again.
The girl staring back still doesn't feel like me.
She looks calm. Put together. Like she knows what she's doing.
Liar.
"Okay," I tell her. "New rules."
Rule one: don't get caught.
Rule two: don't trust Carson.
Rule three: figure out who Ria was before everyone else does.
I glance at the wardrobe again.
Clothes tell stories. People lie, but clothes don't.
I start digging. Casual wear. Dresses.
Formal stuff. Everything organized. Color-coded. Very Ria.
On the lowest shelf, I find something out of place.
A box.
Not designer. Not fancy. Just… there.
I kneel and pull it out, heart picking up speed for no reason. Inside are old things. A worn notebook. Some photos. A cheap bracelet.
I pick up a photo.
Ria—smiling, but not the polished smile I've seen in frames around the apartment. This one's real. Messy. Happy.
She's standing next to Arrow.
He looks younger. Softer. Like he hadn't
learned how to look broken yet.
So she could smile like that.
Interesting.
I flip open the notebook.
Most of it is scribbles. Random thoughts. To-do lists. But one sentence near the back makes my breath hitch.
I don't know how to leave without hurting everyone.
Oh.
So that's the mess she left behind.
I close the notebook slowly and sit back on my heels.
Tomorrow isn't just Arrow coming back.
Tomorrow is answers.
Tomorrow is lies.
Tomorrow is me pretending I belong in a life that was already falling apart before I got here.
I stand, shove the box back where I found it, and crawl into bed.
Outside, the city hums, unaware that someone else is living a life that isn't theirs.
"Tomorrow," I whisper.
And for the first time, I'm not sure if I'm scared of Arrow…
Or of what I'll become if I stay.