Bastian's mood had been circling the drain ever since that god-awful campus visit. What should've been a fun, carefree time had turned into weeks of constant fighting. They couldn't agree on anything anymore. Not about Dylan. Not about Anastasia's reaction to the freshman hitting on her. Not even about what movie to watch. It was like every little thing became a battlefield, and Bastian was losing his mind.
And what made it worse? She acted like his feelings didn't even matter. The closest thing he'd gotten to an apology was her stopping him from punching Dylan in the face—like that was some kind of grand gesture. As if that fixed anything.
Bastian couldn't get the image out of his head—Anastasia, laughing at Dylan's stupid jokes, that sweet, innocent giggle playing on repeat in his mind like a curse. It haunted him. How could she be so clueless? Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her bright smile aimed at that smug bastard instead of him. He had never loved anyone like he loved her, and the thought of losing her—especially to someone like Dylan—ate him alive.
And then came the fight. The big one. The one that would change everything.
Britney, always lurking, always in the mood for drama, pressed her ear against the door the moment she heard their voices rise. She knew about the campus fiasco, but this? Bastian doubting Anastasia's loyalty? Oh, this was juicy. Too good to ignore.
"We've been over this, Bastian," Anastasia sighed, rubbing her temples. "I love you. How could I possibly want anyone else?"
Bastian let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Oh yeah? Then why the hell were you eating up his bullshit? When we first met, you laughed at me when I tried to charm you, but definitely not in that flirty, blushing way. What made him so damn special?" His fists clenched at his sides. "And you called me out. In front of him. I'm your boyfriend, Anastasia. Aren't you supposed to have my back?"
Her brows pulled together in confusion. "I wasn't laughing at you, Bastian. I thought you were being cute."
"Cute?" His voice turned sharp, bitter. "You've never called me cute before." His face was red now, every muscle in his body tight with frustration. "You always said I was being silly. You laughed at me. But with him? You turned into some giggly, stupid mess! You encouraged him!"
Anastasia's mouth fell open. This wasn't the Bastian she knew. Dylan had been out of line, sure, but she had never—never—considered leaving Bastian. She loved him. So why was he acting like this? Like she was some kind of traitor?
"Bastian Dean Webber," she snapped, hands on her hips. "First of all, who the hell are you calling stupid? Second, I love you, and I wouldn't leave you for anyone. You know that."
"Do I?" His voice dropped, deadly quiet now. "Because you don't act like it."
Anastasia exhaled sharply, exasperated. "Do you want me to apologize for being sassy? You knew what you were getting into when you fell for me."
"Oh, I love that side of you," Bastian shot back. "But that's for us. When it's just us. Not in front of some asshole trying to steal you from me! You should've shut him down immediately. Instead, you humiliated me."
A slow smirk tugged at Anastasia's lips, but it was laced with frustration. "Maybe I should call him over, then. Let me apologize to you in front of him. Will that make you feel better?"
The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
Bastian's entire body went rigid. His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might crack. When he spoke again, his voice was cold, hollow.
"Call him?" His eyes searched her face for the lie, for the joke. He found nothing. "You actually have his number?"
Shit.
"No, that's not—"
But it was too late.
Bastian took a slow step back, something in his face shutting down. "What the fuck, Anastasia?"
Her full name. He never called her that. Not since that awful night on campus. And he never swore at her.
She rushed toward him, reaching for his arm, but he pulled away like she'd burned him. "Bass, please. That's not what I meant."
But he wasn't listening. He was already walking away, out of the room, out of her reach.
"Bastian!" she yelled, voice cracking, but he didn't stop. The door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame.
Britney, standing just outside, barely suppressed her giddy laughter. That had been better than any reality show.
Anastasia sank onto the bed, hands trembling as she covered her face. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Only the suffocating weight of regret.
Desperate to calm down, she decided to shower, leaving her phone on the bed. Maybe by the time she was done, Bastian would text. Maybe they could fix this.
But Britney had other plans.
At first, she thought about stealing Anastasia's towel—classic prank. But then she saw the unlocked phone, and an even better idea hit her.
Her fingers flew over the screen as she opened Bastian's messages.
Bass, after our argument, I need to be honest. I've been seeing Dylan for a while, and I've fallen for him. It's time we break up.
She hit send.
Then she waited.
When Anastasia emerged from the bathroom, her nerves were still raw, but she reached for her phone, hoping—praying—for a message from Bastian.
She saw the message thread. Saw what had been sent.
Her stomach dropped.
No.
Her fingers shook as she reread the words, panic seizing her lungs. She didn't send that. She didn't send that.
Her mind raced, trying to figure out how to fix this, how to make Bastian believe her, but her heart knew the truth.
It was too late.
The damage was done.