Chapter 1Before I Knew It Was You

While doing research online, I stumbled upon a burner Twitter account belonging to my boyfriend’s best friend.

There were 1,097 tweets, and every single one was a hyper-specific, blistering critique of me.

My best friend, Sadie, was initially ready to go to war for me. But the longer she scrolled through the feed, the more her expression twisted into something complicated.

"Penny," she said slowly, "I don't think he hates you."

"What do you mean? Look at this!"

"It's more like... aggro-simping."

I just stared at her. "What?"

"It means he's negging you, but he's actually obsessed. It's a love-hate thing. Mostly love masquerading as hate."

I could clearly see the hate. But the love? Where was the love in calling me a literal farm animal?

I tossed and turned that night, my chest tight with a heavy, sinking feeling. Finally, at 2 AM, I couldn't take it anymore. I created a blank account and sent him a direct message:

[Hi. Are you actually in love with her? Because something feels off about all this. If she saw the things you wrote, it would really break her heart.]

* * *

I had known about Harrison Sinclair's burner account for a month now.

In real life, Harrison was exactly what he appeared to be: old-money rich, devastatingly handsome, and suffocatingly arrogant.

Online, his persona was shockingly consistent—caustic, hyper-critical, and relentlessly mean.

His handle was @TheSwineherd.

@TheSwineherd:

[Didn't Piglet say she was spending her break husking corn in her little mountain holler? So why did I just see her at the all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ joint?]

[Liar. Came back to campus early and didn't even tell anyone, just so she could go on a date with her loser boyfriend.]

[Look at her stuffing her face. Her cheeks are getting round. Eat up, little Piglet, God knows you need the extra layers to survive the winter.]

His pinned tweet was a simple, aggressive question:

[When are P and C finally going to break up?]

"P" was me, Penelope. And "C" was my boyfriend, Carter Brooks.

Harrison tweeted constantly, sometimes seven or eight times a day. Every single one was about me. If he happened to run into Carter and me on campus, the tweet count would skyrocket to a dozen rapid-fire updates.

He said awful things. Reading them made my blood pressure spike, a mix of humiliation and hot anger.

I made a burner account and tried to defend myself in his replies:

[Isn't it normal for a girl to bring her boyfriend breakfast? She was probably just on her way to class. You don't have to be so mean about it.]

The retaliation was instantaneous and brutal.

@TheSwineherd:

[Having pity on a man is a one-way ticket to a miserable life.]

[Who even are you with zero followers? Does Piglet know you’re out here dying on the front lines for her and her trash boyfriend?]

[Pack it up and roll out with her. I'm not here to run PR for anyone's bad taste!]

I tried to reply again, only to find a red banner across the screen. He had blocked me.

I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, completely bewildered. Why did he hate me so much? Carter and Harrison had been best friends since prep school. Why was he constantly dragging Carter down just to insult me?