You Know Nothing about Me

The custom-designed ring felt warm against my palm as I climbed the stairs to our shared apartment, my heart racing with anticipation.

Six months of careful planning had led to this moment—the perfect proposal ring, crafted with my own hands, waiting for the right moment to change everything between Jett and me.

I'd spent weeks sketching the design, choosing the stone, perfecting every detail. It wasn't expensive by conventional standards, but it was mine, created with love for the man who'd seen past my unfashionable exterior to fall for my soul. At least, that's what he'd told me the night we first kissed under the campus oak tree.

"Robin, you're different," he'd whispered against my lips. "You're real. I've never met anyone like you."

Those words had carried me through months of self-doubt, through Anastasia's gentle suggestions about updating my wardrobe, through the whispered comments from other girls about how someone like Jett could end up with someone like me.

But love was supposed to conquer all of that, wasn't it?

I paused outside our apartment door, smoothing down my oversized sweater—one of many that Anastasia had diplomatically suggested I retire. The ring box pressed against my ribs where I'd tucked it into my jacket pocket. Maybe tonight, after dinner, I'd finally work up the courage to—

A sound stopped me cold. Soft, rhythmic, unmistakably intimate.

My key froze halfway to the lock. The sounds were coming from inside our living room, and they definitely weren't coming from the television.

With trembling fingers, I turned the key and pushed the door open.

The world tilted sideways.

There, on our worn couch—the one Anastasia and I had bought together at a thrift store freshman year—two figures were tangled together in a way that made my stomach drop to my feet. Blonde hair spilled over the armrest, and I recognized the expensive silk blouse I'd watched Anastasia try on just this morning.

But it was the dark hair, the familiar broad shoulders, the laugh I'd fallen asleep listening to over the phone countless nights that made my vision blur.

Jett.

My Jett.

With my roommate. My best friend.

The ring box seemed to burn through my jacket as they broke apart, both turning to look at me with expressions that ranged from surprise to something that looked almost like... relief?

"Robin!" Anastasia scrambled to adjust her disheveled clothing, her cheeks flushed. "You're back early. I thought you had that design class until—"

"What the hell is this?" The words tore from my throat, raw and desperate.

Jett didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. Instead, he ran a hand through his tousled hair and fixed me with a look I'd never seen before—cold, almost amused.

"Well," he said, his voice carrying none of the warmth I'd grown to love, "I guess we don't have to pretend anymore."

Pretend?

The room spun around me. "Pretend what? Jett, what are you talking about? You said you loved me. You said—"

"Oh, Robin." His laugh was sharp, cruel. "Did you actually believe that?"

The ring box felt like a lead weight against my ribs. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." Jett stood up, straightening his shirt with casual indifference. "Look at yourself, Robin. Really look. Do you honestly think someone like me would fall for someone like... you?"

Each word hit like a physical blow. "Someone like me?"

"Come on." His eyes swept over me dismissively. "You dress like you shop in the dark. You don't know how to do your makeup. You're so... ordinary. So easy."

Easy. The word echoed in my head like a death knell.

"But you said—you told me I was different. That you'd never met anyone like me."

"And I hadn't." His grin turned predatory. "I'd never met anyone quite so gullible."

Anastasia shifted uncomfortably on the couch, but she didn't speak. Didn't defend me. Didn't explain.

"You see, Robin," Jett continued, clearly enjoying himself now, "this whole thing started as a bet. Finn bet me his brother's new Lamborghini—you know, that limited edition one he's always bragging about—that I couldn't get you to fall for me within a week."

The floor seemed to disappear beneath my feet.

"A bet?" My voice came out as barely a whisper.

"One week, Robin. That's all it took. You were so desperate for attention, so starved for affection, that you practically threw yourself at me the moment I showed you the slightest interest."

Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn't look away from his face—this face I'd kissed, had dreamed about, had imagined growing old with.

"The car's sitting in my driveway right now," he continued. "Beautiful machine. Worth every second I had to spend pretending to care about your little art projects and your boring stories about your family."

My hand instinctively moved to the ring box, and the irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, carrying a symbol of forever, while he was describing our entire relationship as a temporary inconvenience.

"So thank you, Robin. Really. You made it incredibly easy to win the nicest car I've ever owned." He glanced at Anastasia, who was staring at her hands. "And now that the bet's over, I can finally be with someone who's actually worth my time."

The betrayal was a living thing, clawing at my chest, making it impossible to breathe. Not just Jett—though that was devastating enough—but Anastasia. My roommate, who'd listened to me gush about him for months. Who'd helped me pick out outfits for our dates. Who'd been there when I'd nervously confessed I thought I was falling in love.

She'd known. The entire time, she'd known it was all a lie.

"Ana?" I managed to choke out. "Did you... did you know?"

She finally looked up, and the guilt in her eyes was answer enough.

Something inside me shattered completely. The naive girl who'd believed in fairy tales, who'd thought love could overcome anything, who'd spent her savings on a custom ring for a man who saw her as nothing more than a joke—she died in that moment.

Without thinking, my hand flew out and connected with Jett's cheek with a satisfying crack. The sound echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.

He touched his reddening cheek, his eyes flashing with anger. "You little—"

But I was already moving, already running.

Tears streamed down my face as I grabbed my suitcase from my bedroom, throwing clothes inside without caring what I took. The ring box stayed in my jacket pocket—I couldn't bear to look at it, couldn't bear to remember what I'd hoped it would represent.

Behind me, I could hear Anastasia calling my name, but her voice sounded hollow, meaningless.

I had to leave. I had to get away from this place, from these people who'd made me feel like such a fool.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and blocked all three of them—Jett, Anastasia, and Finn—before booking a one-way ticket to Paris.

That night, as my plane lifted off American soil, I made myself a promise: Robin would die on that flight, and a new woman would be born from her ashes.

-

Six years later, I stood in my New York studio as Rhea, internationally acclaimed fashion designer, examining fabric samples for my upcoming collection.

"Rhea," Elise called from the doorway, "we've received an interesting proposal."

I looked up at my assistant, noting her unusual excitement. "What kind of proposal?"

"A wedding commission." She placed a thick envelope on my desk. "The fee is extraordinary—almost too good to refuse."

Curiosity piqued, I opened the envelope and scanned the details. The venue was one of the most exclusive in Manhattan, the budget practically unlimited.

"When do they want to meet?" I asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon."

The next day, I arrived at the luxurious venue early, wanting to get a feel for the space before meeting the clients. As I stood in the grand ballroom, mentally envisioning how my designs would transform it for the wedding, a woman's laugh echoed through the hall.

I turned toward the sound and froze.

Standing in the doorway was a woman whose face I would recognize anywhere—despite the years that had passed since I'd last seen her.

Anastasia.

She hadn't changed much—still beautiful, still poised. Still the woman who had helped destroy my life.

My heart hammered against my ribs as she approached, her eyes sliding over me without recognition.

"Are you the designer?" she asked warmly. "I'm so excited to meet you! I've followed your work for ages."

I forced a smile, wondering if she would ever know that she was planning her wedding with the woman whose heart she had helped shatter six years ago.