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Chapter Thirty-Four

Andrew

I pace my living room, my hands tugging at the ends of my hair. It’s nearly midnight, so my best and worst Christmas Day is just ending.

I had to plead sickness to Justin for why I didn’t want to stay overnight. But even then, he offered to nurse me through my illness. Because, you know, that’s what happens when someone loves you. They want to take care of you when you’re not feeling well.

I had to tell him my digestive system was staging an uprising that would make the French Revolution look like a polite disagreement and that for the sake of his bathroom’s air quality, it was better if I suffered alone.

It’s a lie, but hey, what’s one more lie to add to the whole bunch between us?

I’ve left eight urgent messages with Leo telling him to call me, but I know he’s flown home for Christmas, so returning my call might not be high on his agenda.

My phone beeps with a message, and I leap on it, hoping it’s Leo. But it’s from my friend Matthew.

His message is simple.

Best Christmas ever.

I stare at the photo of him with his boyfriend, Liam, both wearing massive smiles. They’re holding out their hands, showing matching engagement rings, with a puppy snuggled between them.

God, it’s not exactly what I need right now.

I stare at Matthew’s and Liam’s happy faces. They were childhood enemies, absolutely loathed each other from all accounts, until Matthew accidentally hired Liam to be his date for his company retreat.

I’m almost manic as I type my reply.

Massive congratulations! At some point, I may need to chat with you about what happens when you fall in love with your enemy from high school…

After I press send, I put my phone down, watching it clatter against my coffee table like it’s personally offended me.

The screen lights up with Matthew’s and Liam’s happy faces again. Their joy feels like an accusation, proof that redemption is possible if you’re brave enough to be honest.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been brave enough to be honest.

And the word enemy feels like it’s reaching from my phone to mock me. I’d thought Justin was my enemy. But life isn’t black and white. It’s not the movies, where there is a clear hero and villain. Justin is not Sauron. I’m not Frodo.

My simplistic view of people is what got me into this mess.

Justin is a complex, multifaceted person. And yes, part of his past includes the version of him who bullied me. But he’s also the guy who makes me feel seen in ways I never thought possible. Who makes me want to be better than my revenge plot.

I came to the UK to try to find myself. To work out what I wanted to do with my life. But somehow, I’ve found so much more.

I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But this can’t go on.

I talked to Justin about the proverb that describes the battle between the good and the bad wolf. The one that wins is the one you feed.

I’ve been feeding the wrong wolf, and now, it’s coming back to bite me.

My phone starts to chime, pulling me out of the spiral of terrible metaphors.

It’s Leo. I grab it.

“Merry Christmas,” I choke out.

“What’s wrong?”

The fact he can instantly tell something is wrong with me probably says a lot about my current state.

“What is it, Andrew? Did something happen with Justin?”

I try to get enough control over my voice so I can answer him.

“Yes. Something happened,” I manage finally.

“What is it?”

Tears prickle my eyelids. “I love him.” My voice is a whisper, a scratch on the air.

“Oh my god, Andrew. And he still doesn’t know who you are?”

“No.”

“Does he feel the same way about you?”

“Yes. He told me he loves me.”

Leo inhales a sharp breath. “What the hell are you going to do?”

“I need to tell him.”

“Yes, you do.”

“But when I tell him, he’ll break it off with me. And I can’t stand to lose him.” I take a shuddering breath. “He’s…the best thing that has ever happened to me. And I’ll hurt him so much when he finds out the truth. I can’t bear to think how much I’m going to hurt him.”

“If you keep up this charade, you’ll end up hurting him more.”

“I know.”

“He deserves to hear the truth from you rather than finding out in some other way.”

“ I know .” My voice cracks, sounding as fragile as Justin’s trust I’m about to shatter.

How will Justin react when I tell him? Will he still love me?

The scenarios play through my mind—Justin’s face morphing from love to hatred, his hands that cup my face so gently balling into fists instead, that soft smile he saves just for me twisting into something harder, colder.

What will he say when he realizes every intimate moment we’ve shared, every secret he’s trusted me with, was tainted? Will he think everything between us was fake? That I engineered every touch, every laugh, every kiss as part of some elaborate revenge? How can I make him understand that somewhere between plotting revenge and falling in love with him, the person I was pretending to be became more real than who I used to be?

Can the love between us overcome the fact I’ve been lying to him for so long?

My mother always preaches that two wrongs don’t make a right.

But can two wrongs create an epic love story?

I finally fall into an exhausted sleep at around three a.m.

I wake up at nine a.m. to a text message from Justin, sent an hour ago.

Hey, hope you’re feeling better this morning. Roger just contacted me to see if I’m available to go to Cumbria to talk to a potential client, but I didn’t want to say yes until I knew how you were feeling.

I stare at it.

The casual domesticity of him checking with me before making plans feels like a sucker punch to my solar plexus.

I press the call button before I can talk myself out of it, each ring echoing in my ear like a countdown to detonation.

The familiar warmth of his “hello” wraps around me like a comfort blanket. A comfort blanket I’m about to set on fire.

“Hey,” I manage.

“How are you feeling?”

Just hearing the concern in his voice sends a wave of nausea through me that has nothing to do with my fictional food poisoning.

“I’m okay. Just feeling weak. But the worst is over. You should go to Cumbria.”

“Are you sure? Roger already admitted it’s a big ask for me to travel on Boxing Day. But apparently, the account manager he wants me to see is jetting off skiing on the twenty-ninth, so it’s really the only chance to catch him.”

“I’m seriously fine.”

“I’ll drop off some chicken soup before I go, okay? If you’re not feeling up to eating it yet, you can keep it in the fridge until you feel more human.”

I hold my phone so tightly the metal edge digs into my palm.

“Chicken soup would be nice,” I say finally.

“I’ll come over in about an hour before I leave. Make sure you are resting and drinking plenty of fluids.”

“Okay.”

Relief floods through me when I end the call, followed immediately by self-loathing.

Justin is going away for a few days. I can’t tell him right before he leaves on a work trip, right?

I’m relieved because I get to delay the moment when everything between us shatters.

It feels like a stay of execution.

Apparently, I don’t need to fake being sick because Justin takes one look at my face when I answer the door and concern etches into his forehead.

“You look awful.”

“Thank you for that observation. It feels like kicking someone when they’re down.” I try to inject my usual sarcasm into my voice, but it comes out wobblier than intended.

I stumble back to my couch, pulling a blanket over me.

“I brought you soup.” He holds up a container like it’s precious cargo.

“My immune system thanks you in advance.”

His laugh hits me like a physical force. God, I’m going to miss that sound.

“At least you’re still making terrible jokes. That’s a good sign.” He studies my face. “Though you really do look pale. Maybe I should cancel?—”

“No, absolutely not. The only thing that will make me feel worse is knowing I ruined your chance at landing this client.” The truth in those words surprises me. Even now, I want him to succeed. I want the world to realize exactly how amazing this man is.

Justin puts the soup in my kitchen, then comes over to me on the couch.

He moves forward to kiss me, then obviously decides better of it, catching himself with a soft exhale that ghosts across my cheek.

“I’ll call you tonight,” he promises as he draws back.

“Okay.”

Justin pauses at the door to turn back to me.

“Love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” I reply.

I have to look away to avoid staring at Justin’s smile. The knowledge that I’m going to shatter that smile is breaking my heart.

I spend the next day scripting exactly how I’m going to tell him.

Every version of the conversation I rehearse in my head sounds more ridiculous than the last. “Hey, Justin, remember that kid you bullied in high school? Surprise!” or maybe, “So, funny story, I’ve actually been lying to you the whole time we’ve known each other!”

And my brain keeps circling back to his face when he told me he loved me—that mix of terror and determination, like someone jumping without knowing if their parachute will open.

He’s trusted me with his vulnerability, his coming out, with what happened with Bobby Ray.

Now I have to tell him I’ve been the ghost in his system this whole time, corrupting every genuine moment between us with my lies.

The cosmic joke is that in trying to make Justin feel guilty about the past, I’ve managed to make myself feel worse than any of my high school bullies ever made me feel.

At least going back to work on the twenty-ninth provides some distraction from my churning mind, although I’m aware each hour is just counting down until the end.

Justin’s coming back from his work trip tonight. I have to tell him then.

I’m such a mess at work that I barely notice when Dave bursts into the IT department wearing a unicorn onesie, having apparently lost some kind of bet with the marketing team.

I’m staring at my blank monitor screen, mentally rehearsing different versions of “Hey, Justin, funny story about high school” when Cheryl appears at my desk like an HR ninja.

“Drew, do you have a moment?” Her voice carries a careful neutrality that makes my stomach clench.

Oh god. Has she discovered who I really am?

I follow her to the HR office, where Adam is already sitting ramrod straight in one of the visitor chairs, his tie knotted so tightly it looks like it’s trying to strangle him.

Adam’s presence makes me relax slightly. Surely if this were something serious, they’d have the CEO in here, not just Adam.

“Please, take a seat, Drew.” Cheryl settles behind her desk, her usual warmth replaced by something more professional.

I settle into a chair, trying not to notice how the motivational posters on Cheryl’s wall mock me with phrases like Integrity in the Workplace and Building Trust Through Communication .

Cheryl looks down at her notes, then up at me.

“Adam has brought some concerns to my attention about the system optimization you did for the marketing department. I just wanted to discuss this issue with you.”

Relief flows through me. This is not about my identity. This is about Adam’s insecurities. I can handle this.

“What aspect would you like to discuss?” I ask.

“Can you walk me through exactly what modifications you made to their access permissions? There seems to be a few concerns about whether you followed the proper protocols.”

“I did a few things to help optimize the marketing department’s systems before Christmas,” I say slowly.

Adam clears his throat and gives me a self-important look. “As the systems administrator, I can’t have junior staff making unauthorized changes to our core architecture. The marketing optimization could have caused catastrophic system failures. Drew clearly doesn’t understand the complexity of NovaCore’s infrastructure.”

I bite back a laugh that would probably sound slightly hysterical.

“The changes I made were completely safe,” I say. “I tested everything thoroughly before implementation.”

“Testing?” Adam’s eyebrows shoot up. “On our live system? That’s exactly the kind of reckless behavior I’m talking about. A help desk technician shouldn’t be making changes to the system like this.

“I’m not saying you don’t have some skills, Drew. But you have an unrealistic view of your skillset. You don’t have the knowledge or experience to be trying to optimize systems.”

I’m just trying to work out how to reply when the door bursts open with enough force to rattle Cheryl’s Excellence in HR certificates.

It’s Xander.

“Xander, this is a private meeting,” Cheryl says sternly.

“This is about the marketing optimization Drew did, right?”

Cheryl frowns, but Adam’s the one who answers.

“Yes, we were just discussing Drew’s reckless behavior regarding the database system,” Adam says. He swivels to face Cheryl. “Actually, I think it’s a good idea if Xander participates in this discussion. I’ve seen him put far too much faith in Drew’s ability. He needs to understand that Drew’s behavior could have broken the whole system.”

Xander rolls his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Drew’s not going to break the system. He created the whole bloody system,” Xander announces.

My breath rushes out of me in a whoosh. I feel like one of those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships, suddenly deflated and flailing.

“What do you mean, he created it?” Adam says.

Xander looks at me. “I think you need to tell them the truth. It’s one thing to make Adam look like a fool on TV—I’m actually quite looking forward to that part—but it’s not fair to make Cheryl look stupid.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Xander?” Cheryl asks.

“He’s Andrew Yates. You know, the guy who designed NovaCore, our database system? And he’s doing an Undercover Boss thing where he pretends to be a help desk technician rather than a multi-millionaire tech mogul.”

Xander’s words hit the room with the impact of a marching band crashing into a silent meditation retreat, leaving nothing but stunned silence and frozen expressions.

Cheryl looks between us, her forehead creasing. “Alright, there’s a lot to unpack here. Drew, is this some kind of practical joke you’ve played on Xander?”

I don’t know what to say. My carefully constructed world is collapsing around me. I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster that has just crested its highest peak, with that sickening moment of suspension before the inevitable plunge.

Xander rolls his eyes again, then gets out his phone.

“Here.” He holds up his phone to show Adam and Cheryl.

On his screen is a video of me at last year’s TechCrunch conference. I’m on a panel flanked by Catherine Zhang and Sundar Pichai. My voice is confident and polished as I explain NovaCore’s revolutionary approach to database management. On-screen, I’m wearing designer glasses instead of my current frames, but there’s no mistaking it’s me.

Adam makes a noise that sounds like a squeaky toy being stepped on.

Cheryl’s eyes widen, and she looks from the screen to me, then back to the screen. “Is this some kind of deepfake?”

“I can explain,” I start, but then stop.

What the hell can I actually say to make this better? There’s no way I can tell my colleagues the truth before I tell Justin.

“Actually, no, I can’t really explain.”

Silence hangs in the air like morning fog over the Thames, thick enough to choke on.

“Are you telling me you are actually Andrew Yates?” Cheryl asks.

“Yes, I’m Andrew Yates. Obviously, I lied on my résumé. I apologize for that.”

Adam’s face has gone through an impressive range of colors, finally settling on a shade that suggests he’s either about to faint or spontaneously combust.

“You… You’re…” He keeps opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish experiencing an existential crisis.

“Yeah.” I push my glasses up my nose. “I wrote the code that underpins NovaCore. Which, returning to our initial conversation, is why I like to think I do have enough experience to optimize the marketing system.”

Adam looks like he’s mentally replaying every condescending explanation he’s ever given me about the system I created, his face cycling through fifty shades of mortification.

“And you’re doing an undercover TV show?” Cheryl says.

“No. That part isn’t true. There’s no TV show.”

“There’s not?” Xander looks like he’s just been told his breakfast, second breakfast, and mid-morning snack have been canceled.

“No. There’s no show.”

“So why did you pretend to be a regular IT guy when you’re tech royalty? Is it some kind of weird millionaire hobby?”

Was getting revenge on my high school bully some kind of weird millionaire hobby? I guess you could claim that.

“I…ah…wanted something to do,” I say.

I look at Cheryl. “Obviously, I completely understand if me lying on my résumé means you need to terminate my employment?—”

“Are you kidding me?” Xander interrupts me. He turns to Cheryl. “You’re seriously going to fire Andrew Yates? You have one of the brightest tech minds in the world working for you at fifteen pounds an hour. Are you completely mad?”

Cheryl bites her lip. “I’ll have to talk to the CEO about this.”

“I appreciate I’ve put you in a difficult position,” I say, standing. “Please let me know the results of your conversation.”

I leave the office, my legs shaking so much I can hardly walk.

It’s over.

The whole thing is over.

Any glimmer of hope I might have had inside me that I could somehow keep going with the charade, keep the happy life I’ve built myself, has now gone.

I don’t care about the job. The most important thing to salvage from this situation has never been my job.

I make it back to my desk on trembling legs, collapsing into my chair like my bones have suddenly forgotten how to hold me upright. My mind races through contingency plans, each more desperate than the last.

The office door swings open, and my heart stops.

Justin stands there, his golden hair windswept, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He’s holding a paper cup from that fancy coffee place near the station that makes my favorite Belgian hot chocolate.

“Surprise!” The smile he’s wearing is pure, unfiltered Justin.

“What are you doing here?” I nearly knock over my coffee mug as I jerk upright, my throat desert-dry as I try to swallow. “I thought you weren’t due home until tonight.”

“I got the deal done yesterday. I wanted to get home early to surprise you.”

Before I can respond, Xander bursts into the office like he’s racing to deliver breaking news.

“Drew! Or should I say, Andrew—” Xander starts, then spots Justin. “Oh! Justin.”

“Hey, Xander,” Justin says, then returns his attention to me.

“I actually left first thing this morning.” Justin steps toward my desk. “The trains were absolute chaos. Some signal failure at Preston meant we had to go via Manchester.”

“Why didn’t you just take your boyfriend’s private jet?” Xander chortles.

Justin’s brow furrows. “My boyfriend’s private jet?”

Oh no. No, no, no, no.

My face goes numb like someone’s hit the emergency shutdown on all my nerve endings.

Xander turns to me, his eyes widening.

“What the hell, Andrew? It’s one thing not to tell your colleagues about who you are. But your boyfriend doesn’t know either?”

So this is how it ends. Not with my rehearsed explanation but with a casual comment about private jets and the scent of hot chocolate.