I was scrolling through social media when I stumbled upon a thread about a guy who had fallen for a married woman. His posts were absolutely unhinged. "If you knew the woman I love belongs to someone else, you’d pity me too." "People say I have no morals. You know who has no morals? That dog of a husband who married her without notifying me first!" I was just about to leave a comment telling him to seek therapy when I accidentally clicked on his profile. His pinned post was a photo of a woman’s back. I froze. That was my back. 1 There was no mistaking it. My best friend, Fiona, took that photo of me. I had only ever posted it on my private Instagram story. I scoured this guy’s entire profile. Nothing. Just the ramblings of a desperate, lovesick secret admirer. Probably because his latest post was so unhinged, the thread had gone viral. The comment section was a war zone. Most people were just there for the drama, but the moral police were out in full force. "First time I’ve seen someone romanticize being a homewrecker. That couple is unlucky to have a stalker like you." "They are a legitimate couple. What’s a sewer rat like you doing trying to break up a happy home?" "Male jealousy is terrifying. You’re already attacking the husband?" The poster, clearly triggered, started defending himself in the comments. "Who’s a homewrecker? This is unrequited love. Is it illegal to crush on a married woman?" "The woman I love married someone else. Can't I even cry about it?" You can cry. But you can’t cry about things that aren't true. Since when was I married? Who started this rumor? Seeing the view count tick higher and higher, and terrified that someone I knew might see it, I prepared to DM him to take my photo down. But when I refreshed the page, the pinned photo was gone. It had been replaced by a text post: Manifesting their divorce: Day 1. Dude. Stop manifesting. Can you maybe do a background check first? How do you mess up the intel this badly while stalking someone? I couldn't help it. I commented: "Are you sure she’s actually married?" A minute later, he replied: "You don't need to comfort me. I’m sure." Nobody is comforting you, weirdo! I was actually laughing out of sheer confusion. Who was this? Who is this inexplicable person? I spent the whole night going through my contacts list. Everyone seemed normal. No one looked like the type to run an anonymous simp account. I didn't sleep a wink. The next day, I dragged my corpse-like body to the office. I ordered a coffee and, seeing a "Buy 4 Get 1 Free" deal, grabbed a few extra for my team. When I got back from the lobby, the entire office was crowding around the conference room glass. I peeked in. And immediately locked eyes with the man inside. It took me one second to recognize him. Julian. The hottest illustrator of the moment. His face was even more legendary than his art. My Editor-in-Chief (EIC) had moved heaven and earth to get an exclusive interview with him. Seeing the human mountain blocking the door, the EIC frowned. One sharp look sent everyone scattering back to their cubicles. I started handing out the coffees. When I got to the last two, I turned around and bumped right into Julian and the EIC. Julian looked at me, then his gaze dropped to the coffee in my hand. He stared at it like it was the Holy Grail. I felt awkward under his intense stare. Out of politeness, I offered, "Do you want one?" I expected him to say no. Instead, he nodded immediately, his eyes lighting up with an emotion I couldn't place. I paused for a second, then mechanically handed him the cup. He took it without hesitation, the corners of his mouth tilting up. I gave the other one to my boss and sat down at my desk, totally confused. I opened the app. "Secret Admirer Guy" had updated his thread. "She gave me a coffee today." I stared at the screen. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Wait. Is "Secret Admirer Guy" my coworker? I lowered my head, scanning the room like a spy. Everyone looked normal. Typing away, looking bored. This was weird. Since when were my coworkers Oscar-worthy actors? The poster seemed ecstatic. He fired off three updates in a row. "This is the best coffee I’ve ever tasted." "Do you think the fact that she gave me coffee means she likes me?" This level of delusion triggered the trolls in the comments. "This isn't even crumbs, bro. You're starving." "Maybe her husband ordered it for her and she didn't want it, so she treated you like a trash can." "Stop dreaming. A happy life isn't meant for you." He refused to accept defeat. "What do you know? She gave coffee to a lot of people, but when she handed it to me, she smiled." My mouth twitched. Is it possible that I just have a resting nice face? Whatever the commenters said, he ignored them, drowning in his own fantasy. Looking at him fighting the world, I became obsessed with finding out who he was. 2 I pretended to work while secretly profiling everyone in the office. I was about to give up when Justin, the shy intern, walked up to my desk. He looked like he was about to defuse a bomb. He shoved a box of chocolates at me. He stammered, eyes glued to the floor. "Zoe... thanks for the coffee." Right. I forgot about him. His face was tomato red. The rest of the office pretended to work, but I could feel their eyes darting toward us. They lived for this drama. He looked like he would stand there until the end of time if I didn't take it. To save him from embarrassment, I took the box. I opened it. A giant heart-shaped chocolate sat in the middle. Case closed. This kid had to be the Secret Admirer. You really can't judge a book by its cover. He looks so introverted offline, but online he’s a total maniac. I put the chocolate away and refreshed the thread, expecting a victory post. Updated 1 minute ago. "My world is collapsing. Someone gave her chocolates." "That pink packaging... could he be any more obvious?" "I haven't even stolen her from her husband yet, and now I have a rival?!" ...What? Is this guy a ghost? Is he living in the ceiling tiles? The commenters were having a field day. "Two guys lining up to be homewreckers. What a time to be alive." "Does her husband know his wife isn't going to work, but entering the Lion's Den?" "Fighting over who gets to be Side Piece #1 and Side Piece #2?" "They are a happy couple! Leave them alone!" The poster snapped back. "Actually, I don't think her husband is a good guy. She never posts him on social media. If he was presentable, she’d show him off." "Also, it seems like a secret marriage. If she were my wife, I'd never hide it! It’s definitely the guy's fault!" Look, buddy. I’d love to post him. The problem is, he doesn't exist. Every time this guy posted, I got more confused. I scoured his following list, his likes, everything. Nothing. I almost DM'd him, "WHO ARE YOU?" but my boss pinged me. Since everyone else was busy, the Julian interview fell into my lap. My assistant for the project? Justin, the intern. He sent me twelve messages in a row, practically vibrating with excitement. He really had zero poker face. Unlike the Secret Admirer, who was apparently a ninja. I gave Justin some busy work and went to contact Julian. I got his contact info from the boss and went to add him on WeChat. But a contact popped up. No nickname. I clicked the chat history. Empty, except for the default "I've accepted your friend request" message from years ago. I racked my brain. I had no memory of adding him. I assumed he was one of those spam accounts or a delivery driver I’d added and forgot to delete. It turned out to be Julian. I sent a tentative message: "Are you Julian?" Seconds later: "I am." I politely asked how we were already friends. He said he forgot, too. We added too many people for work; it happens. I stopped worrying about it and started discussing the interview prep. Julian was... different than I expected. He was too easy. Whatever request I made, whatever question I proposed, he just said, "No problem." My boss told me he was "temperamental" and to be patient. Where was the temper? Because he was so cooperative, the prep was smooth sailing. I posted on my timeline: "Met a dream colleague today." Ten minutes later, the Secret Admirer updated. "She said she met a dream colleague. Is it possible she means me? We just chatted for thirty minutes." "Even though she forgot how she added me, we talked for half an hour. Who wouldn't call that chemistry?" "Pure talent. Can't be taught." I stared at the text. My hands started to shake. No way. Is the Secret Admirer... Julian?! 3 Thanks to Julian, I had another sleepless night. The idea that Julian was the unhinged poster was about as plausible as a fish riding a bicycle. The next morning, I walked into the office to find a group of colleagues huddled around a phone, debating something heatedly. "Zoe!" One of them shoved the phone in my face. "Don't you think the woman in Julian's new painting looks familiar?" "We all feel like we've seen her, but we can't place her." I lifted my heavy eyelids. I was instantly awake. The eyes. The nose. That was me. I was sweating bullets looking at a painting that was a 70% match to my face. My mouth twitched. My colleague took that as agreement. "See? You think so too, right?" Yeah. Familiar. Too familiar. I let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, looks familiar. Can't place her though." My colleague looked disappointed. "It's so weird. It feels like I just saw her." Stop talking. Please. I should have been safe. Julian's art style is abstract enough that people were only suspicious, not certain. But I forgot one variable. Fiona. My best friend who recently became a die-hard Julian fan. When Fiona sent me the painting, I knew the game was over. Before I could deny it, she texted: "Don't tell me that's not you. He drew the mole on your earlobe. He drew the tiny birthmark by your hairline." "He even drew the earrings I gave you for your birthday." "Others might be blind, but I'm not." Until she pointed it out, I hadn't realized how detailed it was. How could a guy who observed me this closely make the rookie mistake of thinking I was married? Fiona was blowing up my phone. I couldn't explain it in text, so I just forwarded the viral thread to her. She sent back a string of question marks. "Don't change the subject. I know this guy is funny, but this isn't the time." I typed slowly: "This is Julian." Fiona went silent for a full ten minutes. She needed time to process this glitch in the matrix. "You're telling me this guy, who is actively plotting to steal a married woman, is Julian? The famous artist?" "Is he schizophrenic?" Then, Fiona realized the biggest plot hole. "Wait. When did you get married? Why wasn't I invited?" "I didn't know I was married either!" I yelled at my phone. "Apparently, only Julian knows!" "So Julian created an imaginary enemy online and wrote dozens of posts fighting him?" "Is this the same cool, mysterious artist I see in magazines?" Fiona declared she had been scammed. "I am unstanning. Actually, no. I'm becoming an anti-fan." 4 I don't know if Fiona actually unstanned, but she definitely decided to stir the pot. The night before the interview, Julian was nervous. He posted continuously. Asking about outfits, cologne, body language. He didn't look like he was prepping for an interview; he looked like a mistress prepping to confront the wife. The netizens were roasting him alive. But one comment stood out among the mockery. "Working together is the perfect chance to make your move. I support you pursuing true love. Who cares about 'homewrecker' labels? Just don't get caught." "Besides, from your description, her husband sounds awful. You're basically saving her." I recognized Fiona's chaotic energy immediately. Her comments drew massive aggro. People started attacking her. "Are homewreckers organizing online now?" "Look at her profile, she's a Julian fan. Typical. Trash fans for a trash artist." "Wait, what does Julian have to do with this? This anonymous poster isn't Julian." Except he is. In just a few sentences, Fiona had turned the comment section into a battlefield between Julian's fans and his haters. This was high-level manipulation. In a corner of the internet nobody noticed, Julian quietly liked Fiona's comments. He even jumped in to defend her. "Why are you scolding her? She's just a kind netizen supporting true love. What did she do wrong?" "And what's wrong with liking Julian? He's handsome and talented. Isn't it natural to like him?" Bro. This is not the time to stroke your own ego. The comment section was a mess. I woke up to find Julian was still arguing with his own anti-fans at 3 AM. I was worried he’d look like a zombie for the interview. I was wrong. He looked radiant. He looked better on three hours of sleep than I did on ten. Online, he was a keyboard warrior. Offline, he didn't dare look me in the eye. He only dared to glare silently at Justin, who was standing next to me. Justin noticed. "Zoe, does Mr. Julian hate me?" Obviously. He thinks you're competition for the position of "Side Piece." I smiled and told him not to overthink it. Justin nodded, looked at Julian, and subconsciously took a step closer to me. Julian’s eyes narrowed. Despite being insane online, Julian was a pro. His answers were insightful and eloquent. He went from "Crazy Guy" back to "Cultured Artist" in my brain. At the end, the EIC let him speak freely. He thought for a moment, then looked up at me. I had a very bad feeling.
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