Page 68 of Faking with Three

For a moment, the name doesn’t register. But then, like a blurry photo coming into focus, the memory hits me. CharmaineGreen. The girl I used to mess around with in school. She was quiet, almost shy, but she had this way of showing up at every party. We hooked up a few times, nothing serious. I never thought much of it—just another casual thing in a string of teenage mistakes.

“Charmaine…” I murmur, the weight of realization crashing down. “I remember her. Barely.”

Ethan leans against the table, arms crossed, his face a mix of judgment and disbelief. “Barely, huh? That’s comforting.”

I shoot him a glare. “Not now, Ethan.”

Olivia steps between us, her voice cutting through the tension. “Focus, both of you. This isn’t about the past. It’s about Adam. And Charlie.”

“Wait,” I say, shaking my head as the pieces start to fall into place. “If Charmaine’s his mother, where is she?”

Olivia hesitates, glancing at Ethan and Marcus before looking back at me. “That’s something we need to figure out. But it’s clear that Charlie has taken on a maternal role, whether by choice or circumstance. And she obviously wants revenge.”

“That’s fucking insane,” I say. “What do we do?”

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Olivia says. “We take it to the world.”

CHAPTER 21

OLIVIA

I’m pacingthe small stretch of carpet in my room when my phone rings. The name flashing on the screen makes my stomach tighten: Ian, my managing director. I let it buzz in my hand for a moment, trying to steel myself.

I swipe to answer. "Hi, Ian."

“Olivia, good morning,” Ian’s voice is calm and professional, but there’s an edge of urgency to it. “I wanted to check in. The potential buyer for Death Crunch Studios needs a final answer by the end of the day.”

I stop pacing and sink into the edge of the bed, the weight of his words pressing on my chest. "Right, of course," I say, but my voice sounds distant even to my own ears.

“Did you even check the details? I sent it to you last week.”

“I did,” I lie. “But I was kind of caught up. Can you remind me real quick?”

Ian launches into a summary of the offer: impressive numbers, an even more impressive potential payout. It’s the kind of deal I should be thrilled about. But as he speaks, I barely hear him. My mind drifts.

This past month has been nothing like I expected. Coming back to my hometown was supposed to be a brief escape—achance to clear my head and reconnect with my roots. Instead, it’s been chaos.

But through all of it, something else has happened—something I didn’t anticipate. I’ve reconnected with a piece of myself I thought I’d lost—the creator, the dreamer, the part of me that started Death Crunch Studios in the first place.

Ian is still talking, something about logistics and next steps. I interrupt him gently. "Ian, can I call you back in a little bit?"

"Of course," he says, though I can hear the slight disappointment in his tone. “But don’t wait too long. They’ll need the answer today.”

“I’ll call you soon,” I promise before ending the call.

I set my phone down and stare at the wall, letting my thoughts swirl. The truth is, the idea of selling Death Crunch Studios has always felt wrong. It’s more than just a company to me—it’s my baby, my legacy. I remember those sleepless nights in the early days, hunched over my laptop in my tiny Austin apartment, fueled by cheap coffee and sheer determination.

Death Crunch isn’t just a business. It’s who I am. And I’m not ready to let it go.

Decision made, I grab my phone and text Ian.I’m not selling. Let’s talk strategy for moving forward instead.The moment I hit send, I feel lighter.

But with that clarity comes another realization—one I’ve been trying to ignore. As much as I care about Marcus, Ethan, and Jax, I can’t stay here. My feelings for them are real, but they’re also impossible. I can’t choose between them; staying would only worsen things.

I need to refocus on my business and my goals. I need to go back to Austin.

The thought is like a knife to the chest, but it’s also freeing in a way. Maybe, someday, things will make more sense. But for now, I know what I need to do.

I stand, grabbing my notebook and pen. If I’m leaving, I need to plan how to tie up the loose ends here. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll find the courage to tell them goodbye.

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