Page 60 of You Owe Me

Still breathing her in.

Still not ready to let go.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rumor has it, she broke into the wrong phone.

Ainsley

The fire station smells like burnt coffee and diesel fumes, which is weirdly comforting when you’re about to commit digital breaking and entering with your boyfriend’s best friends. I’m sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor, Carter’s stolen phone clutched in my hands like it’s about to explode, while Sebastian paces behind me like a caged tiger and Rowan hovers over my shoulder, breathing down my neck.

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”

I punch in the passcode Eliza gave me: 051295. The screen unlocks immediately, and I exhale in relief. “We’re in.”

“Thank goodness,” Sebastian mutters. “I was starting to think we committed felony theft for nothing.”

“It’s not felony theft if we’re borrowing it,” Rowan points out unhelpfully. “We’re gonna give it back.”

“Eventually,” I add, already swiping through Carter’s home screen. “After we find whatever dirt he’s hiding.”

The phone is exactly what I expected from Carter Mills—pristine organization, color-coded apps, and a wallpaper that’s literally just his own face. Because of course, it is.

“Narcissist.” Sebastian peers over my other shoulder. “Who makes their own face their wallpaper?”

“Someone who hasn’t been punched enough,” Rowan replies grimly.

I start with his messages, scrolling through what has to be the most boring text history in existence. It’s all formal crap—meeting confirmations, dinner reservations, messages to his father about “strategic opportunities” and “networking initiatives.” Nothing remotely interesting, let alone incriminating.

“This is painful,” I mutter, scrolling faster. “It’s like reading a LinkedIn post that learned how to text.”

“Check his photos,” Sebastian suggests. “Rich boys always have embarrassing photos.”

I swipe over to the camera roll and immediately regret it.

“Oh my gosh,” I breathe, staring at the screen in horror. “There are so many selfies.”

And there are. Hundreds of them. Carter posing in mirrors, Carter at the gym, Carter in different lighting, Carter trying out various smoldering expressions that all look like he’s constipated.

“Is that… Is he flexing in a bathroom?” Rowan asks, squinting at the screen.

“Multiple bathrooms,” I confirm, scrolling through what appears to be a comprehensive tour of every mirror on campus. “This one’s in the library. This one’s in the business building. Oh, goodness, this one’s in what looks like a Starbucks.”

Sebastian starts laughing—the kind of uncontrolled laughter that borders on hysteria. “He’s documenting his own face like it’s a historical monument.”

“Wait, it gets worse,” I say, landing on a particularly tragic photo. “Is he… Is he trying to look mysterious while eating a salad?”

The photo in question shows Carter gazing pensively into the distance while stabbing a piece of lettuce with a plasticfork. The caption reads:Contemplating life’s complex flavors. #ThoughtfulTuesday #IntellectualEating #Blessed

“I’m gonna throw up,” Rowan announces.

“Keep going,” Sebastian urges, wiping tears from his eyes. “This is better than reality TV.”

I scroll deeper into the abyss of Carter’s self-obsession. There’s a series titled “Casual Friday Moods,” where he’s apparently photographed himself in seventeen different blazers. Another collection called “Golden Hour Greatness” features Carter posing dramatically during various sunsets.

“Oh, no,” I whisper, stopping on a particularly disturbing image. “He has an entire album called ‘CEO Mindset.’”

The photos show Carter pointing at whiteboards, Carter typing intensely on his laptop, Carter staring out windows while holding a coffee cup like he’s in a stock photo about business success.

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