Dorian stared at his phone.
Three messages. Three problems.
Lisa: This was a really nice day. Thank you.
A photo. Them at the park. Laughing. Momo between them.
Unknown: Nice photo. Sarah would love to see it.
Unknown: Should I send it to her?
He hadn't replied to any of them. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. What could he even say?
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
How did they see the photo so fast? Lisa sent it seconds ago. They're watching in real time.
He looked around the empty room. Nothing. Just shadows.
His phone screen glowed in the dark.
Waiting.
---
Morning came with a vengeance.
Dorian had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the unknown texter's message. Should I send it to her?
His phone vibrated. Sarah's name on the screen. He answered.
"Hey."
"Dorian! Oh my god, did you see your post? Jenna sent it to me. It's at 300k now!" Her voice was bright, excited. "I'm dating a celebrity!"
He forced a smile she couldn't see. "Yeah, crazy."
A pause. "Hey, I called you yesterday. Twice. You didn't pick up."
His stomach tightened. "Sorry. Was in a weird spot. Bad reception."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just tired."
She seemed to accept it. "Well, get some rest. Love you."
He hesitated. Just a breath.
"Love you too."
He hung up. The guilt sat heavy in his chest.
She has no idea.
---
Tyler burst into the room holding a stack of papers.
"Dude. I have something IMPORTANT."
Dorian looked up from his bed. "What now?"
Tyler spread the papers across the floor. They were covered in crayon diagrams, arrows, and words written in all caps.
"This," Tyler announced, "is your future."
Dorian squinted. "Is that... a pyramid?"
"It's a BUSINESS pyramid." Tyler pointed at the top. "You're at the peak. The FACE. The BRAND. Below you—" he pointed at the middle, "—me. Your manager. Below me—" the bottom, "—opportunities. Endorsements. Sponsored content. FREE STUFF."
"We're not getting free stuff."
"We're not YET." Tyler pulled out another paper. "I made a pitch deck. See? Slide one: Dorian Blimp—Reluctant Heartthrob. Slide two: Target demographic—lonely coeds and their moms. Slide three: Revenue streams—"
Dorian put a hand up. "Stop. Why is this in crayon?"
Tyler looked offended. "It's ART. It's BRANDING."
Marcus appeared in the doorway, took one look at the floor, and stepped carefully around the papers. He sat on his bed and pulled out a book.
Tyler: "Marcus, back me up. This is genius."
Marcus, without looking up: "It's definitely something."
Dorian: "That's not a yes."
Tyler: "He's jealous because he doesn't have a personal brand."
Marcus: "I have a library card. That's enough."
---
Dorian escaped to campus, hoping fresh air would clear his head.
It didn't.
He turned a corner and walked directly into a Renaissance fair.
At least, that's what it looked like.
A dozen students were scattered across the quad, all in elaborate costumes—velvet, lace, capes, feathered hats. They moved in slow motion, gesturing dramatically at nothing.
In the center, holding court, was King Alistair the Third.
Except he wasn't King Alistair anymore.
He wore flowing purple robes and a pointed hat covered in stars and moons. A long white beard (fake) hung from his chin. He held a staff topped with a glowing orb (a disco ball glued to a stick).
He spotted Dorian and raised the staff.
"AH! The young lord approaches!" His voice boomed with a new accent—vaguely Eastern European, vaguely mystical, entirely fake. "I am MAGUS MORDRED, Seer of Secrets, Reader of Fates, Purveyor of Prophecies!"
His entourage turned in unison. Bowed. Held the pose.
Dorian: "You're not King Alistair anymore?"
Magus Mordred waved a hand. "The crown grows heavy. One must evolve. Reinvent." He leaned in, conspiratorial. "Also, the cape got a stain. Bad omen. Had to retire the whole persona."
One of the entourage, a girl in a velvet gown, whispered loudly: "He's method acting. This is his thirteenth character this month."
Another, a guy with elf ears: "Last week he was a Victorian ghost. Wouldn't break character for three days. It was terrifying."
A third, in cardboard armor that kept falling off: "I've been a squire for three hours. My knees hurt."
Magus Mordred ignored them. He studied Dorian with exaggerated intensity.
"I see trouble in your future, young lord." He waved the staff in circles. "A choice approaches. Two paths. Both fraught with peril."
Dorian: "That's... incredibly vague."
"The mists of fate are murky." Mordred leaned closer. "Also, your aura is stressed. Very red. Very chaotic. You should commission a portrait. It calms the spirit."
The elf-eared guy: "He says that to everyone."
The velvet girl: "He told me a portrait would help me find true love. I paid him forty dollars. I got a stick figure."
Mordred: "Art is subjective!"
Dorian backed away slowly. The entourage waved. Mordred blew a kiss.
"May the stars guide you, young lord! And remember—portraits heal all wounds!"
---
Dorian found a bench and sat down, head in his hands.
Two paths. Both fraught with peril. Great. Thanks, Magus Mordred.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown: Have you decided?
Unknown: I'm waiting.
Unknown: Tick tock, boyfriend.
He typed back.
Dorian: What do you want?
Three dots appeared. Then:
Unknown: A deal. I don't send the photo. You do something for me.
Unknown: Not yet. But you'll know when it's time.
Unknown: Agree, and the photo stays between us. Refuse, and Sarah sees everything.
Unknown: You have 24 hours.
Dorian stared at the screen.
24 hours. A deal. Something for them.
---
He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing.
A shadow fell over him.
"You looked like you needed this."
He looked up. Marcus stood there, holding two coffees. He handed one to Dorian without asking.
Dorian took it. "Thanks."
Marcus sat beside him. They drank in silence for a moment.
Then Marcus nodded toward the quad, where Magus Mordred was now chasing his entourage with the staff.
"Saw you talking to the wizard."
"He's... something."
Marcus took a sip. "He offered me a portrait once. Said it would help me find love."
Dorian glanced at him. "Did it work?"
Marcus was quiet for a moment. Then: "Actually, yeah. Kind of."
Dorian blinked. "Wait, really?"
"There's this girl. Priya." Marcus almost smiled. "She talks a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I just listen. It works."
"That's... surprisingly wholesome."
Marcus shrugged. "Sometimes the wizard is right."
They sat in comfortable silence. Magus Mordred's entourage ran past, screaming dramatically.
Dorian: "Priya. Is she in one of your classes?"
"Psych. She has opinions about everything. Yesterday she spent twenty minutes explaining why squirrels are secretly organized crime."
"Is that... a good thing?"
Marcus thought about it. "Yeah. I think so."
---
Later, back in the dorm, Tyler was still refining his pitch deck.
"Okay, so I added a new slide." He held up another piece of crayon art. "SYNERGY. See? It's a buzzword. Business people love buzzwords."
Dorian: "Tyler, I'm not a business."
Tyler: "You're a BRAND. There's a difference." He squinted at his notes. "Also, I've been thinking. Your followers. Last I checked, 28.5k, right? Let me see—" He grabbed his phone, scrolled, and his eyes went wide. "Dude. DUDE."
Dorian: "What?"
"You're at 29K NOW. Like, right now. It went up while we were talking." Tyler waved the phone frantically. "Twenty-nine THOUSAND people want to see your face."
"That's terrifying."
"That's OPPORTUNITY." Tyler pulled out another crayon paper. "Okay, new plan. I become your ambassador. If just 1% are single and interested... that's 290 women. FOR ME."
Marcus, without looking up: "That's not how math works."
Tyler: "You don't KNOW that."
He pulled out another paper. "Also, I designed merch." He held up a crude drawing of Dorian's face on a t-shirt that said "I ❤️ ME."
Dorian stared at it. "I'm not wearing that."
"You don't have to. Other people will. It's passive income."
Marcus finally looked up. "Passive income requires people to buy it."
Tyler: "Step one: make shirt. Step two: ??? Step three: profit."
Dorian: "The ??? is where it falls apart."
Tyler: "You lack vision."
---
Night fell.
Dorian lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His phone glowed beside him.
Lisa still hadn't replied to his non-reply. She was probably confused. Probably hurt.
Sarah thought everything was fine.
The unknown texter's message sat unresponded.
24 hours. A deal.
His screen lit up one last time.
Unknown: 24 hours. Don't forget.
He didn't reply.
---
The next morning, Dorian dragged himself to class. He wasn't paying attention. Couldn't focus.
After, he walked across campus, head down, not looking where he was going.
He bumped into someone.
"Sorry, I—"
He looked up.
Chloe.
She was standing right there, coffee in hand, looking at him with mild curiosity. Her hair caught the morning light. She was, as always, effortlessly beautiful.
Dorian's brain short-circuited.
Chloe: "You're the guy from the photo, right? The one that's everywhere?"
She's seen the post. She knows who I am.
"Uh. Yeah. That's me."
She smiled. Small. Friendly. "I saw it on the explore page. It's cute. You and your girlfriend."
Girlfriend. She said girlfriend. She knows about Sarah.
"Thanks."
They stood there for an awkward moment. Chloe seemed to be waiting for something. Dorian didn't know what.
"Well," she said finally, "see you around."
"Yeah. See you."
She walked away.
Dorian watched her go. Level four face. Twenty-nine thousand followers. None of it mattered.
She knows about Sarah. She's not interested.
The old voice whispered: You're still the same guy. Just better packaging.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown: Tick tock.
[END OF CHAPTER 13]