Lena’s POV
The day comes. And I come to the hotel named in the email. It smells like citrus and money, a combination I've never encountered before but recognize instantly as the scent of places I don't belong.
"Checking in?" the receptionist asks with a professional smile.
"I have a keycard waiting," I say quietly. "Under—" I fumble with my phone, checking the name. "Under Williams."
She types something, doesn't even blink at the obvious alias. "Of course. Here you are, miss. Eighteenth floor, room 180."
She slides the card across the marble counter. "Enjoy your stay."
The bellhop materializes at my elbow. "Any luggage I can help with?"
"No. I'm fine. Thank you."
"Let me call the elevator for you at least." He presses the button, and the doors open immediately.
I step inside. The mirrors multiply me into infinity. I watch the numbers climb—twelve, fourteen, sixteen, and whisper to my reflection, "You can still leave. You can still turn around."
But I don't press the lobby button.
At eighteen, the doors open. I step into the hushed corridor and make myself walk forward. 174. 176. 178.
Room 180.
I slide the keycard. Green light. Click.
I push the door open and freeze.
Evan Mercer and Noah Mercer are sitting in armchairs positioned beside the king bed, like an illustration from a magazine spread titled "wrong room, wrong life, wrong universe entirely."
"What—" The word catches. "What are you doing here?"
They both stand at once. Evan moves forward half a step, hands raised.
"Lena, please don't run."
But I'm already backing toward the door. "This is—you're in the wrong room. You have to be."
"It's not a mistake," Noah says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it.
"Then what is this?" My hand finds the doorknob. "Some kind of joke? Did Trent put you up to this?"
"No," they say together.
"Is he hiding in the bathroom with a camera?" My voice rises. "Are you going to blackmail me? Tell everyone at school?"
"God, no." Evan's hands are still raised, like I'm a frightened animal. "Lena, we would never—"
"Then explain!" The word comes out sharp. "Explain why you're here. Don't tell me you booked—" I can't finish the sentence.
"Can you let go of the door first?" Noah asks. "Please? You can leave anytime. We won't stop you. But let us explain."
I force my fingers to uncurl. Take one step into the room. The door clicks shut behind me.
"Start talking," I say.
Noah and Evan exchange a look. Then Noah speaks.
"Remember when we bumped into each other? After the first period?"
I nod.
"You dropped your phone," he adds. "And I saw the screen. Just for a second."
My stomach drops. "You—"
"Virgin Exchange," Noah says quietly. "I recognized the logo."
"And at lunch," Evan continues, "when we were talking about teachers and classes, you got an email notification."
"I shouldn't have looked," Noah says quickly. "I know that's—"
"What did it say?" I interrupt, curious to know what exactly he saw.
"Seller confirmation," Evan says. "That's all I saw. But it was enough."
"Enough for what? Enough to—to what, exactly?" I gesture at the room. "Book me yourselves?"
"To stop someone else from doing it," Noah says, and there's an edge to his voice now. "Some stranger who wouldn't—who might—"
"Who might hurt you," Evan finishes. "We couldn't let that happen."
I stare at them. "So your solution was to buy me instead?"
"No." Evan takes a step closer. "Our solution was to book the room so no one else could. To pay what the platform required so the listing would be fulfilled and taken down. So no one would show up expecting—"
"Expecting what I promised," I finish bitterly.
"Lena." Noah's voice cracks. "If all you want is the money, we can confirm completion right now. You can walk out of here exactly the same as you walked in."
"Why would you do that?" The question comes out small. "Why would you care?"
There's a long pause. Noah and Evan look at each other again, some silent conversation happening between them.
Then Noah blurts out: "Because I like you."
The words hang in the air.
"We like you," Noah says again, emphasizing it. "Both of us."
"You—what?"
"Since sophomore year," Noah continues, words tumbling faster now. "Since you told off Trent for cheating on that history test. Since you stood up when no one else would."
"Junior year for me," Evan adds. "When you corrected Mr. Harrison about the Civil War dates. You didn't back down even when he got defensive."
"You liked me?" My voice comes out too high. "You were trying to—"
"Court you, yeah." Noah's cheeks flush. "That's why I stepped in with Trent. Why I tried to talk to you. I wanted you to see me."
"And the lunch thing wasn't random," Evan says. "I've been working up the nerve to sit with you for weeks."
Heat floods my face. "I thought you were just being nice. I thought—"
"That we felt sorry for you?" Evan shakes his head. "Never. We noticed you, Lena. Really noticed you."
"The girl who eats lunch alone," I say flatly. "The girl everyone mocks."
"The girl who's brilliant," Noah counters. "Who's brave enough to raise her hand even when people roll their eyes. Who works harder than anyone."
"You deserved that acceptance letter," Evan adds. "More than anyone in that school. You earned it."
I'm surprised they know about the acceptance, but I guess they figured it out from reading the reason for my application to Virgin Exchange.
"And now I can't afford it." The admission tastes like failure. "That's why I'm here. That's why I—" I gesture helplessly at the room.
"We know," Evan says gently. "And we want to help."
"By paying me?" I can't keep the edge out of my voice. "That's still paying me."
"Think of it as a scholarship," Noah suggests. "From people who believe in you."
"That's not how scholarships work."
"Then think of it however you want," Evan says. "But Lena—we're not here to collect anything. We're not here to pressure you or expect anything. We're here because we couldn't stand the thought of someone else being here instead."
I look between them—Noah standing tense by the chairs, Evan a few feet away, both watching me like I'm something precious that might shatter.
"This is insane," I say.
"Yeah," Evan agrees. "It really is."
"You actually like me? Both of you?"
"I wanted to kiss you," Noah says, then his teeth click together like he bit his tongue. "I mean—I do. Want to. If you—but only if—"
Evan moves closer, stopping just out of reach. "What do you want, Lena?"
"I don't know." My voice shakes. "I came here thinking I knew exactly what I was doing. What I was willing to trade. But this is—"
"Different," Evan finishes.
"Yeah."
Evan goes back to sit with his elbows resting on his knees, his posture somehow both relaxed and intensely focused.
Silence stretchres between us like a wire pulled to its breaking point, and all I can think is that I've walked into the wrong room, except the keycard worked. This is room 180. This is where I was supposed to be. Which means they're exactly where they're supposed to be too.
This is not a mistake.