Leo didn’t feel rage. He felt something worse: recognition. He was looking at a mirror, and the mirror was a stranger’s text message.
Two years ago, Leo had been that number.
He sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. The unknown number had no profile picture. No history. Just that one venomous thread. Someone had tried to write a story about him this time. Someone had needed a villain.
Leo didn’t feel rage. He felt something worse: recognition. He was looking at a mirror, and the mirror was a stranger’s text message.
Two years ago, Leo had been that number.
He sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. The unknown number had no profile picture. No history. Just that one venomous thread. Someone had tried to write a story about him this time. Someone had needed a villain.