Chapter 7
Frederick played just as brilliantly in the second half.
In the final three minutes, he drove through for a crucial touchdown, sealing the win. The stadium erupted.
Adelaide sat in her corner seat, watching his teammates hoist him into the air, tossing him up again and again.
The corner of her mouth curved—barely, briefly—then flattened again.
When the game ended, Frederick's teammates swarmed around him as they headed toward the locker room. Passing the stands, he waved at Melissa in the front row. She raised her half-finished strawberry latte and smiled, eyes crinkling.
Adelaide's phone buzzed. A message from Greta.
[Victory party, the usual spot. Whole football team's coming. Get over here!]
Below it was a location pin—the blues bar near campus. The one Frederick had reserved.
Adelaide glanced at it, pocketed her phone, and stood to leave.
She didn't go straight there. She went back to her apartment first, changed into athletic wear, and took off the diamond studs. This was the real her.
It was her birthday. She only needed to make herself happy.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror, smiled, and left.
The bar was already buzzing when she arrived.
The football team and the cheer squad were both there—the two groups had a long tradition of celebrating together, especially when their captains were a couple. Of course everyone showed up.
When Adelaide pushed through the door, Frederick was surrounded by a crowd plying him with drinks.
He'd changed into a black T-shirt, his hair still damp. He laughed, took the glass someone handed him, and knocked it back in one swallow.
"Adelaide's here!" someone shouted.
Every pair of eyes swung toward her.
Frederick looked over too, smile still on his face. He waved her over. "Adelaide, come sit."
She walked over and sat down beside him.
Frederick didn't look at her. He turned back to his teammates' conversation.
His arm settled around her shoulders, casual, the way it always had.
But Adelaide felt the weight of it—or rather, the lack of it. Light as nothing.
The energy in the room climbed higher, everyone riding the post-game high.
Greta stood up with her glass. "Hey, isn't there something else special about today?"
Daphne jumped in right away. "Yes! Oh my God, I almost forgot! Today is—"
She dragged out the words, eyes landing on Adelaide.
Adelaide held her glass. Said nothing.
"Adelaide's birthday!" Greta announced loudly. "Frederick, you're failing as a boyfriend here. Winning the game is great, but you've gotta celebrate your girl's birthday too!"
"Exactly!" Daphne chimed in. "Reserved the bar in advance, got a surprise ready—Frederick, you clearly planned this all along!"
The cheer squad all knew it was Adelaide's birthday. The excitement doubled.
"Frederick's incredible—wins the game AND has his girlfriend's birthday covered. Double surprise!"
"I saw a luxury delivery at the door earlier. Frederick, big spender!"
"Seriously? Oh my God, Frederick, you spoil Adelaide way too much!"
The teasing built like a wave, louder and louder.
Everyone was laughing. Everyone was envious.
Adelaide sat there, heart pounding fast.
She glanced at Frederick, searching his face for that sheepish look of a surprise being spoiled—or maybe a shy grin at being found out.
But she froze. His expression was wrong.
A flash of blankness crossed his eyes. Then something clicked, and his face shifted to pure discomfort.
Frederick looked at Adelaide with guilt written across his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but a teammate cut him off.
"Frederick, quit playing dumb!" A guy from the team slapped his shoulder, laughing. "Adelaide already knows. Just bring out the gift!"
"Yeah, let us see! We're talking designer here!"
"My girlfriend told me to take notes from you—says you're the gold standard for boyfriends!"
Just then, a server wheeled a cart into the private room.
On it sat an enormous bouquet of roses, and nestled in the center—an unmistakable orange box. Clearly expensive.
The room broke into applause. Whistles pierced the air.
"Oh my God, it's real!"
"Frederick, you absolute legend!"
"Adelaide is so lucky!"
Greta grabbed Adelaide's arm, shaking it. "See? I told you he'd remember! You didn't believe me!"
Adelaide didn't speak, but her eyes shone bright, fixed on Frederick.
Frederick carried the box back to her. His smile looked more natural now.
He stopped in front of her and held it out. "Adelaide. Happy birthday."
But something in Adelaide's chest sank.
They'd been together too long. Even the slightest flicker of unease couldn't escape her notice.
So what was he nervous about?
The crowd kept cheering. "Open it! Open it!"
Adelaide reached out and took the box.
Orange. Ribbon tied perfectly. White wrapping paper stamped with the logo.
She looked down at it, fingers resting on the ribbon.
Frederick instinctively grabbed her hand. "Adelaide—maybe open it at home?"
"Oh come on, Frederick, don't be shy! We're all friends here!" Greta laughed, looking between them.
Everyone else piled on.
"These custom pieces are always so thoughtful—Frederick must have picked it out himself."
"Who else could even get on the waitlist for something like this?"
"Seriously, let us see!"
Frederick clenched his jaw. Then he let go of her hand. "Fine. Open it. But save the details for later."
Adelaide gave him a puzzled look. Frederick would never give her a fake bag. She took a deep breath, slowly untied the ribbon, and lifted the lid.
The room went silent.
Every eye locked onto the box.
Adelaide lifted the bag out.
A Birkin. Elephant gray—this year's most coveted colorway. The exact one she'd been looking at on the website a few days ago.
She'd clicked on it casually, just browsing. Frederick had leaned over her shoulder and said the color was beautiful.
She did love it. But the waitlist was ten months out, so she'd let it go.
She never imagined he'd actually bought it. That he remembered.
Her fingers tightened around the handles. She lifted the bag higher.
"Adelaide!" Frederick lunged to stop her.
Too late.
Adelaide's expression froze. The bag slipped from her fingers, falling back into the box.
There, on the interior leather—gold-stamped lettering.
Not her name.
'Melissa.'
