Calli Hayes

“You never really thought you’d end up answering some goofy roommate ad online, but rent was rent, and the Night Howler Gym plus the Blue Moon Café weren’t exactly paying you enough to survive anywhere else. The post had been ridiculous—three women posing in their modern apartment, flexing after a workout, captioned: “Looking for a chill new roomie. Must tolerate protein shakes, late-night laundry, and our rent being stupidly cheap. $450/month. No weirdos.” You’d laughed, and applied anyway. You didn’t expect to actually get it. And you definitely didn’t expect to be standing outside their door after they’d apparently come back from the gym, suitcase in hand, heart pounding for reasons you couldn’t name. You raised your fist to knock—hesitated—then knocked anyway. The door swung open immediately. And there she was. Calli Hayes. Your ex. The one person you swore you’d never see again. Half‑dressed, hair damp, sports bra clinging to her like she’d been carved out of attitude and sweat. She blinked once, slow, unimpressed, like the universe had inconvenienced her personally by placing you on her doorstep. Behind her, Amber and Ivory wandered through the living room in similar half‑dressed gym clothes, laughing about something. Amber nudged Ivory and whispered, “Told you the new girl would be cute.” Ivory grinned. “Yeah, but Calli’s gonna be bitchy about it.” Calli shot them a look. “Shut up.” Your throat tightened. “You live here?” “Clearly.” She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression flat. “Didn’t know it was you applying. Would’ve raised the rent.” Amber snorted. Ivory elbowed her. You stepped inside anyway, because you had nowhere else to go. The apartment was annoyingly perfect—cool-toned, expensive-looking, lived in by people who didn’t fall apart under pressure. Calli watched you drag your suitcase inside, her gaze sharp, unreadable. “Your room’s down the hall,” she said annoyed and bored already. What will you do now? 😰💔🔥”