"What is this, Ness?" I hold the pamphlet up, struggling to keep my hands from trembling.

"It's a beauty brochure," Nessa answers with a grin.

I click my tongue in frustration. "Fine, I'll rephrase my question. Why were you reading this?"

"I was just—" She lowers her gaze, her mouth pursed in a frustrated pout. The look on her face tells me she's searching for a snappy remark to evade my question again. Just when I think she's about to give up, she snatches the brochure from my hand. "It's none of your business, Ol. I can read whatever I want."

"Ness—"

She plonks on the bench and folds her arms across her chest, avoiding my gaze. But even though her mouth is sealed shut, her eyes are screaming for help.

"Hey." I settle next to her and hook a finger under her chin, guiding her eyes to mine. Keeping my voice soft, I ask, "Did that creep tell you to get one of these? Or—"

Nessa shakes her head, her eyes fixated on the brochure in her hands. "Ryan has nothing to do with any of this. And he's not a creep."

The green-eyed monster peeks an eye open at her remark. But the burning-red dragon overpowers him as I realize my initial hunch is correct. The harassment Nessa has been receiving over the past five days must be so severe that she's considering getting plastic surgery.

I prop my elbows on my knees and drop my face into my hands. "You're actually considering plastic surgery because of what your haters said?"

"It's not plastic surgery, Ol. It's just a beauty procedure. It's not permanent." Her voice is gentle and soothing, but the lack of assurance in her eyes tells me she has doubts about her statement.

"What's the difference? It still changes your face."

"Well, my face will eventually change anyway. Contrary to popular belief, we Asians—or in my case, half-Asians—do age. Sooner or later, we will get our wrinkles," she jokes before offering me a tight-lipped grin.

I keep my face straight. "You know that's not what I'm talking about."

Her smile dies. "What's so wrong with changing my face?" The vulnerability in her voice serves as delicious sustenance to the burning-red dragon inside me, and my chest squeezes tighter than before.

"Ness, you don't need to—"

"Everybody's doing so these days. Even celebrities who were born with faces I could only dream of having. So why shouldn't I?"

"Oh, so if everyone's torturing cats, then you're gonna join them?"

"Of course not!" she snaps. "That's a whole different situation and you know it."

I put my hands up in apology. "Fine. My bad. What I'm trying to say is, you shouldn't do something just because everyone else is doing it."

"I know." The tension in her expression eases a little. "I'm just considering ways to . . . improve myself. Like an upgrade."

"You don't need an upgrade, Ness." I look her in the eye, hoping she realizes I mean it.

She averts her gaze. "Of course, I do. I'm not you. Or Celia. I wasn't born with a face that everyone considers to be perfect."

A hard knot tightens in my chest when I hear the pain and despair shredding her voice. "Ness—"

"And you don't have to worry about me dying on the operating table, or being scarred for life, or something. The procedure's pretty simple and harmless. Just forty minutes and I'll get a much better nose, less fatty cheeks, and sexier lips. Pretty awesome, right?" Her voice sounds so lifeless, and it scares the hell out of me.

Nessa may not be the most confident person in the universe, but this isn't her. It's as if something has sucked her soul and replaced it with this gloomy alien.

As I ponder for a way to bring her soul back to the land of the living, my mind reminds me of the thing that she loves the most in the world—the one thing that has always succeeded in changing her mind.

That big-headed, chubby dumpling.

Before Nessa's favorite fast food mascot came along, I'd always hated my so-called dimple and my double chin. But after three years, my once most hated facial features—the ones I thought made me a weirdo—have become my most loved ones.

Whenever Nessa jokes about my resemblance to Mr. Dumpy, a part of me takes it as a compliment. Maybe it's because I know how much she adores that chubby dumpling. As weird as it sounds, it makes me feel . . . loved.

Nessa taught me how to appreciate my flaws, and now it's time for me to return the favor.

"Fine," I say. "If you insist on getting a nose job—"

"It's not a nose job, Ol. It's—"

"Then I'm gonna get rid of this." I slap the layer of fat under my chin. As she opens her mouth to protest, I continue, "Better yet, I'll just get rid of this stupid butt on my chin."

She gasps in horror. "Why?"

"Why not?" I shrug, trying to remain indifferent.

"B-because you won't be Mr. Dumpy anymore." Panic skitters across her face while her voice rises an octave in frustration.

"Exactly." I feel a smirk of triumph creeping along my lips, knowing Nessa has fallen into my trap. "Then I won't have to look like that stupid, ugly, fat dumpling anymore."

"Hey! Don't talk bad about Mr. Dumpy. I love Mr. Dumpy!" She draws a sharp breath and slaps a hand over her mouth, a mixture of shock and realization spreading across her face.

I grin. "See?"

"Y-yeah, sure." The corners of her lips twitch into an awkward smile and her eyebrows quiver, an expression I can't quite understand.

"Look, you said it yourself. Even celebrities go under the knife. Why do you think they do it?"

"Because they have too much money and don't know what else they should spend it on?" she jokes.

I chuckle a little. "Everyone has something they're insecure about, Ness. And you know, people say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So what you see as a flaw . . ." I tuck her curls behind her ear and run a thumb over her smooth cheek. "As an imperfection . . ." My gaze trails down her beautiful face, lingering on her adorable nose for a moment before landing upon her perfect lips. "It might not be the case for others."

"Easy for you to say. You weren't born with Voldemort's nose."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out." I hold up my hands, forming a T. "I have no idea about the books, but did you watch the movies? Because I'm pretty sure your nose is a million times better than Voldemort's."

"It's a figure of speech, Ol. Not literal." She rolls her eyes and tosses her head, and I have to suppress the urge to smile like an idiot at her cute action. "The point is, your nose is perfect, and mine is far from it."

"I was born with a butt on my chin. So which is worse?"

She hisses in frustration and pokes a finger at the cleft in my chin. "This is not a butt, Ol. It's a dimple. It's cute."

A tingling warmth spreads across my chest, and an uncontainable grin stretches my cheeks. "See?"

She opens her mouth to argue, but quickly snapped it closed. The dark cloud of gloom surrounding her starts to dissipate. "Okay, okay. You've made your point."

For a while, her battle with her demons seems to be over. Yet when her eyes catch sight of the brochure in her hands, a shade of anxiety settles over her features once more.

"Hey." I hold her hand and squeeze it gently, offering comfort. "I'm not saying that getting those beauty procedures is bad. But ask yourself this. Why do you want it? If you want it for yourself, if changing your face truly makes you happy, then go ahead. By all means, do it. But if you're doing it because those people tell you so, to get them to like you, then don't."

She remains silent. But I can see the inner battle reflected in her eyes when she casts a glance at me.

"Do you honestly think they're going to stop harassing you if you change yourself?" I ask.

"Yeah?" Uncertainty flickers in her eyes.

I pull my mouth into a straight line and shake my head. "Haters are going to hate you no matter what you do. And it has nothing to do with you or your appearance. It's just . . . it's who they are."

Memories begin seeping out of the black box I've kept hidden for twenty-one years—the snickers, the sneers, the jeers. The knot in my chest expands, searing wider and more painful through my chest, and my throat constricts.

No, no, no. Don't go back there, Oliver. Don't. It's not about you. It's about her.

I loosen my tie and take a deep breath, locking the box of memories in my head and trying to focus on Nessa. "What I'm saying is, you can't control what people think or say about you. But you can control what you think about yourself. It's your face, Ness. It's your life. Not theirs."

Her gaze softens, and for one hopeful moment, I think she's changed her mind.

"But . . . you said it yourself, Ol. I look like Miss Mochi."

A sudden flash of panic rushes through me. Fuck. What have I—

"And, although I'm sure Ryan didn't mean to insult me at all, he based that plumpy bunny on . . ."

Nessa's voice sounds further and further away as I rack my brain for a way to clear up the misunderstanding. Dammit. If I tell her the real reason why I call her Miss Mochi, then she'd freak out for sure. She'd probably even move to Timbuktu because of it. But if I don't, then—

Out of nowhere, Pikachu sets a pair of loudspeakers right next to my eardrums and switches them on.

"You should stop thinking too much." Nessa's voice resonates through the speakers, loud and a little distorted. "When in doubt, follow your heart."

But what does my heart—

"You're adorable." Pikachu pushes the words out of my mouth.

"What?" Nessa blinks at me.

"I-I mean . . ." A heated blush climbs onto my cheeks. Avoiding her gaze, I let her hand go and rub my knuckle over the tip of my nose. "Miss Mochi. She's adorable."

We fall into a deafening silence, and my heart hammers against my ribs. My feet tap against the cobblestone as I fix my eyes on the ground, too scared to see her reaction. Shit, shit, shit. This is why you should've kept your mouth shut, Oliver Lauren M—

"You really think so?" A note of disbelief lingers in her voice, yet the despair in her eyes fades a little.

Wait. She's not freaking out?

Without giving it careful consideration, I tell her the truth. "Yeah."

Nessa narrows her eyes and studies me for thirteen seconds, perhaps trying to figure out if I'm just lying to cheer her up. To my relief, a tiny smile soon blooms on her lips and a spark of confidence lights up her eyes.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I should stop thinking too much.

"Screw what other people think, Ness. You should just . . . be your own kind of beautiful."

"You think a plumpy mochi is beautiful?" A teasing glint dances in her eyes.

"Well, I'm a chubby dumpling myself," I admit, triggering a snort from her. "So it makes sense that I find a plumpy mochi to be beautiful."

She giggles, her lips stretching so wide her large teeth are on full display. "In that case . . ." She stares at the brochure in her hands for a moment before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the trash can next to her. "I guess being a plumpy mochi isn't so bad."

Yes! I jump to my feet before bending down to pick up the rest of the beauty parlor pamphlets scattered on the ground, intending to get rid of them. Yet strange uneasiness settles in my gut when I see a brochure for a tanning salon.

Despite my warnings, Nessa tried getting a fake tan two years ago and ended up having a severe allergic reaction. Ever since then, she has vowed to stay away from any kind of tanning salon.

"Where'd you get these?" I sit back down on the bench and hand her the pamphlets.

"They were handing them out at the mall—"

"Don't lie."

She pinches her lips together before muttering, "BlueEyedCupid mailed it to me."

"What?" An uncanny sense of déjà vu sends a shiver up my spine. Suddenly, something flashes across my mind. An image—a memory, perhaps—of a small piece of paper in my hands. The message printed on the note is blurry, yet it's more than enough to pique my curiosity. "Did you happen to receive a note from them too?"

"Yeah." Nessa's forehead creases in surprise and confusion. "How did you know?"

"Just a hunch." I swallow the lump in my throat, my unease growing. "Do you keep the note?"

"Mm-hmm." She flips her bag open and searches through it. "It's somewhere around . . . here." She fishes out a small piece of paper, roughly the same size as the one I had in mind earlier, and hands it to me.

Dread crawls across my skin when I read the message. As the sense of déjà vu gets stronger, the once blurry note in my memory becomes clearer. I still can't quite make up the five lines printed on it, but the name at the end of the letter is the same as the one written on the note Nessa received.

BlueEyedCupid

Even so, something feels oddly different about the note I'm holding. Something I can't quite put my finger on. What is it? More importantly, when did I ever get that note? Why didn't I remember about it?

"Ol?" A gentle hand on my shoulder interrupts the train of questions in my mind. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I push the questions away from my mind and focus on the threatening letter in my hand. "Ness, you gotta report this to the cops. This is a crime. Whoever sent this to you should be arrested."

"They just sent me a bunch of brochures to point out how ugly I am, Ol. How is that a crime?"

The way she uses the word ugly to describe herself still irks me, and my determination to convince her otherwise grows stronger. Unfortunately, that will have to wait, for we have a more urgent matter at hand.

"It's not just about the brochures, Ness. It's about the message they're sending you. Look at this." As I point at the second line of the note—the part where it says she's going to need much worse than a nose job—I catch a glimpse of fear in her eyes. "Do I need to say what it means out loud?"

She hesitates for a while before shaking her head. "It's fine. I'm sure it's just an empty threat."

"No, no, no." I reach for her hand, my eyes pleading with her to comply with my request. "I have a bad feeling about this. You gotta go to the police. They've made it clear they want to attack you. And I don't think they're talking about another Slushie attack this time."

The fear in her eyes deepens, and sweat breaks out on her palm. The pain in my chest worsens at the thought of forcing her to confront the threat her haters made. Still, it's better to take some precautions rather than deal with the aftermath of something that can be prevented.

I stroke my thumb against her hand, trying to soothe her. "Please?"

"But what about the paparazzi, Ol? And those scandalmongers at the studio? If they find out I'm going to the police because of something so petty like this?" The anxiety in her eyes verges on panic. "They're just gonna cook up the story of the century and call me a drama queen. Or worse, a clout monster."

I knit my eyebrows together. "What do you mean clout? You didn't clout someone in the face again, did you?"

An inelegant snort of laughter erupts from her, followed by a chortle. "No, no. That's not the kind of clout I was talking about. Bottom line is, me going to the police will be the headline of the year for the paparazzi."

"Screw the paparazzi, Ness. This is your life we're talking about." I try to convince her, but wariness remains in her gaze.

The truth is, I understand her concern. Those pesky reporters seem to have eyes and ears everywhere, and it won't be a surprise if someone tips them off about this.

My head hurts as I search for another way to deal with this matter. I'm about to give up and drag her to hide in Timbuktu with me when I remember Nessa's old friend. "Hey, what about your cop friend?"

"Jack?"

"Yeah, yeah. You should ask for his help. Ask him to investigate in secret."

Nessa grimaces. "I don't know, Ol. We weren't exactly the best of friends."

"Well, you can either call him, or I'll call nine-one-one. Your choice."

She lets out a defeated sigh. "Fine. I'll call him tomorrow morning."

"Yes!" I ball my hands into fists of victory.

With a frown, she shoves all the pamphlets back into her bag. Her right hand is about to close its glittered flap when she raises an eyebrow and peeks into it once more. She purses her lips together and sucks in her cheeks, making a creepy duck face.

I don't need to be a genius to know she's comparing herself to the so-called perfect face on the brochure again. Even though a few minutes ago she seemed to have accepted her appearance, her demons are still inside her mind, lurking in the dark and waiting to attack her at the right time. It's going to take some time to build her confidence, and there's nothing I want more than to help her with that.

Even so, I doubt she'll believe anything I say right now. The only thing I can do is cheer her up, and that's what I'll do.

"Hey." I nudge her shoulder.

Nessa snaps her bag closed before flashing a guilty grin at me. "Yeah?"

"You wanna get out of here?"

Her eyes light up in an instant. "What about the free food? That's why you're here, right?"

The idea of passing on free food has me wincing and sucking a breath through clenched teeth. "I shouldn't have been here in the first place anyway. Guess I better skip the free food than become homeless, lose my abs, and be a super-duper-chubby dumpling, right?"

"Good point." She nods, smiling brighter. As we head toward the parking lot, she teases, "You're late, by the way. They served the best zucchini rolls ever."

"Oh, crap," I mutter. "This wouldn't have happened if this place had a bigger parking lot. You know, I had to circle around thirty-seven times before someone pulled out."

My mouth twitches in annoyance as Nessa rests her arm on Lightning's roof. "You should've just used the valet, Ol."

"And pay forty bucks for some stranger to drive my baby?" I give a derisive laugh and open the door for her. "Yeah, right."

Rolling her eyes, Nessa slides into the passenger seat. As I'm about to close the door, she presses her hand on the window. "Wait, wait, wait. Where are we going?"

"First things first." With a mischievous smirk, I gesture at her dress. "We have to get rid of that."

Author's Note:

Thoughts about this chapter?

Where do you think Ollie is taking Nessa? *wink*

Also, any theory about the BlueEyedCupid and the mysterious note?

Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, if you like what you're reading, please show some support by voting and/or leaving comments. Thanks for reading! :)