Outgrowing Him: From Side Character to CEO

Hey, aren't you going to explain why you just touched my thigh?

Riley smirked, stepping right into the personal space of my autistic childhood best friend, Ronan.

I planted my foot to step forward and intervene, but froze.

Rows of glowing text materialized in the empty air right in front of my face.

[Here we go! The FMC really has a way of curing his autism!]

[Look at the MMC playing hard to get. You just know he's secretly loving it and already falling for her.]

[Ugh, so annoying. The side character is about to step in and ruin their flirting.]

The side character? Me?

Chapter 1

The air thickened. Ronan's eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his face. "I didn't." The knuckles of the hand gripping his water bottle turned a stark, bone-white.

The field was packed with students here for the freshman orientation performances. Riley hadn't bothered to lower her voice. Heads snapped in our direction, drawn by the commotion.

She fixed her gaze on him, a bright, mocking giggle escaping her lips. "Ronan, I seriously thought you were mute! Turns out you can talk."

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Under the weight of their judgmental stares, a sheen of cold sweat broke out on Ronan's forehead. Because of his autism, he rarely spoke. Now, pinned down by dozens of eyes, his chest heaved in a silent, panicked rhythm.

When Riley saw him freeze up, her smirk only widened.

I hadn't expected that bringing him along while I gave the student representative speech would lead to this mess. I pulled out my phone, hitting record, and shoved the lens toward her face.

"Just to clarify," I said, my voice deadpan. "Are you stating on the record that Ronan touched your thigh? Because if you are, I'm calling campus security to pull the surveillance footage right now."

Riley blinked, the smirk faltering as a crease formed between her brows. Ronan just stared at me, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply.

The glowing text scrolled frantically across my vision:

[Whoa, the side chick is going off-script. Does she actually think the MMC will like her for this?]

[What a dumb bitch. The couple is literally just flirting. Wait until the MMC's protective instincts kick in, she'll learn.]

[She's just jealous the FMC can actually get a reaction out of him. Total pick-me trash.]

Riley shot me a glare, instantly adopting a wounded pout. "I was just joking around. You don't have to be so uptight."

But the smug gleam in her eyes told a different story. She thought I was just some pathetic third wheel.

I tapped my screen, bringing up the dial pad. "Do you even know what defamation is? It's a crime."

Ronan forced the words out, his voice a jagged rasp. "Don't stay out of it."

In his panic, he reached out and shoved my arm, knocking the phone away. The device flew from my grip, clattering harshly against the pavement. The whispers around us swelled into a loud, buzzing hum. Ronan barely spoke, but in all the years I'd defended him, he had never turned on me like this.

I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I didn't even glance down at the shattered phone on the ground. Instead, I raised my hand and hurled the open bottle of ice water I was holding directly into Ronan's face.

The ice water hit his skin with a sharp slap.

"Since you don't want me involved, you can sober up on your own," I said, my voice dropping to a freezing calm. "I don't need a busted phone, and I certainly don't need an overgrown man-child."

Without a second look, I spun on my heel and strode away.

The floating text exploded with pure schadenfreude:

[LMAO, the side chick is fuming. Serves her right for being so desperate.]

[The actual victims don't even care, she's acting like a reincarnated Karen.]

[She hangs around the MMC every day, but he's never once claimed her as his girlfriend. She's delusional.]

Heavy footsteps rushed up behind me. Ronan caught up, his fingers lightly tugging at my sleevethe exact same move he used every time he accidentally upset me.

I glanced back, meeting his wide, innocent stare.

The comments practically vibrated with rage:

[What is the MMC doing? Why is he chasing after that dumb bitch?]

[This side chick is such a fake. Playing hard to get? Disgusting!]

[MMC needs to turn around and go back to our baby FMC. One look and she'd go home with him tonight. What does he even see in this manipulative trash?]

I lowered my gaze, a knot of irritation pulling tight in my chest. Even knowing his brain wired things differently, the whole display left a bitter, sour taste in my mouth. Plus, with my parents gone all these years, his mom had practically raised me. I couldn't just lose it on him.

But I wasn't about to swallow my pride, either. I jerked my arm, ripping my sleeve from his grip.

"I'm tired from the event," I said, my tone flat and dismissive. "I'm going back to the dorm."

[Fucking pick-me.]

Ronan blinked, water still dripping from his jaw. He gave me the exact same line he used every time we parted ways. "Stay safe."

Chapter 2

After the freshman welcome party, my schedule was even more packed than my junior year. I had already secured my early admission for grad school, but I still had to network with potential advisors and finish up my undergrad lab research. I buried myself in the lab every day, shoving any lingering annoyance about Ronan to the back of my mind.

Still, the gossip bled through the cracks. Whispers floated around campus about a hot freshman girl aggressively chasing the "genius senior."

Then, his mom called.

"Vera, what is going on with Ronan?" she asked, panic lacing her words. "He hasn't come home yet, and he didn't take his medication this morning. I'm terrified he's going to have an episode. Can you please run his prescription over to him?"

The gravity of the situation hit me instantly. I reassured her, grabbed my backpack, and sprinted across campus to the art studios.

But when I shoved the door open, the space in front of his easel was empty.

A guy in the studio looked up, a teasing smirk on his face. "Well, if it isn't Ronan's little girlfriend. What, doing a wellness check?"

"You're looking in the wrong place. He barely comes around here lately."

My stomach dropped. A cold spike of unease settled in my chest. He was supposed to be preparing his portfolio for an international painting competition in two weeks. Why the hell wasn't he here?

After tracking down his roommate, I finally located him at an off-campus bar.

The second I pushed through the heavy front doors, the pounding bass and the roar of a hundred shouting voices slammed into me, instantly giving me a headache. I couldn't even fathom why someone who despised noise and crowds as much as Ronan would step foot in a place like this.

The VIP booth was soaked in dim, neon light, the air thick with tension. Riley was straddling the armrest of the sofa right next to Ronan. Her top was unbuttoned low, and she deliberately brushed her chest against his shoulder. Hooking a finger covered in cheap, glittery acrylic nails into his collar, she leaned in close and blew softly into his ear.

Ronan's eyelashes fluttered. The tips of his ears flushed a dark, violent red. But he didn't shove her away like he normally did to anyone else who dared invade his personal space. They were the dead center of attention, surrounded by a crowd of people howling and cheering them on.

The glowing text hovering in my vision exploded with activity:

[Ahhh! The tension is killing me! The MMC literally has no defense against our bad-bitch FMC!]

[LMAO, our girl knows exactly what she's doing. Got me blushing over here.]

[Taking notes! Next time I see my crush, I'm asking him if a big nose means he's packing elsewhere.]

I rapped my knuckles against the open doorframe of the booth, just loud enough to cut through the immediate noise and turn heads. When Ronan lifted his gaze and locked eyes with me, that red flush was still burning on his ears.

Beside him, Riley arched an eyebrow. She gave his arm a little nudge.

"Looks like your senior is worried about you, Ronan. She tracked you all the way down here. Want to go home early with her?"

Laughter erupted around the leather couches. Someone in the back whistled.

"Damn, man! Didn't know you were such a mama's boy. Did mommy come to drag you home?"

Ronan just glared at me, his jaw clamped tight. The message was loud and clear: I wasn't welcome.

Riley looked at me with the triumphant smirk of a winner. "Sorry, Vera, but I think he wants to stay and play with me tonight."

The floating comments instantly swarmed with mockery:

[Does the side chick really think marking her territory is gonna work? Fucking hilarious. She's just a clown!]

[Give it up! All your desperate pick-me energy is just fueling the main couple's chemistry!]

I didn't even blink. I pulled the bottle of prescription medication from my bag and smashed it directly into the cluster of cocktail glasses on their table.

The sharp crack of shattering glass instantly killed the mood, plunging the entire booth into a dead silence.

"Your antipsychotics," I said, my voice dead flat. "Don't die out here and make it my problem."

Riley snatched the plastic bottle from the wreckage, holding it up to the strobe light. "Risperidone? What kind of meds are these?"

Ronan flinched hard. He ripped open his backpack, his hands tearing through the contents for his missing pills. When he looked up at me again, his eyes darted away, unable to hold my gaze. If he didn't take his Risperidone on time, he was prone to severe self-harm.

Years ago, when his mom had to go out of town, he missed a dose and had an episode.

Chapter 3

I had shoved open the door to his house, only to find him sitting on the bathroom tiles, his face dead blank. A box cutter was in his hand, slicing into his own flesh like he was carving up a piece of meat that didn't belong to him. His arms and thighs were shredded. Blood pooled on the grout, painting grotesque patterns across the floor.

Just as the blade hovered over a major artery, I threw myself at him, wrapping my bare hands right around the sharp steel.

The deep gash it left across my palm healed into an ugly, raised scara permanent physical reminder of that nightmare.

Ever since that day, I kept a spare bottle of Risperidone in my bag. Everywhere I went. And Ronan knew that better than anyone.

Riley's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "Ronan, is this that kind of pill? You should really thank your senior for caring so much about your private life."

Her eyes deliberately dropped, raking over his crotch with a possessive, girlfriend-like entitlement. "Especially since you said you guys are just friends. So sweet of her to worry about your performance."

The floating text exploded.

[YASSS FMC SLAY!!!]

[Tell her!]

They acted like she had just done something heroic. I scrunched my eyebrows, failing to see the hype. Whatever. The meds were delivered, and I needed to get back to the lab.

I turned to leave.

"Wait," Ronan called out, scrambling to his feet. "I'll walk you back."

Maybe the guilt of pushing me away earlier was finally kicking in. A weak attempt at making amends. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Riley's triumphant smirk crash into a hard, sour line.

The comments started rolling again:

[Ugh, I'm so annoyed! What a bitchy side character, she literally just came here to ruin the FMC's vibe!]

[Can she just fuck off already? I can't stand another day of her plotline. Such a pick-me!]

[Don't worry, the main plot point is coming up! The MMC is going to ditch the international competition for the FMC and just stay at this school for his Master's. Then the side chick will go to another school, get bullied by her advisor to the point of suicide, and our main couple will live happily ever after!]

I froze.

My eyes locked onto those glowing words, the breath catching in my throat. Suicide? Me?

Riley jumped up, physically blocking Ronan's path. "Ronan, you promised! You lost the bet, which means you belong to me tonight. You can't just back out now!"

Her tone dripped with implication, setting off another round of howling and whistling from the booth. Ronan stopped dead in his tracks. His face burned crimson as his eyes darted between her and me, torn.

I let out a sharp exhale. "Don't bother. I'll walk myself."

Before I stepped out, I shot him one last look. "Our deal to go to Columbia for grad schoolis that still on?"

My early admission to Columbia was practically a done deal, but Ronan still needed the certificate from the upcoming international art competition to secure his spot. With his raw talent, winning was a cakewalk. But during our sophomore and junior years, his mom had been sick, and he had missed his previous chances.

Honestly, my high school grades were high enough to get me into an Ivy League from the start. I only stayed at this state school to accommodate him. When he found out, he promised we would go to Columbia together for our Master's. I refused to believe he would break that promise.

And I refused to believe that glowing text predicting my miserable, suicidal end.

Ronan met my eyes and gave a solemn, firm nod.

The tight knot in my chest loosened. I let out a breath. Those comments were just unhinged garbage. None of that was going to happen.

For the next few weeks, I buried myself back in the lab, waiting for the official early admission results to post. On the exact day of the competition submission deadline, I specifically texted Ronan to confirm he had turned his portfolio in.

Hours later, my phone buzzed with a simple OK emoji from him.

I let my guard down.

Chapter 4

I had barely turned two pages of my research paper when the glowing text started scrolling across my vision again.

[The MMC's face completely changed when he got the FMC's SOS call, LMAO.]

[Our baby FMC is so smart. Faking a harassment situation is the perfect test.]

[Look how frantic our MMC is! Once they meet up, it's confession time!]

I stared at the words, my stomach dropping. I grabbed my phone and dialed Ronan's number. It rang twice before it was sent straight to voicemail. My grip tightened on the phone.

I called again. And again. Ignored.

The text mocked my pathetic attempts:

[Is the pick-me side chick really still trying to call him about his portfolio?]

[Hilarious. She doesn't even know her place. As if she could affect the main couple's relationship.]

[Does she seriously think she can compete with our FMC? She should just crawl off to Columbia before she dies of a broken heart, HAHAHA.]

I stared at the countdown clock on my laptop screen. With a steady hand, I clicked the final submit button for my fully-funded Ivy League application.

My phone buzzed against the desk. A text from Ronan: "I think staying at our current school for my Master's suits me better."

A cold, sharp laugh slipped past my lips. I tapped his contact, hit Block, and tossed the phone onto my desk.

The clock on my screen flipped past midnight. The competition submission window was officially closed. Just like the glowing text predicted, he hadn't entered.

The next morning, I marched up to Ronan's house and pounded on the front door. I had wasted too much time and energy securing his path to Columbia. Everyone has their limits, and he wasn't going to just back out without looking me in the eye.

But the second the door swung open, I stopped.

Riley was lounging on his living room sofa like she owned the place.

She flashed a sickly sweet smile. "Vera! What are you doing here? Looking for Ronan?"

"I'll go grab him for you." She stood up, fully intending to shout down the hall.

[Our genius baby FMC is triggering the side chick again! LMAO!]

I ignored her. Taking a deep breath to push down the spike of irritation, I strode right past her down the hall. I tapped exactly three times on Ronan's bedroom door, then shoved it open.

Ronan stood there, a t-shirt halfway over his head. He froze, his eyes widening in shock.

Riley gasped behind me, her voice dripping with fake outrage. "Vera! How could you just barge in? Youyou're totally violating his privacy!"

[What a desperate bitch. She just wants to prove she knows the MMC better than the FMC.]

The truth was, his bedroom didn't even have a lock. His mom had removed it years ago out of fear he'd have an episode inside. To avoid breaking his concentration when he painted, I had always entered exactly like this.

I cut straight to the chase. "Ronan, we had a deal about Columbia. What gives you the right to just back out?"

Ronan's gaze darted to the floor. He pulled his shirt down the rest of the way, his jaw tight, but he didn't say a word.

Riley suddenly chimed in, adopting a wounded, trembling voice. "Vera, don't be mad at him. It's my fault. If I hadn't been harassed by those creeps last night, he wouldn't have missed the deadline."

I didn't even look at her. "I wasn't talking to you. Don't flatter yourself."

Riley's eyes went wide, stunned that I was ignoring her little damsel-in-distress act.

Ronan finally snapped his head up, his brow furrowed in defense. "Vera, don't be a bitch to her. It has nothing to do with her."

I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Oh, really? Then why don't you explain why you broke our promise for absolutely no reason?"

I took a step closer, my voice slicing through the room. "Because she was in trouble? If she was getting harassed, she should have called 911, not you."

Ronan's eyes flicked away again, his shoulders stiffening. He knew exactly how pathetic that excuse sounded.

Heavy footsteps thumped down the hall. Ronan's mom appeared in the doorway, looking concerned.

"Vera? What's going on? Why is everyone yelling?"

Chapter 5

Before I could even open my mouth, Riley cut in. "Vera, he has his own plans! You shouldn't tie his future down just because of what you want."

The glowing text in the air went wild.

[Omg omg omg, our FMC is going into full protective-wife mode!]

I locked eyes with Riley, my voice dropping to a freezing calm. "Ronan. Am I tying you down? Did I force you to apply to Columbia?"

Ronan stayed silent for a long beat before finally speaking. "I want to stay here. For me."

My fingernails dug into my palms. The breath caught in my throat like a jagged rock. He didn't even answer my question. He just shoved the knife right into my back.

Again.

Riley let out a mocking little laugh. "Come on, Vera. Stop making him compromise for you. You're ruining his potential."

"He's a genius. Of course he knows what's best for his own future."

Ronan didn't say a word. Just a heavy, silent agreement to everything pouring out of her mouth.

His mom finally spoke up, her expression strained. "Vera, I'm thrilled you got into Columbia. But if Ronan wants to stay here, you need to respect his decision."

"He's not a child anymore. We can't keep bothering you to babysit him all the time. Plus, people are starting to talk you two need to watch your boundaries."

A bucket of ice water crashed down my spine. The chill seeped straight into my bones. She had known about our promise to go to Columbia for months. This wasn't about "not bothering me."

This was her blaming me for holding him back.

The text hovering in the air practically threw a parade:

[LMAO, even the MMC's mom is on the FMC's side now! What a loser!]

[The mother-in-law totally sees that the FMC can cure him way better than the side chick! The side chick is useless now. Look at our cute baby FMC!]

[Seeing the side chick's face turn purple is everything! This is exactly the revenge plot I came for!]

I followed his mom's gaze. Ever since Ronan spoke, she hadn't taken her eyes off Riley. Her eyes were bright, practically shining with desperate hope. Even she saw the special treatment Ronan was giving this girl.

So, without a second thought, she threw me under the bus to protect her son and his new miracle cure.

The fight drained out of my muscles. After over a decade of giving them everything, I was just a useful outsider who had outlived her purpose. Fine. If this was how they treated family, I didn't want them anyway.

I straightened my spine, looking down at the mother and son with a mocking sneer. "Congratulations. You finally got exactly what you wanted."

"From today on, whether Ronan goes crazy and carves himself up, or dies rotting in the street, it has nothing to do with me. I wish you and Ms. Riley a long, miserable life together. Just don't come begging me when this all blows up in your faces."

This house was never going to be my home. All those years of hoping were just pathetic delusions. The second my boots hit the pavement outside their front door, the decision was final.

I pulled out my phone and texted my academic advisor, officially turning down my guaranteed spot at Columbia. Then, I opened a contact I hadn't touched in years. I typed out a quick message