Chapter 1: Viral Proposal

There’s no such thing as true love.
Heck, does true love even exist in the first place?
Or am I just incapable of loving anyone?
Or am I that difficult to be loved?
Argh! I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything about love to judge love. My only knowledge and experience was…
Let me see…
The worst.
My only experience was with him, Gray Flores.
Keyword: was.
He is the worst. Not only is he such a narcissist, but he sees me as nothing more than content for his vlog.
I thought he loved me.
I thought he cared for me.
I thought he cherished me.
But it was all a delusion on my part.
The moment his views in his vlog started going down when we broke up, now he wants me back.
Note: he broke up with me because “I am not on the same level as him.”
He is a famous influencer, and I’m just a humble and average librarian working in a city library.
I’m so mad.
I’m so frustrated.
I’m so done.
“Another glass, miss?”
The bartender offered me a glass which I gladly received. I can feel a buzz like I’m on some kind of cloud nine. The alcohol is starting to get to me. The bartender poured me a shot of Tequila Sunrise and left me to attend to other customers.
I was about to gulp down the shot when suddenly, a stranger took it from my hand. He drank the shot in one gulp. I was shocked and taken aback.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry I thought that was mine. Here.” He handed me a glass and I took a sip.
“This is water.”
“Exactly. You’re clearly drunk right now.”
“Says the guy who’s practically red from being drunk.” He’s drunk too, especially since I noticed an insane amount of bottles of alcohol beside him.
“I’m just tipsy.” He denied it.
“Me too.” I went along with him
I stared at the stranger. He was handsome in a rugged, "I spend too much time outdoors" kind of way, with hair that looked like he’d tried to comb it with his fingers and lost. But he was also definitely more than "tipsy." He was vibrating with a nervous energy that matched my own simmering rage.

"I'm Juliel," I said, for no reason other than the alcohol making my filter disintegrate.

"Renzo," he replied, leaning heavily against the mahogany bar. "And Juliel, you should stop. The room is spinning for you, isn't it?"

"Only a little. It makes the world look like a watercolor painting. Much better than the high-definition nightmare I usually live in."

I looked back at my empty shot glass. My mind drifted back to Gray Flores. That morning, he’d posted a "Life Update" video. “Why I had to let her go: Growth vs. Comfort.” I wasn't a person to him; I was a cautionary tale for his three million followers. A "humble librarian" who didn't fit the "aesthetic" of a fitness mogul.

"You have that look," Renzo said, interrupting my spiral.

"What look?"

"The 'I’m imagining my ex-partner falling into a pit of cacti' look. I’m intimately familiar with it." He gestured to the graveyard of beer bottles in front of him. "My ex, Roxy, is currently drafting a 'Closing Argument' for our relationship. She’s a lawyer. She doesn't just break up with you; she seeks a summary judgment to prove you were the problem all along."

"At least she doesn't use a ring light to film your arguments," I muttered.

We sat in a brief, companionable silence, two victims of modern romance shipwrecked on the shores of a dimly lit dive bar. I felt a weird kinship with him. He was a landscape architect—someone who built things to last—while I preserved stories. We were both out of place in a world of viral trends and legal briefs.

Then, the air in the room changed.

I felt it before I saw it. That prickly sensation on the back of my neck that usually meant Gray was nearby, and someone was holding a camera.

"Oh no," I whispered, sliding down into my barstool.

"What?" Renzo asked, his eyes widening.

"Twelve o'clock. Neon tracksuit. Peroxide hair. That’s Gray."

I peeked over the counter. Gray was strutting into the bar, followed by a scrawny kid holding a gimbal stabilizer. He was "vlogging the confrontation." He’d been hounding me for a "reunion collab" because his engagement numbers had tanked after the fans realized he was a jerk.

"Wait," Renzo hissed, his face turning pale. "Look at six o'clock. The woman in the power suit with the briefcase? That’s Roxy. Why is she here? This bar is way below her billable hours."

We were trapped. Gray was coming from the front entrance, radiating "main character energy," and Roxy was approaching from the patio, likely carrying a deposition.

"Juliel," Renzo said, his voice dropping an octave. He looked frantic. "She’s going to serve me with papers. I know it. She wants to sue me for 'emotional negligence' just to prove she can."

"And Gray is going to try to film me crying so he can put a 'Redemption Arc' thumbnail on his next video," I panicked. My heart hammered against my ribs. I hated being the center of attention. I was a librarian; I lived for the quiet, the shadows, the Dewey Decimal System.

"We need a distraction," I said, my brain clouded by the Tequila Sunrise but fueled by pure, unadulterated desperation. "A big one."

"A diversion," Renzo agreed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

I blinked. "Are you going to propose to me?"

"No! God, no. I mean, you’re lovely, but I don’t know your last name. This is Roxy’s ring. I was supposed to return it to the jeweler months ago, but I kept forgetting. It’s been sitting in my pocket like a cursed relic."

I looked at the ring, then at Gray, who was now only ten feet away, adjusting his hair in the camera lens. He caught my eye and smirked—that practiced, "I’m about to be a hero" smirk.

"He thinks he owns me," I whispered, the anger finally eclipsing the fear.

"And she thinks she can litigate my soul," Renzo muttered, watching Roxy march toward us with a manila folder.

We looked at each other. It was a silent agreement born of mutual trauma and a very high blood-alcohol content.

"Do it," I said.

"What?"

"The distraction. Give them something they can't 'rebrand' or 'litigate.' Give them a total system failure."

Renzo didn't hesitate. Maybe it was the luckless streak he’d been on, or maybe he just really hated that lawyer. He slid off his stool, his knees hitting the sticky bar floor with a thud that sounded painful.

The entire bar went silent. Even the music seemed to dip.

"Juliel Cortez," Renzo shouted. His voice was a bit too loud, a bit too theatrical, but he had the eyes of a man jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

Gray stopped dead in his tracks. The cameraman pivoted, the red light on the lens blinking like a warning signal. Roxy froze, her hand halfway into her briefcase, her mouth agape.

Renzo flipped the velvet box open. Inside sat a diamond so large it looked like a decorative paperweight.

"Renzo?" I squeaked, my face heating up to a temperature that could melt lead.

"Juliel," he said, grabbing my hand. His palms were sweaty, and he was shaking, but he leaned into it. "I know we’ve only been together for a short time. I know people say we’re moving too fast. But after the... the hollow relationships of our past..." He threw a pointed look at Roxy. "...I realized that I don't want to spend another second without you as my wife."

Gray stepped forward, his face contorting. "Wait, what? Who is this guy? Juliel, is this a joke?"

"It’s not a joke, Gray!" I shouted, finding my voice. I leaned over and cupped Renzo’s face, playing the part of the overwhelmed lover. "It’s real! It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt!"

"Is this why you didn't answer my texts about the 'Breakup Reflection' video?" Gray demanded, his ego visibly bruising.

"She was too busy building a life with a real man," Renzo added, getting bolder. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading for me to end this before he fainted. "Juliel, will you make me the luckiest landscape architect in the tri-state area? Will you marry me?"

I looked at Gray’s stunned face. I looked at Roxy, who looked like she’d just lost a case to a golden retriever. The petty satisfaction was a better high than the tequila.

"Yes!" I yelled. "A thousand times, yes!"

Renzo slid the ring onto my finger. It was three sizes too big and nearly slid off, but I clenched my fist.

The bar erupted. People who didn't know us started cheering. Someone started chanting "Speech! Speech!" The cameraman, sensing a viral moment that surpassed Gray’s ego, swung the camera away from the influencer and focused entirely on us.

"Get that!" I heard someone yell. "That’s the 'Tequila Proposal' guy! Tag the city's 'Seen' page!"

Gray looked like he’d been slapped with a wet fish. Roxy just turned on her heel and walked out, defeated by a romantic gesture she couldn't cross-examine.

Renzo stood up, his face as red as a tomato. He leaned in close to my ear, his breath smelling of hops and desperation. "They’re leaving," he whispered. "We did it."

"We did," I whispered back, staring at the giant rock in my hand. "Now, how do we get out of here before the adrenaline wears off?"

"We walk out like a happy couple," he said, tucking my arm into his.

I woke up the next morning with a headache that felt like a tiny construction crew was jackhammering my sinuses. I groaned, rolling over in my bed, memories of the night before flickering like a broken film reel.

The bar. The stranger. The ring.

"Oh, no," I moaned into my pillow. "It was a dream. It had to be a dream."

I lifted my left hand. The diamond caught the morning sunlight, sending a blinding refraction across my bedroom wall.

"Not a dream."

I reached for my phone, which was vibrating so violently that it was vibrating off the nightstand. I had 412 notifications.

I opened Instablam. The first thing I saw was a video with 2.4 million views. The caption read: "TRUE LOVE ISN'T DEAD: Local Librarian and Architect's Shocking Bar Proposal Goes Viral!"

Underneath, there were thousands of comments. @BookWorm99: OMG that’s my librarian! She’s so shy, I can’t believe he did this! @LandscapeLover: He’s so brave! Look at his face! That’s pure devotion.

But the worst part wasn't the strangers. I opened my family group chat.

Mom: JULIEL! Why didn't you tell us about Renzo? He's a Scott? From the Scott Landscaping family? Your father and I are crying!
Aunt Maria: We already called the parish! Father Mike has a slot open in three weeks before he goes on his retreat. We’re coming over at noon to look at dresses!
Dad: Finally, a man with a real job. Welcome to the family, Renzo! See you at the engagement brunch today!

I stared at the screen in horror. Three weeks? Engagement brunch?

My phone rang. An unknown number. I answered it with a trembling "Hello?"

"Juliel?" It was Renzo. He sounded like he was hyperventilating. "My mother just bought a wedding planner. She’s already picked out the centerpieces. She says if I break this girl’s heart, she’s taking me out of the will."

"Renzo, my family thinks we’re getting married in twenty-one days," I whispered.

"I know," he groaned. "I think... I think we might have over-performed."

"What do we do?"

"I'm outside your apartment," he said. "We need to talk. And also, I think Gray is filming a 'Reaction Video' on your sidewalk."

I sat up, clutching my sheets. My cautious, risk-averse life had just collided with a high-speed train of viral fame and parental expectations.

"Come up," I said. "And bring more water."