Chapter 1My boyfriend just gambled me away.
The chat explodes.
[CONGRATS HARRIS—YOU JUST WON YOURSELF A 200-LB GIRLFRIEND!]
"Holy SHIT. Dude won an actual whale."
Someone throws down ten grand betting I won't show tomorrow night.
Tyler—my EX now—bets against me. "Nothing personal, babe."
Harris, the guy who "won" me? Says nothing.
Then campus queen bee Sloane tags me:
"Still coming tomorrow, Wren?"
I stare at my phone and grin.
These idoits don't know I dropped a hundred pounds for this.
I bet three grand—on myself.
One message:
"A bet's a bet."
Tomorrow night? They're gonna fucking CRY.
---
A HUNDRED PEOPLE IN THE CHAT. MESSAGES FLYING.
"Dude rolled a six. Tyler just got wrecked."
"Wrecked? More like dodged a fucking tank. Lucky bastard."
"@Harris yo bro where's your acceptance speech??"
Then—crash—a photo drops.
My sophomore year. Sports day.
198 pounds crammed into a uniform ready to explode. Sitting in the back, head down, stuffing my face with bread.
Blurry shot, but you can't miss it—I was huge.
The guy who posted it?
Tyler Bennett.
My boyfriend.
One minute ago he was texting me:
"Baby, relax. Just bros messing around."
"Lost a game. Gave Harris your number for some couple thing. Don't stress."
I didn't answer.
The chat was already going insane.
"Holy shit—Harris gonna need a forklift tomorrow."
"Couple challenge? Princess carry? Bro's gonna need a hospital."
"Nah, make it 'toss a whale'—better odds."
Tyler drops a laughing emoji.
"Yo, chill. Don't make her cry."
Like he's defending me.
Really just shoving my face in the dirt.
My hands went ice cold.
We'd been together eleven months.
Couldn't sleep? I stayed up all night gaming with him.
Lost a match? I talked him down from 3 AM till sunrise.
Freaking out before exams? I sent him voice messages every single day.
I even put Ocean City University first on my list.
Because he said:
"Wren, let's go to the same school."
"First day, I'm bringing you flowers."
And now—day before school—he gambles me away like a poker chip.
Someone opens a bet.
[WILL WREN CARTER SHOW UP TOMORROW NIGHT?]
Money piling up.
Over thirty grand betting I won't show.
Tyler drops ten thousand.
"No way she comes."
"Girl's soft. Say two words and she's crying."
I actually laughed.
So he knew I'd cry.
And still brought a hundred people to watch.
Then a new message pops up.
Sloane Everhart: "Guys, stop being mean. Being big is fine. It's about the heart."
Campus queen. Posted beach pics last week—white dress, gorgeous hair, comments going crazy.
She tags me.
"You're still coming tomorrow, right Wren?"
Playing hero.
Then adds:
"No one's trying to hurt you. Don't feel bad about how you look."
Chat floods with "Sloane's so sweet."
I don't reply.
Instead, I click the betting link.
Three thousand dollars.
On myself showing up.
Chat goes dead quiet. Then explodes with question marks.
Tyler texts me.
"Are you crazy??"
"They're gonna tear you apart. Why would you even show up??"
I look in the mirror.
Long hair falling over my shoulders. Waist tiny enough to wrap one hand around.
Face that used to hide under fat? Now sharp. Stunning. Almost dangerous.
Last two months, guys asked for my number twenty-seven times—malls, trains, gyms.
Some agent chased me for half an hour asking me to model.
Tyler doesn't know any of this.
Because I was saving it all for the day we finally met.
Guess he doesn't get that surprise anymore.
I wipe away the tear that almost fell.
Drop four words in the chat.
"A bet's a bet."
Chapter 2
Tyler's calling.
I don't pick up.
He tries three more times. Finally—voice messages.
"Wren, stop being such a baby."
"That's the game. I lost. You're with Harris now. Three tasks tomorrow and you're done."
"We're all classmates. Don't embarrass me like this."
I actually laughed.
He tossed me away like garbage and now I'm embarrassing him?
I click the group files.
The "couple tasks." Three of them.
One: Feed each other cake. In front of everyone.
Two: Hold hands. Take a photo. Post it in the freshman chat.
Three: Guy princess-carries the girl. Ten seconds.
Chat's losing it.
"Who thought of number three? That's actual murder."
"Dude's six-two and he still can't carry two hundred pounds."
"He lost a game. Now he's gonna lose his back."
Harris—the guy who "won" me—hasn't said a single word this whole time.
Black profile pic. Empty feed.
But everyone's clearly scared of him.
They'll destroy me all day. But when they tag him? Just jokes. Nobody pushes.
I'm about to leave when Mia video-calls.
She connects and immediately explodes.
"Wren, did Tyler's brain fall out or what??"
"He gambled you away like you're a freaking object? What is this, pass the trash??"
I freeze.
"How do you know?"
"Screenshots are everywhere! Our whole high school group saw!"
Mia's pacing, furious.
"The guy who posted your photo? I memorized his name. First week of school I'm jumping him. You're on lookout."
I can't help smiling a little.
She sees me smile and gets even more upset.
"So what are you doing? Gonna post a current photo and wreck them?"
"No photo."
"Why not?"
I open my closet. Look at the dresses hanging inside.
"Photos don't matter."
Photoshop. Fake pics. Stolen images.
If they don't want to believe it, they'll find a hundred excuses.
I want them to see me in person.
Watch them choke on their words.
Mia gets it immediately. Eyes go bright.
"You're actually going?"
"Already bet three grand."
"Then you better GO."
She hits the table.
"And you're showing up so gorgeous they forget how to talk."
"Tyler bet ten grand you wouldn't show? Take his money first. Then ruin him."
Right then—knock on my door.
Mom walks in with fruit.
She sees the dress on my bed. Stops.
"Party tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
She hesitates. Asks carefully: "Meeting that boy from online?"
I go quiet.
For Tyler, I spent a whole year losing weight.
Worst days? I ate a few leaves. That's it. Stomach hurt so bad at night I had to sleep with a heating pad.
Then my health crashed. Nutritionist made me stop.
That's when I switched—real food, workouts, weights.
Two hundred pounds.
One-seventy.
One-thirty.
Finally—ninety-nine pounds.
Mom bought me new clothes seven times.
Watched me step on the scale hundreds of times—eyes red but refusing to cry.
She knows how much I wanted tomorrow.
But she doesn't know the dream's already dead.
Mom sets down the fruit.
Before leaving, she touches my head.
"Wren, whatever anyone says—thin or not, pretty or not—you're always my baby."
Door closes. My nose stings.
But then my phone buzzes.
Harris finally appears in the chat.
He ignores everyone. Drops one line.
"She's not a bet."
Chat goes silent.
Few seconds later, he tags me.
"Don't wanna come tomorrow? Then don't."
Tyler jumps in immediately.
"Bro, it's just a game. Relax."
Harris doesn't answer him.
And me? I stare at those four words—"She's not a bet"—and click his profile for the first time.
Don't know why.
But this guy feels... familiar.
Chapter 3
I met Tyler playing some stupid battle game.
Back then I was a senior. Two hundred pounds.
Guys at school called me "walk-in freezer." Girls didn't say it to my face—they'd just whisper when I walked by, then giggle.
Gym class one day. Half-mile run. I finished dead last, couldn't breathe.
Guy I liked was waiting at the end, jumped back like I had a disease.
"Don't fall on me."
"You'd flatten someone. Like a truck."
Everyone cracked up.
That night I just sat in the game, didn't talk to anyone.
Tyler friended me then, heard my voice and kept asking.
"How's your voice so pretty? You do voiceovers or something?"
We played together every night after that. He'd stick up for me when teammates were assholes.
"It's just a game. Why're you yelling at her?"
When I was upset, he'd stay up talking.
"Being big isn't ugly. It's adorable."
"Wren, I don't care how you look. I like you."
I actually believed him. First time I ever thought maybe someone could like me.
Then six months ago he found my old profile linked to my game account—had my school name, my real info.
Everything changed. Used to text me all day, suddenly just "morning" and "night."
Asked him what was up. Said he was stressed about exams.
Total lie. He saw my pictures.
But he didn't break up with me—because I helped him rank up, made him study notes, listened when he freaked out. Didn't wanna lose his free therapist.
So he waited till right before school, rolled some dice, handed me off like I was nothing.
Phone rings again. I answer this time.
Tyler sounds annoyed.
"Why're you acting all buddy-buddy with Harris in the chat?"
"He said one thing. That's it."
"Guys like him don't defend random girls."
Tyler laughs—cold.
"Your voice being cute doesn't mean you can get him. Harris has way higher standards than me. You show up, you're just gonna humiliate yourself."
I wait two seconds.
"So... I'm not good enough for you?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then why'd you bet ten grand I wouldn't come?"
He goes quiet. Then explodes.
"Fine. You wanna hear the truth?"
"Wren, I saw what you look like."
"Online was fine. Real life? Different story."
"Don't get mad. Guys want hot girls. That's normal."
"At least I'm not blocking you. Be grateful."
My chest goes completely cold.
"Wow. You're so nice."
He misses my tone completely, softens up.
"Just skip tomorrow. I'll give you back the three grand."
"Sloane's gonna be there. You stand next to her, you'll feel like crap."
I ask real slow: "You two know each other well?"
Total silence.
"Stop overthinking. Nothing's going on with us."
I smile.
Tomorrow's gonna be way more interesting than I thought.
