A month after my boyfriend “went missing,” I unexpectedly bumped into him at a bar.
He was completely unharmed, bragging to his friends. “My girlfriend is way too clingy, so I needed to teach her a lesson. Plus, my best bro Keegan is playing along.”
I didn’t burst into tears, nor did I have a meltdown. Instead, I pretended I hadn’t seen or heard a thing and quietly went home.
When Beckham called Keegan for an update, I was straddling Keegan’s lap. “Focus, honey. Don’t get distracted.”
Keegan hung up the phone immediately.
As for Beckham? Let him stay missing—forever missing from my world.
Faked Disappearance, Real Love’s End Chapter 1
Holly Baxter’s POV
After a whole month, I finally laid eyes on my “missing” boyfriend, Beckham.
He was hanging out with Kiara and two other friends.
“Dude, you’re here? I thought you were still ‘missing,'” one of his friends said with a laugh.
Beckham waved it off dismissively. “Yeah, I needed a break. Holly was getting way too annoying. I figured I should give her some time to think about it.”
He painted me as the villain of the story, making himself out to be the innocent victim.
Since he “disappeared,” I had spent my days in tears, trying everything to find him, terrified for his life.
And all of that, in his eyes, was just me being “too clingy.”
Kiara chimed in, “It was my idea. Works pretty well, doesn’t it?”
Beckham gave her a doting smile and gently squeezed her arm.
“But isn’t this taking it a bit too far?” another friend asked. “What if someone finds out?”
“Don’t worry,” Beckham replied. “Keegan’s got it handled. He’s been comforting Holly and stopping her from going to the cops. He’s a solid bro.”
At the mention of Keegan’s name, all the friends nodded.
It was a known fact—he was Mr. Reliable.
Kiara scoffed. “Seriously, Holly is so clueless she’ll never figure it out. She’s probably still crying into her pillow, thinking he’s dead.”
I waited for Beckham to defend me, but he didn’t.
Instead, he murmured to Kiara, “Don’t be so mean, babe. You’re too smart to waste your breath on her.” With that, he gently stroked Kiara’s hair.
Beneath the table, Beckham’s hand rested on Kiara’s thigh.
A friend asked, “When are you coming back and ending this so-called ‘disappearance’?”
Beckham took a large gulp of his drink. “I’m waiting for her to completely break down. That’s when I’ll make my grand entrance.”
I pressed myself against the cold wall, forcing myself to keep watching. Every single detail was searing itself into my memory.
The naked truth was right in front of me: the man I loved and the friends I trusted had conspired to punish me.
Faked Disappearance, Real Love’s End Chapter 2
Holly Baxter’s POV
I changed my plans. I didn’t go to the police; instead, I walked to a convenience store and bought gummy bears and soda. I deserved good things, some pure comfort, not something wrapped in deceit.
I would act like nothing happened.
When I finally got home, the lights were off. Keegan usually left a lamp on. I slipped off my shoes—suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind. The familiar scent of cologne.
My body stiffened.
“Keegan? Have you been drinking tonight?”
He let out a low hum, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Holly, where have you been all day? I called you, why didn’t you answer?”
I forced myself to relax. “Sorry, I had my phone on silent.”
He turned me around. “Any news? About Beckham?”
I lowered my eyes. “No, nothing. Still no news.”
He pulled me closer, burying his face in my hair.
Too close. This wasn’t how friends hugged.
Then, the tip of his tongue lightly brushed against my earlobe.
Keegan Carlson. The man Beckham had assigned to “calm” me down.
While Beckham was “away,” he played the role of the considerate friend.
Beckham was likely completely oblivious to Keegan’s true intentions. He thought Keegan was just a loyal buddy, dutifully executing his part in the prank. Beckham’s arrogance blinded him to the betrayal coming from his own brother in arms.
He had completely underestimated Keegan.
Keegan’s intimate gestures, lingering touches, and whispered comforts all masked a much more selfish motive. His closeness wasn’t genuine friendship; it was calculated. His intentions were far from noble.
His method of “comforting” crossed way over the boundaries of friendship.
Faked Disappearance, Real Love’s End Chapter 3
Holly Baxter’s POV
Keegan came from a prestigious family, even wealthier than Beckham’s.
To outsiders, Keegan was reserved and unapproachable. I used to think so too—distant, polite, Beckham’s friend, and nothing more.
After college, I got a graphic design job at a mid-sized company. It turned out the company was actually a subsidiary of Keegan’s family conglomerate. Legally speaking, he was my boss.
About a month before Beckham disappeared, our dynamic shifted.
When I got the news of Beckham’s disappearance, I was devastated. Keegan, acting guilty for his supposed role in it, offered to take care of me.
“He went missing while hiking with me. I feel incredibly guilty,” he had said.
“Beckham would want me to do this,” he whispered. “He’d want to make sure you weren’t alone.” His kindness felt like a lifeline, bringing me immense comfort during my agonizing pain.
His care was incredibly meticulous. He prepared every meal and even anticipated my needs.
“Keegan, you don’t have to do all this. I can manage.”
I assured him that I didn’t blame him for Beckham’s disappearance. I was still defending Beckham, deeply trapped in my own delusions.
One morning, I caught him folding my laundry—including my underwear.
I instantly blushed.
“Keegan, stop! You don’t need to do that!”
He looked up, his expression entirely serious. “I just wanted to help. I do laundry all the time. Is there anything else you need help with?”
I shook my head. “No, Keegan, I’ve got it.”
On the night he was supposed to leave, I woke up feeling thirsty. Passing by the guest room, I noticed a sliver of light spilling from the crack of the door. I tiptoed closer and peeked inside.
Keegan was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless. His back was to me, his muscles clearly defined. In his hands, he held a worn T-shirt of mine—the one I used to sleep in. He pressed the shirt to his face and took a deep breath. He gripped it tightly, almost with a sense of devout reverence.
His whole body was tense, every muscle pulled taut. The veins on his forearms bulged, tracing sharp lines beneath his skin. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed as he clutched the fabric.
I let out a soft gasp. My foot had bumped against a loose floorboard.
He whipped around. His usually calm and composed eyes were wide open, dark and brooding, radiating a raw, feral intensity.
A gaze brimming with raw lust locked onto mine.