Chapter 1: Remember my name
Chapter Text
The room smelled like burned coffee and floor polish, like tension and last-minute orders. Lucy sat stiff-backed in a cheap plastic chair, fingers laced tightly in her lap as she waited for the briefing to begin.
She hadn’t known why Sergeant Grey had pulled her from her regular shift. Only that he’d said the words “federal joint task force” and “undercover,” and something in her had sat up and listened. Something hungry.
She needed the distraction. Needed something that wasn’t… Tim. Wasn’t the empty apartment. Wasn’t her own spiraling thoughts at 2 a.m.
So, of course, she said yes.
What she didn’t expect—what stopped her heart cold—was the person who walked in to lead the briefing.
Nyla Harper.
Hair braided tight and sleek, dark blazer over a navy tee, expression unreadable as ever. But Lucy would’ve recognized her silhouette in a blackout.
Nyla didn’t look at her. Not once.
Lucy sat very, very still. Like prey. Like if she moved too much, the memory would catch fire in her chest and she’d have to leave.
“Alright,” Nyla said, dropping a thick case file onto the table. “You’re all here because someone upstairs thinks you’re good at pretending to be someone else. For the next eight weeks, you’ll be embedded in a long-term narcotics op. Your cover story is that you’re a married couple. You’ll be living together, eating together, working together, sleeping—”
She paused, just a breath too long.
Lucy felt it. Like a blade under the skin.
“—in the same house. The suspect is Adrien Morales. He trusts couples. Domestic stability makes him feel in control. We’re going to use that.”
Someone snorted. One of the other officers. “Domestic stability? Sounds like hell.”
Nyla’s jaw ticked. “It will be. But if you can pull this off, we take down one of the biggest suppliers of fentanyl in LA County.”
She passed out the files, one by one. When she got to Lucy, their fingers brushed for half a second.
Neither of them looked up.
---
The fake house was in Silver Lake. Tucked between a café that sold turmeric lattes and a yoga studio with an emotional support peacock.
Of course it was.
Lucy followed Nyla through the front door carrying two bags—one filled with real clothes, one filled with cover clothes. She didn’t know which weighed more.
“Second bedroom’s yours,” Nyla said over her shoulder. “For now.”
“Right,” Lucy muttered.
The air between them crackled. Not quite hostile. Just… full of things unspoken. Unfinished. Coiled tight like a spring.
Lucy dumped her bag on the bed and wandered the house while Nyla unpacked. It wasn’t huge, but it was cozy. Hardwood floors. Open kitchen. A slightly crooked picture of an ocean hanging above the couch.
Their names in the op were "Lavender & Maya Fields." Married three years. Started a dispensary business after leaving LAPD. Gave it up to “focus on each other.” Gag.
Lucy opened the fridge. Empty except for a few sad cans of LaCroix and a jar of olives. She shut it and turned,
to find Nyla leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You okay?” Nyla asked.
Lucy’s throat tightened. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? You haven’t looked me in the eye since the briefing.”
“I’m just focused.”
Nyla arched a brow, slowly. “On what?”
Lucy stepped past her. “On not blowing the op before it even starts.”
The silence behind her stretched. When she glanced back, Nyla was still watching her, like she could see past her She always had.
---
That night, Lucy couldn’t sleep.
She lay on the too-soft mattress staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sound of Nyla brushing her teeth in the master bath. She hated that she could still recognize her footsteps.
The sound of running water stopped. Footsteps approached. Lucy closed her eyes.
The door creaked open.
“You awake?” Nyla’s voice was soft. Careful.
Lucy turned her head. “Yeah.”
A beat.
“You did good today.”
Lucy blinked. “We didn't even do anything today."
Nyla stood in the doorway like she didn’t know whether to leave or come closer. Like this whole house was a trap.
“I meant it,” Nyla said. “We’re lucky to have you.”
Something in Lucy twisted.
“You mean that before or after you requested me for the op?” she asked.
Nyla didn’t answer.
And that silence, that damned silence—said everything.
Chapter 2: Trust
Summary:
Nyla’s jaw flexed. Her arms tightened across her chest. “This isn’t the time—”
“Then when?” Lucy demanded, stepping closer. “When we’re being shot at? When Morales decides we’re not convincing enough? When one of us dies in a basement somewhere with a wire strapped to our chest? Because that’s where this ends, right? With more silence.”
Chapter Text
Nyla didn’t answer.
And that silence—that goddamn silence—burned hotter than any slap Lucy had ever taken.
She sat on the edge of the bed, sheets still tangled around her legs, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles blanched. “You knew it would be me, didn’t you?”
Nyla leaned against the bedroom doorway, arms folded, mouth flat. Her features unreadable in the half-light. “I requested the best.”
Lucy scoffed, a bitter, disbelieving sound. “Bullshit. Don’t lie to me—not now. Not here.”
“It’s not a lie.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Lucy stood, slowly, like her body was filled with something volcanic. “Because Harper doesn’t do lies. She just walks away from people without a word and calls it ‘strategy.’”
Nyla’s jaw flexed. Her arms tightened across her chest. “This isn’t the time—”
“Then when?” Lucy demanded, stepping closer. “When we’re being shot at? When Morales decides we’re not convincing enough? When one of us dies in a basement somewhere with a wire strapped to our chest? Because that’s where this ends, right? With more silence.”
Nyla’s voice hardened. “That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” Lucy snapped. “None of this is. I had a rhythm. A life. I was okay again. And then you show up out of nowhere and drag me back into your mess. You didn’t even ask.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
Lucy laughed, sharp and dry. “Wow. Still that arrogant.”
“You still think everything is about you.”
Lucy went still. Her breath hitched.
“That’s rich,” she said, quieter now, more dangerous. “Coming from the woman who vanished without a goddamn explanation. You don’t get to paint me as selfish when you decided for both of us that we were done.”
Nyla’s mouth opened, then closed again.
“I did what I had to,” she finally said.
“No. You ran.”
Nyla stepped forward now, voice low and steady but barely holding together. “Because if I stayed, I would’ve asked you to come with me. And you would’ve said yes. You always said yes. And one day you would’ve looked at me and realized I cost you everything.”
“You think I would’ve resented you?”
“I know you would have.”
Lucy shook her head slowly, as if trying to unhear it. “I wouldn’t have—”
“Yes, you would have,” Nyla interrupted, and for the first time, her voice cracked. “You had a future. You had something solid. I didn’t want to be the reason you burned it all down.”
Lucy stared at her for a long time. Her throat was tight. “You didn’t protect me, Nyla. You broke me.”
The silence that followed was heavier than anything they’d said. They stood there in the dim bedroom, shadows of who they were and who they used to be.
Finally, Nyla murmured, “We should get some sleep.”
Lucy didn’t answer.
Nyla didn’t wait.
She turned and walked away. Again.
---
The next morning was colder than the air conditioning.
They moved around each other like strangers—polite, measured, avoidant.
Lucy made eggs, Nyla made coffee. They didn’t speak. The only thing domestic about them was the fake wedding rings they both pretended not to look at.
When the doorbell rang, Lucy was the one to answer it.
On the front mat sat a plain white box, sealed with red tape.
Nyla was behind her instantly.
Lucy peeled the lid back and found the burner phone inside—already buzzing. Alongside it: a diamond tennis bracelet and a note written in elegant, looping script.
Dinner. Friday. Chateau Du Soleil. Bring your wife. Wear red.
Lucy looked over her shoulder. “You think they’re watching already?”
“Probably,” Nyla said.
Lucy pulled the bracelet from its box, the stones catching the morning light. “It’s beautiful,” she muttered. Then, without looking up, “You ever get me anything like this?”
Nyla’s voice was flat. “So are body bags. Don’t give them a reason to order one.”
Lucy flinched.
---
They didn’t speak much over the next three days.
Not about anything real.
They played house. They smiled in front of surveillance. They walked the neighborhood together, holding hands for anyone who might be watching. Nyla made dinner; Lucy cleaned up. The distance between them felt like a carefully negotiated ceasefire.
But the little things hurt worse than the silence.
The way Nyla stood a little too close when she helped zip up Lucy’s dress Friday night.
The way Lucy flinched at how familiar it felt.
The way Nyla paused—just for a moment—when Lucy whispered, “Stop doing that,” and didn’t say a word in return.
They drove to Chateau Du Soleil in silence.
Lucy stared out the window. Nyla gripped the wheel like it might shatter in her hands.
---
Dinner was smooth.
Too smooth.
Morales smiled too much. His laugh was too loud. His eyes too precise. He watched Nyla like she was a threat and Lucy like she was a prize.
His date—a woman named Dahlia with eyes like scalpels—didn’t speak much, but when she did, she always looked at Lucy. As if she knew something Lucy didn’t.
“You two have a beautiful energy,” Morales said, swirling his wine. “How long?”
“Three years,” Lucy replied with an easy, trained smile. “Since the dispensary raid in Silver Lake.”
“Ah. Love and weed,” Morales laughed. “America.”
Everyone chuckled.
Except Dahlia.
She kept staring.
Later, as they walked to the car, Lucy murmured, “She didn’t buy it.”
Nyla gave a short nod. “She’s dangerous.”
“You think she’s sleeping with Morales?”
“No. She’s watching him the same way she was watching you.”
Lucy blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means you made her nervous.”
Lucy didn’t know if that was a compliment or a warning.
---
They got home close to midnight.
Lucy peeled her heels off and dropped onto the couch like her bones had turned to dust. “Rich criminals are exhausting.”
Nyla placed her clutch on the table, standing stiff. “At least we passed.”
“You think that was the test?”
Nyla didn’t answer.
Lucy exhaled through her nose. “Why did you request me?”
“We’ve already had this talk.”
“No. You danced around it. I want the truth. Why me?”
Nyla folded her arms. “You were the best option.”
“I’m not an option, Nyla. I’m not a promotion or a chess piece. I’m a person. One you—” Lucy’s voice faltered. “Or did I just imagine that part?”
Nyla said nothing.
Lucy stood, stepping toward her. “Say it.”
“Lucy—”
“Say it, damn it. Just so I know I’m not losing my mind.”
Nyla’s eyes finally lifted to hers, and for the first time in a long time, her defenses fell. Her voice was quieter than Lucy expected.
“I loved you,” she said. “And I still do.”
The room felt too still. Too open. Like the air had been pulled out of it.
Lucy didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
A moment passed.
Then—
Ping.
The burner phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
Nyla picked it up.
We see you. You’re doing well. Don’t disappoint us.
That was all.
Nyla locked the screen and set it down again.
Lucy crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “So that’s how this works now? We dance around like dolls until someone behind a screen decides to wind us up again?”
Nyla didn’t answer.
Lucy’s voice softened, almost trembling. “Do you trust me?”
Nyla turned to her. “With everything.”
Lucy stared at her for a long time. Her voice was a whisper. “Then don’t lie to me anymore.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Lucy said. “Every time you look at me like that. Like you still love me. And then pretend it’s not killing you.”
Nyla opened her mouth—then shut it. Her jaw tightened.
“You think this isn’t killing me?” she said finally.
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Lucy murmured.
Silence. Heavy. Wounded.
Then—
Another ping.
They both turned to the phone.
But this time, the message wasn’t from Morales.
It was from an unknown number.
DO YOU THINK SHE’S STILL ON YOUR SIDE?
Lucy stared at it. Her heart kicked in her chest.
A second message arrived.
BE CAREFUL WHO YOU LET BACK IN.
Lucy looked at Nyla.
Nyla hadn’t noticed. She was still pacing near the window, muttering something under her breath.
Lucy didn’t say anything.
She just stood there, eyes locked on the glowing phone screen, her pulse thudding louder than the silence.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t show the message.
Didn’t trust herself to.
Notes:
Nylucy doomed??
Chapter 3: Loml
Summary:
Lucy took Nyla’s hand automatically as they entered. She didn’t even think about it. Just muscle memory from a life they didn’t live anymore.
Nyla’s fingers curled around hers without hesitation.
Notes:
I may need some suggestions on where this is going...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lucy woke to the sound of coffee brewing and the dull ache of silence.
Nyla was in the kitchen, already dressed—black jeans, shoulder holster beneath her hoodie, expression unreadable. She moved with calm precision, like nothing had happened the night before.
Like she hadn’t said I loved you. And I still do.
Lucy didn’t bring it up. She couldn’t. Her skin still buzzed with the weight of it, but her mouth stayed shut.
The words sat between them like something dangerous. Fragile. Untouchable.
Nyla didn’t look at her when she handed her a mug. “Eat something. Morales is sending someone by with a new task.”
Lucy sipped the coffee and watched Nyla over the rim of her cup. “Did he say what kind of task?”
“No. Just that it’s a ‘trust exercise.’” Nyla’s voice was flat. “Which probably means bullshit.”
“Or a test.”
“Or a trap.”
They ate toast in silence. Lucy peeled the crusts off hers and didn’t know why she was doing it. Nyla watched but said nothing.
---
At 10:34 a.m., the doorbell rang.
Nyla opened it while Lucy hovered by the kitchen archway. A man in a mechanic’s jumpsuit stood on the porch, holding a package the size of a shoebox. No greeting, no ID, no words. Just handed it over and left.
Lucy watched from the hall. “Friendly.”
Nyla closed the door behind her, locked it, then set the box on the dining table.
Inside was a burner phone and a folded note with looping cursive.
Today — 3PM — Red Oak Country Club. Charity auction. Bring your wife. Play nice. Smile for the cameras.
P.S. Wear the bracelet.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Of course he wants us to smile.”
Nyla held up the diamond bracelet from earlier in the week. “You gonna wear it?”
Lucy hesitated. “Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
“No,” Lucy said, taking it and snapping the clasp closed. “Not anymore.”
---
Getting ready felt like suiting up for battle.
Lucy stood in front of the mirror in a sleeveless navy-blue dress Morales’ people had sent. She hated that it fit perfectly. Hated that she looked like she belonged in it. Hated more that Nyla stood behind her, adjusting the angle of her necklace like it meant something.
“Don’t,” Lucy said softly, brushing her hand away.
Nyla didn’t flinch. She stepped back without a word.
Lucy didn’t look at her in the mirror. Couldn’t.
---
They arrived at Red Oak at 2:55 p.m. sharp.
The parking lot shimmered under the California sun. Uniformed valets buzzed between convertibles and imported SUVs. Inside, a dozen crystal chandeliers sparkled above white-clothed tables, each marked with a gold-embossed place card and a flower arrangement the size of a toddler.
Lucy took Nyla’s hand automatically as they entered. She didn’t even think about it. Just muscle memory from a life they didn’t live anymore.
Nyla’s fingers curled around hers without hesitation.
They smiled on cue.
---
Morales sat at a table near the stage, flanked by two men in crisp gray suits and a blonde woman Lucy recognized immediately.
Dahlia.
The one from the restaurant. The one who hadn’t smiled. The one who watched people like she was memorizing their vulnerabilities.
She was smiling now.
But it didn’t reach her eyes.
Morales stood as they approached. “There she is,” he said, lifting Lucy’s hand to kiss the back of it. “Doesn’t she clean up nice, Maya?”
Nyla’s smile was sharp. “She always does.”
Morales grinned. “Tonight’s about image.”
Lucy played the part. “What are we auctioning off? Our souls? A weekend in Cabo?”
Morales laughed too hard. “Close. I put in a last-minute donation in your name. Private self-defense lessons with the city’s ‘finest ex police officers.’ It’ll go to the highest bidder.”
Lucy blinked. “Seriously?”
“Relax,” Morales said, sipping champagne. “It’s just for show. You won’t actually be training anyone. This is about press coverage. Exposure. The kind of legitimacy a happy power couple brings.”
Nyla’s hand found Lucy’s lower back—steady, possessive.
Lucy smiled for the cameras.
---
The hours blurred.
They mingled, shook hands, posed for pictures.
Lucy complimented strangers on their earrings. Nyla sipped cocktails without finishing them. They made a convincing team, polished and practiced and quietly exhausted.
Dahlia never strayed far.
She floated between tables, eyes flicking to Lucy too often.
At one point, she stopped beside them. “You looked uncomfortable up there.”
Lucy arched an eyebrow. “That’s funny. I thought I looked hot.”
Dahlia smirked. “Uncomfortable can still be hot.”
Nyla stepped in. “Is there something you need?”
“Just checking in.” Dahlia turned to Lucy. “You two must’ve had an interesting road to marriage.”
“We did,” Lucy said, voice even. “Some roads circle back.”
Dahlia studied her for a moment. “Sure. Or they dead-end.”
She walked off before either of them could respond.
Nyla watched her go. “She’s trying to provoke you.”
“Then she’s doing a great job.”
---
They got home late.
Lucy kicked off her heels the moment the door closed and walked barefoot into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and downed it in one go.
Nyla leaned against the counter. “You okay?”
“I’m tired of pretending.”
“Then don’t pretend with me.”
Lucy laughed under her breath. “That’s all we do now.”
Nyla’s voice dropped. “I meant what I said last night.”
Lucy set the glass down too hard. “Don’t.”
“I know you don’t want to talk about it—”
“I don’t want to feel about it,” Lucy snapped. “But here we are.”
They stared at each other for a long, bitter beat.
Nyla didn’t move. “We have to be on the balcony in ten. Morales wants a photo.”
“Of course he does.”
---
They stood outside, arms around each other, staged against the soft glow of string lights Morales had installed two nights ago. Lucy leaned into Nyla because she had to. Because the camera was on. Because someone out there needed the lie to look real.
Nyla smelled like bergamot and rain. Familiar and unfair.
Lucy hated that her body still remembered her.
Click. Click. Click.
Nyla’s voice was low. “We’re good at this.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said. “That’s the problem.”
---
Later, Lucy curled into the guest bedroom with her phone.
The anonymous message still glowed in her mind.
"DO YOU THINK SHE’S STILL ON YOUR SIDE?"
"BE CAREFUL WHO YOU LET BACK IN."
She couldn’t delete it.
She couldn’t forget it.
And she couldn’t tell Nyla—not yet. Not while her hands still lingered on her waist like they belonged there. Not while Dahlia’s eyes lingered like poison. Not while every photo they took drew them deeper into something they might not escape.
She tucked the phone under her pillow and didn’t sleep.
---
The next day, Nyla made pancakes.
Lucy didn’t ask why.
They sat at the table, picking at them like two people who didn’t know how to eat around each other anymore.
“Any word from Morales?” Lucy finally asked.
“Nothing yet.”
Lucy stabbed a piece of banana. “Think that was the test?”
“No,” Nyla said. “I think that was the warm-up.”
They were quiet for a while.
Lucy’s throat tightened.
She stood, left her plate, and walked out.
Notes:
The chapter's name is going to be Taylor swift's song! 🤭
madneyswopez (burnsfairmont05) on Chapter 1 Fri 11 Jul 2025 05:48PM UTC
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WandanatVibes on Chapter 2 Sat 12 Jul 2025 01:29AM UTC
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amy_wamyyy959466 on Chapter 3 Wed 06 Aug 2025 09:28PM UTC
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Chenxbradford on Chapter 3 Wed 17 Sep 2025 02:44PM UTC
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