The Fall of Bradley Reed (Seasons of Revenge, #3)

by Morgan Elizabeth

PLAYLIST brutal - Olivia Rodrigo You’re Losing Me - Taylor Swift Kill Bill - SZA Hello Cruel World - Paramore I Bet You Think About Me - Taylor Swift Everything to Everyone - Renee Rapp Tell That Mick That He Just Made My List of Things To Do Today - Fall Out Boy The Lucky One (Taylor’s Version) - Taylor Swift She’s a Lady - Forever the Sickest Kids Cold Coffee - Ed Sheeran Fool’s Gold - 1D Growing Sideways - Noah Kahan Paparazzi.- Lady Gaga Untouchable (Taylor’s Version) - Taylor Swift Lose You to Love Me - Selena Gomez closure - Taylor Swift Mine (Taylor’s Version) - Taylor Swift

Writing this story (like most of them, if we’re honest) started with the unhinged idea of, what if I had an FBI agent watching my chaotic searches and what if he somehow fell in love with me through them? It’s been a blast to write.

As always, please put yourself and your mental health first when reading. It’s meant to be our happy place. I love you to the moon and to Saturn, -Morgan Elizabeth

To my pathological people pleasers: How’s that praise kink coming along?

People pleasers have some kind of genetic makeup deep in the marrow of their bones that just knows when something is

It’s like when your fiancé is in a shitty mood and even though you’ve barely seen him all day, you just know he’s mad at you.

“I’m also serious as a heart attack, Liv. You want to be a runaway bride, I’m driving the getaway car.”

The gown. The flowers. The cake, the food. Three years of my life. All of it a fucking waste.

“I’m fine. I swear. I just need to be productive.”

Like when I called him from the bakery where we were getting the seven-tier wedding cake and he told me he had better things to do and to just pick a fucking cake.

“I need you to know nothing, none of this, was your fault. None of it.

He wasn’t even looking at me, scrolling on his phone and leaning on his kitchen counter, and I remember for the first time actually questioning what I was doing here.

“Bradley, I—” Finally, he looked up and put on that boyish smile I used to think was so fucking cute, so sweet. I thought it showed a part of him he shared with me and only me. That was bullshit, I’m seeing now. A well-practiced look he used to get his way. He took a step forward, grabbed my chin, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Come on, Liv. You know I’m no good at that stuff, and you’re so great at it.” “I just—” “This is why I love you,” he said, his voice low, and I melted.

I thought that was just what you did when you were in love. Why didn’t my brain ever think that if you’re in love, you shouldn’t have to give up things or sacrifice yourself for it?

When was the last time I was selfish? When was the last time the people pleaser went back into hiding, the last time I banished her to get what I wanted solely for myself?

And at some point, I just cried to cry. Sometimes, that’s the best kind of all.

If you were to ask me right now what made me fall for Bradley Reed, I’d tell you it was because he made me feel special.

“You’re such a pessimist.” “I’m a realist,” she says. “There’s a difference.”

I once read that if you fake smile enough, it tricks your brain into being happy.

In this moment, it’s so painfully clear they’re questioning why the fuck they invited me. But also, an idea is brewing. Because fuck Bradley Reed.

She’s in her healed girlie era and we love that for her. I just personally am not there and more in my Reputation era.

Don’t get mad, get even is my new motto.

Fake it till you make it and all that.

This came out before ttpd. Love.

That’s because she’s a pushover of the worst kind, a quality I can’t stand in people.

I’m allowed to be mean. I was left at the altar a week ago. How long are you going to use that one? However long everyone lets me get away with it. Queen move, really.

the classic Chevy I’m ninety-nine percent sure he loved more than he ever loved me.

Everything is new and fun and he’s on his best behavior. He’s attentive and kind and schmoozes you until you’re blinded, until the sharp edges blur and the red flags turn into a pretty pastel pink.

Breathe in for ten, hold for ten, breathe out for ten. Then repeat.

“Bullshit,” she says. I will never not find this adorable old woman cursing hilarious.

“You deserve to be happy, Olivia. You weren’t put on this earth just to make the people in your life happy.”

Life is both painfully short and dreadfully long, and you only get the one. Live it for you.”

And when my thoughts become too loud, I can turn on Noah Kahan until I forget how depressing my life is. You can’t be depressed while listening to Noah Kahan.

What does it say about my relationship that I’m angrier about how it’s impacting my friends, how they now feel the need to worry about me, than I am knowing I was left at the altar?

The next morning, I was prepared to end things until my mother called to have brunch. That was when, for the first time in my memory, she told me she was proud of me. She was proud of me for landing Bradley.

But who am I if I’m not working to make everyone in my life happy?

I know Cami is my dad’s soulmate, but I think she’s also partly mine. Like a friend or an older sister soulmate, or a not-quite-mom.

I stare at her, trying not to make it obvious I know about her revenge.

That’s my fucking girl, I think.

The only reason my mind would even go there, obviously, is because I’ve been watching her for so long, I’ve created some kind of bond with her in my mind.

If you don’t tell me, I’m headed to Reddit. Have you been on Reddit lately? The girlies over there are feral. I love them. I want to be them when I grow up. Don’t go to Reddit.

The way her eyes sparkle both with mischief and nerves twists my gut. It’s like there are two people in there, the old version who would never ask anyone for anything that might inconvenience them and this new one she’s trying to create, battling to see who will win.

“That’s a good girl. Now go sit and wait for me to bring your drink.”

“You let everyone think you don’t need their help, Olivia, but you’re getting mine no matter what, okay?”

It was all a lie, and just like with Bradley, I was too stupid and wrapped up in him to realize.

I need to move. I need my bag, my phone. I need to get out. I need to get a cab, to go somewhere. I need to reevaluate my entire fucking life. I need a cat, maybe. A cat is safer than a man, for sure.

I stop, whirling on my foot and staring at him. “Shouldn’t we be in some kind of special room for this? I should be read my rights and all that.” He doesn’t respond, so I ask more questions. “FBI, right?

“Thank you,” I say, placing my wine glass down and staring at him. I let him guide the conversation, his perfect little doll like he always wanted. But a doll designed for his downfall. It’s almost poetic when you think of it.

This is me. It’s the me Andre dug out, carefully using brushes and gentle touches like a paleontologist discovering a fossil that was never meant to see the light of day, buried under the desires of everyone else.

He saved me from myself, from a life of putting everyone else first, from being happy enough but never overjoyed.