Love at First Login
Description
In the game, she can be anyone. In real life, she's trapped being someone else. Twenty-one-year-old Nora Wilson is the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect North Side student. She smiles when she should. She performs when required. And every night, she escapes into Echo - an immersive virtual world where she becomes Siren, the version of herself she only lets exist in the dark. For a year, she's shared everything with Ghost. Secrets she's never spoken aloud. Fears she's never admitted. A connection so intense it's become the only real thing in her life. They've never met. Never exchanged names. But he knows her better than anyone ever has. Then there's Danny Vega. West Side student. Motorcycle club. Sharp-tongued, sarcastic, and everything her world taught her to despise. He gets under her skin in ways she can't explain - infuriating her one moment, making her pulse race the next. When her carefully constructed life begins to crumble, Nora finds herself caught between two men. One who knows her soul but not her face. One who sees through her armor but doesn't know her heart. The deeper she falls, the more the lines begin to blur. And the closer she gets to a truth that might burn down everything she thought she knew.
Chapter 1
Feb 26, 2026
Nora’s POV
Tristan is talking about himself again.
I watch his mouth move, shaping words I stopped hearing ten minutes ago. His father's investment firm. A merger. Summer plans at the Hamptons house that our parents are already discussing without us.
"And my mom mentioned the engagement timeline again," he says, swirling his wine. "Next spring. After graduation. Your father agrees."
"That's nice," I say.
He does not notice the flatness in my voice. He never does.
Tristan reaches across the white tablecloth and takes my hand. His grip is firm, possessive — the touch of a man who has already calculated exactly what I am worth to him.
"You seem distracted," he frowns.
"Just tired. Long week."
"You should take better care of yourself. I need you looking fresh for the charity gala next month." He squeezes my hand once, then releases it to check his phone. "Mom's already picked out your dress."
I nod and smile, performing the role I have perfected over years of practice. He does not ask how my week was or why I am tired — he has never cared. I am an asset in his portfolio, a checkbox on his life plan.
And I stay. Because this is what I know. Because my parents raised me to understand that love is a transaction and I should be grateful anyone is buying.
He pays and walks me to my car. His goodnight kiss is brief, mechanical — all the passion of a handshake. His hands stay at my waist because he knows I will freeze if they wander lower, so eventually, he stopped trying.
"Text me tomorrow," he says, and it is not a question — it is a command.
I drive home with the windows down, letting the cold air bite my cheeks. The silence of my apartment wraps around me, and for the first time all night, I breathe.
I shed the performance in pieces. Heels by the door, dress on the bathroom floor, makeup wiped away until my face looks like mine again. Old sweats, messy bun, and the VR headset waiting on my nightstand.
My fingers close around it, and my pulse quickens. This is the only part of my day that belongs to me.
"Echo" loads in layers when I put the headset on and immerse myself into a different reality. Sound first — ambient forest, distant water. Then light, painting trees and stone paths and a sky full of stars that do not exist anywhere but here.
The forest zone materializes around me, and my shoulders drop for the first time all night.
I am Siren now — silver-haired, sharp-jawed, dressed in midnight black with glowing violet accents that pulse when I move. Nothing like Nora with her neutral tones and pearls. Siren wears her confidence like armor, walks like she owns every pixel beneath her feet. She is the version of me I only let exist in the dark — the honest one, the real one.
Ghost is already waiting by the old stone bridge. One year of this. One year of his voice in my ear, his presence at my side, the easy rhythm we built in a world where neither of us has to be real.
"You're late," he says. His voice is warm, teasing, familiar in a way that makes something in my chest loosen.
"Traffic."
"In a video game?"
"Shut up."
He laughs, and I find myself smiling — actually smiling. Not the performance smile, not the one I wore through dinner while Tristan planned my future without asking. We fall into step together, moving toward the quest marker glowing in the distance.
"Spike traps tonight," Ghost says, pulling up the mission brief. "You take left, I'll take right?"
"When has that ever worked?"
"Optimism is a virtue, Siren."
"Optimism is a coping mechanism for people who haven't learned better."
We navigate the traps together, our timing synchronized after months of practice. He calls out patterns; I adjust my path. I spot a pressure plate; he vaults over it. The gameplay is secondary. It has always been secondary.
The conversations are the point.
We reach a gate that requires both keys, and the loading screen traps us in a small clearing while the next section generates. Ghost's avatar settles onto a fallen log and I sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
"What are you running from tonight?" he asks.
Direct, unfiltered — the way no one in my real life has ever been. "What makes you think I'm running?"
"You're quieter than usual. And you didn't insult my combat strategy once."
My chest tightens. "I spent two hours being planned like a dinner party. Engagement timelines. Charity galas. What dress I'll wear to impress his mother. And not once did anyone ask what I wanted."
Ghost is quiet while the forest hums around us.
"And what do you want?" he asks finally, soft and simple.
No one has ever asked me that — not my parents, not Tristan. My throat tightens.
"I don't know. I don't think I'm allowed to want things."
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"It's just how it is."
"It doesn't have to be."
A notification pulses. New paired level unlocked, accessible only to players Siren and Ghost. I stare at it, and my heart is doing something strange.
"No pressure," Ghost says. "But I'm not going anywhere."
I press ‘yes’ and the world shifts. The forest dissolves, replaced by something new — a sprawling virtual city I have never seen before, all neon lights and towering buildings and streets that pulse with possibility.
Ghost's avatar stands beside me as we take in the new landscape.
"Whoa," I breathe. "This is the paired level?"
"Looks like it unlocks a whole new zone."
He starts walking, and I follow, our avatars moving through streets filled with other players, shops, quest markers. Then I notice it — a building at the end of one street, its entrance blurred, pulsing with a soft pink glow.
I move toward it and a prompt appears in my vision: 'Age verification required. Please confirm you are 18+ to access this area.’
"What is that?" I ask.
"The Love Room." Ghost's tone shifts to something teasing. "Intimate space. Very popular and very... adult. PornHub style, really."
My cheeks warm beneath the headset. "Oh…"
"We could check it out if you want." A pause, deliberately loaded. "For research purposes, of course."
"In your dreams."
"Every night, Siren."
I shove his avatar, and he laughs — warm, easy, the sound wrapping around me in a way that makes my stomach flip. We move on to the actual quest, but the blurred doorway stays in the back of my mind.
I file it away under things I will never do and try to forget I saw it.
We reach a plaza at the center of the city, and Ghost's avatar turns to face mine. Even though I cannot see his face, even though none of this is real, the proximity makes my breath catch.
"I'm glad you stayed," he whispers.
Something happens in my body. His voice drops lower, intimate, as if his mouth is pressed against my ear. A flush of heat spreads outward, pooling low in my belly — then lower still. My thighs press together instinctively.
"Siren," he murmurs. "I think about you. Even when we're not playing."
My breath hitches and heat floods between my legs — sudden, undeniable. I have never felt this with Tristan, not once. But Ghost's voice alone makes me ache in places I forgot existed. My hand drifts down my stomach without thinking, hovering, wanting.
"Ghost—" I start, but my phone shatters everything.
Tristan's name flashing on the screen.
I rip off the headset, gasping. Skin flushed, underwear damp, hands shaking.
I answer on the fourth ring, forcing my voice steady. "Hey."
"Come over. I'm still up." His voice is flat, expectant. "The night doesn't have to end yet."
I close my eyes, Ghost's whisper still echoing under my skin. "I'm tired, Tristan. Maybe tomorrow."
A pause. Sharp exhale. "Fine. Tomorrow then. You owe me."
The line goes dead before I can respond.
I lie back, Ghost's voice still burning through me, Tristan's coldness ringing in my ears. What is wrong with me?
Love at First Login
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