A summer spent hiding at her best friend’s house was supposed to be easy. It isn’t. Rosetta avoids her name, her home, and anything that feels too real—except Gerald Singh, who only ever says Rosetta when he wants to get under her skin. He’s cruel, unpredictable, and unraveling, and she keeps looking anyway. Between quiet tension, messy friendships, and things no one says out loud, the line between hate and something worse starts to blur. Some names only matter when the wrong person says them.