The A-list movie star who happens to be my boyfriend is playing the lead in the film adaptation of my novel. He’s the one who secured the financing, handpicked the crew, and burned through every favor he had to ensure this movie would be his magnum opus. But on the first day of filming, he ignored the entire production team’s protests. He fired the A-list lead actress and replaced her with a total nobody—a girl who had just stepped off a bus from some small town. That night, the new starlet posted a sprawling manifesto on Instagram: “I have no family connections, no luck, and even the author of the original book couldn’t see my potential. Only Chase saw me—shivering and half-drowned in the gutters of this industry—and pulled me out. Thank you for believing in me. And thank you for the canary diamond necklace—the first real piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned.” Chase Montgomery’s public reply was three words long: “You’re worth it.” The internet went into a shipping frenzy. Immediately, the vitriol shifted toward me. “Who does this hack writer think she is? She’s just some shut-in who types in a cramped apartment. What does she know about star power or beauty? No wonder she couldn’t see Tiffany’s potential.” “The book wasn’t even that good. It’s only a hit because Chase is carrying it. This author just got lucky—a blind squirrel finding a nut.” I stared at the screen, feeling a jagged rip open in my chest. Seven years of waiting, of building a life with him, and in one heartbeat, I finally let go. 1 Midnight hit. Chase missed my birthday. Again. Thirty minutes later, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the foyer. My eyes drifted toward the door as he tossed his designer coat onto the rack without a word. When his gaze snagged on the small, untouched cake on the dining table, his brow furrowed with a flicker of irritation. “I was busy today, June. Birthdays happen every year. Missing one isn't the end of the world.” He pulled out his phone, his thumb tapping the screen with practiced indifference. “I just Venmoed you five thousand. Buy yourself whatever you want.” A bitter sting rose in my throat, my eyes heating up. Always the same line. Always the same price tag on my feelings. Yesterday’s headlines were still burned into my brain: Chase Montgomery Drops Multi-Million Dollar Endorsement to Make Time for Dinner with Tiffany Blaire. If this had been a month ago, I would have screamed. I would have demanded to know why she was worth a multi-million dollar sacrifice while I wasn't worth a single night off. Now, my voice was just cold. “You’re right. A birthday isn't a big deal. And neither is this relationship. We’re done.” Chase froze for a half-second, the words seemingly failing to register. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Is this because I forgot a gift? I literally just gave you the money, June.” He let out a sharp, condescending exhale. “Fine. If you want to throw a tantrum, throw it. But don’t expect me to come crawling back this time.” A ghost of a smile touched my lips. When had he ever crawled? Every time we fought over Tiffany, I was the one who smoothed things over. I was the one who apologized for being "insecure." Not this time. I stood up, picked up the cake, and dumped it into the trash can. I didn't look back as I walked toward the bedroom. Behind me, I heard him dial a number. His voice was loud, intentionally loud. “Does anyone suspect anything about me and Tiffany? Fine. Put out a statement. Call her my ‘rumored girlfriend.’ We need the buzz for the movie anyway.” “Don’t worry,” he added, his voice dropping into a dismissive mumble. “She won’t make a scene.” The ‘she’ was me. A single tear escaped, hot and trailing down to my lip. It tasted like salt and regret. He used to tell me, “You’re the only girl for me, June. One day, I’m going to stand in front of the whole world and hold your hand so firmly no one will ever doubt it.” Now, he was announcing his love for someone else to the world, and I was just the ghost in his apartment. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my mother. “That arrangement you mentioned? The one with the family friend? I’m in. When do we start?” 2 The next morning, the sound of my suitcase wheels clicking against the hardwood floor filled the silent apartment. Chase was in the kitchen, a cup of espresso in his hand. He went still, his eyes narrowing at the luggage. “Where are you going?” I didn't meet his gaze. “To a hotel for a few days.” He studied me, looking for a crack in my resolve, then let out a low, mocking scoff. “June, come on. You’re really doing this? You’re jealous because I’m filming with Tiffany?” “I’ve told you a thousand times, she’s just a co-star. You’re the girlfriend. Stop making up scenarios in your head.” He stood up slowly, reaching out to grab my arm, but I pivoted away. His hand hung in the air, empty, and his face instantly darkened. “You think you’re being tough? If you walk out that door today, don't you dare think about coming back.” I didn't answer. I turned the deadbolt, pulled the handle, and walked out without a second glance. A loud crash echoed behind me—the sound of a glass shattering against the floor. I didn’t stop walking. By the time I’d hailed a car, checked into a hotel, and unpacked, it was late afternoon. My phone buzzed. It was a text from the director of the film. Tonight was the wrap party for the first week of shooting, a massive celebration because the buzz was already breaking records. He’d invited me as the author. He was an old friend of my mother’s; I couldn't say no. As I reached the door of the private lounge at the Soho House, a roar of laughter erupted from inside. “Chase and Tiffany were together back in college! They were each other’s first loves!” My hand froze on the door handle. College? Chase had always told me about a girl from his university days—the one who broke his heart, the one he could never quite get over. That girl was Tiffany Blaire? Chase and I grew up together in a group home. When I was seventeen, my mother—who had been searching for me for a decade—finally found me and brought me back into a world of wealth and privilege. When I reconnected with Chase years later, he was a struggling actor. I didn't tell him who my mother was. I wanted him to love me, not my inheritance. Inside the room, Tiffany gave a performative pout. “Oh, stop it, you guys! Chase has a girlfriend. What if she hears you and gets the wrong idea?” The room erupted in even louder laughter. “Chase doesn't have a girlfriend, Tiff! We’ve all seen it for months—his heart is clearly taken.” “I even heard Chase personally demanded Tiffany for the lead role. He wouldn't take no for an answer!” I stood paralyzed. When my mother had passed my manuscript to the director, he’d loved it instantly. As for Tiffany... she was the polar opposite of how I’d written the protagonist. I’d assumed the director had made a casting choice based on some industry trend. It wasn't the director. It was Chase. I looked through the crack in the door. He was looking at Tiffany with a soft, indulgent smile. He didn't deny a word of it. Tiffany’s eyes swept the room and landed right on me. “Oh my gosh, who’s that at the door? For a second, I thought a stalker had broken in. You scared me!” Chase’s brow furrowed when he saw me. He hesitated for two painful seconds before looking back at Tiffany. “Just an old acquaintance. She probably saw me through the window and wanted to say hi.” Tiffany’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. She raised her voice so the whole room could hear. “Oh! I remember her now! I’ve seen her before.” “That day Chase drove halfway across the city just to get me that specific iced matcha? She was standing under a tree across from the shop, just... staring at us for the longest time.” “Her eyes were red like a rabbit’s. I thought she was going to burst into tears. Why? Are you a fan of Chase or something?” A young assistant with a messy bun piped up, “Wait, I remember too!” “That was the day Tiffany got a little upset because she thought Chase was being followed. Chase later explained it was just some girl he knew from the foster system. Said she was a mess—apparently, she’d been caught trying to sleep with her teachers back in middle school just to get better grades.” Another crew member shook his head, looking at me with pure disgust. “She looks so plain and innocent. Who knew she was such a cliché? No wonder she’s here trying to sink her claws into a star like Chase.” The room went quiet for a few beats, every gaze on me heavy with unshielded contempt. 3 I felt like I was made of glass, ready to shatter. My mind raced back to eighth grade. My homeroom teacher had lured me to his house under the guise of extra tutoring. It was Chase who had sensed something was wrong. He was the one who kicked the door down and pulled me out before anything could happen. But afterward, the rumors spread like wildfire. They said I’d seduced him. They said I was "fast." I looked at Chase, my heart screaming. He knew. He had seen me shaking, huddled in the corner of that teacher’s living room, unable to breathe. He jerked his gaze away, staring at the floor, unable to meet my eyes. Tiffany walked over to me, her movements feline and graceful. She reached out and took my hand with a sickeningly sweet touch. “Don’t be mad at Chase,” she whispered, her voice loud enough for the people nearby. “I totally misunderstood who you were to him back then, so he had to tell me the truth to calm me down. I didn't realize people would start gossiping.” “Chase is just like that. He can’t stand to see me upset.” I pulled my hand back, my voice remarkably steady despite the roar in my ears. “My eyes were just irritated that day. I wasn't crying.” “And as for Chase? We’re just old acquaintances. You don’t need to worry about me.” Chase’s mouth opened, a protest dying on his lips. But Tiffany was faster. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back toward the center of the party. I left immediately. I couldn't be in that airless room for another second. Fast footsteps echoed behind me. Chase caught up to me in the hallway. When he saw the shimmer in my eyes, a flash of genuine guilt crossed his face. “June, look. I’ve told you—this is all for the brand. If it weren't for the movie, I would have gone public with us ages ago.” “And about that story... if you hadn't been standing there staring at us like a ghost, people wouldn't have asked questions. I had to say something to protect Tiffany’s reputation.” I let out a hollow laugh. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten that I’d texted him that day, telling him I was nearby and asking if he wanted to grab a coffee. He never replied. When I saw him, he was handing a drink to Tiffany, laughing at something she said. I’d texted him again while standing under that tree. He’d glanced at his phone and typed back: “In a meeting. No time. Go home.” I didn't want to argue anymore. I started walking. Chase moved to follow me, but his phone chirped. He checked it, and his expression softened instantly. “Tiffany? Don’t worry, I’m coming right back.” He looked at me, hesitating for a heartbeat, then turned and ran back toward the party. The next morning, a headline exploded across the tabloids: “Chase Montgomery’s Secret Girlfriend Exposed—and It’s NOT Tiffany Blaire!” The photo was from years ago—a grainy shot of me and Chase eating at a dive bar when he’d just booked his first commercial. The second headline followed minutes later: “Tiffany Blaire Seen Crying in Her Trailer: ‘I Won’t Stand in the Way of True Love.’” I checked my phone. Over a hundred missed calls from Chase. The second I picked up, his voice slammed into me, raw with rage. “June! Have you lost your mind? Are you so desperate for a title that you’d leak old photos to ruin my career?” “The studio is breathing down my neck, telling me I can’t be seen with Tiffany anymore. Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?” I gripped the phone, my heart sinking into my stomach. I hung up. I didn't have the energy to explain that I hadn't leaked anything. When it came to Tiffany, he never believed me anyway. A moment later, Chase’s official statement hit Twitter. “I have a purely platonic history with Ms. June Porter. I helped her out years ago because I felt sorry for her situation, but lately, her behavior has become obsessive. I am currently and happily pursuing a relationship with Tiffany Blaire. My heart is hers, and hers alone. Please do not harass her for the actions of a confused fan.” The comments section became a bloodbath. “Chase’s loyalty is everything! Leave Tiffany alone!” “June Porter? I know her. She’s the girl who slept with her teacher in middle school. Now she’s trying to social-climb her way onto Chase?” The insults got darker, more graphic. Someone leaked my burner phone number. The threats started pouring in. And then, the sound of heavy footsteps and shouting came from the hotel hallway. “We tracked the GPS! She’s in room 412!”
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