Chapter 2

Kiera Case POV:

Chloe's phone shook in her hand, giving me an even closer, more sickening view of the Parisian cafe scene. Felix, his impossibly charming smile plastered across his face, leaned in to whisper something to Bella. She giggled, a sound that grated on my raw nerves, and then, completely unselfconsciously, she stretched up and kissed him. A full, lingering kiss, right there in the open, for anyone to see. For me to see.

My breath caught in my throat. Just last night, Felix had insisted he wasn't "one for public displays," especially not with me. He'd always preferred the quiet intimacy of closed doors, the stolen glances, the private whispers. He'd said it was "special," "ours." The hypocrisy was a fresh, burning brand on my soul. My vision tunneled, the edges of the screen blurring. The cafe, the passersby, Chloe's worried face – it all faded, replaced by the vivid image of Felix, his lips on hers. His words, "Elle était juste une pratique," screamed in my head, a vicious, mocking refrain.

He hadn't been afraid of public displays; he'd been afraid of exhibiting me in public. Because I was just the warm bed, the safety net, the practice. Bella Ramsey, the high-profile model, was the prize. She was the one worthy of public affection, of being paraded around like a trophy. And he hadn't wasted a single second. Just hours. It had been mere hours since he' d woken up next to me, since he' d called me "my love," since he' d promised me a shared future. He was ruthless, utterly and completely devoid of any real feeling for me. He was a predator, and I had been his unwitting prey.

A choked sob escaped me, tearing at my throat. My hands flew to my face, hot tears streaming past my fingers. The betrayal was so sharp, so complete, it felt like someone had scooped out my insides and left me hollow. My body began to shake uncontrollably, a deep, rattling tremor that started in my chest and spread through every limb. I couldn't breathe. I was choking on the pain, on the suffocating realization that the man I had loved, devoted myself to, had seen me as nothing more than an expendable prop in his grand play.

"Kiera? Oh my god, Kiera, are you okay? What' s wrong?" Chloe' s voice, now full of alarm, jolted me slightly. She' d turned the camera back to her face, her eyes wide with concern. "What happened? Why are you crying like that?"

I couldn' t speak, couldn't form words around the ragged sobs tearing through me. I just shook my head, pressing my palms harder against my eyes, trying to physically blot out the images, the words, the crushing reality.

"Kiera, please, talk to me," Chloe pleaded, her voice softer now, tinged with empathy. "Did Felix do something? Is it about Bella? I knew that girl was trouble. She' s all over his social media now, it' s disgusting the way he' s parading her around after... after everything."

After everything. Chloe didn' t even know the half of it. She didn't know about the French, about the "practice," about the "safety net." She just knew the public version of Felix's callousness, which was already more than enough.

Finally, I managed to choke out a single, raw word. "Everything."

"Everything what?" Chloe pressed gently. "Just tell me. I' m here. Whatever it is, we' ll get through it."

I took a shuddering breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. "He... he called me 'practice,' Chloe," I whispered, the words barely audible. "He called me a 'safety net.' He said he was just keeping his bed warm for Bella. In French. Right after... right after last night."

Silence. On Chloe' s end, her eyes, usually so bright and full of life, widened in horror. Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. Her expression hardened, a fierce protectiveness flashing in her gaze. "He what?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "The absolute nerve of that entitled, arrogant prick! He speaks French to exclude people, Kiera. He thinks you' re too 'simple' to understand him, doesn' t he?"

I nodded, fresh tears welling up. "He always did. I learned French years ago, for his grandmother, Madame Decker. He never knew."

Chloe let out a string of curses, colorful and indignant. "Oh, Kiera. My poor Kiera. He is a truly despicable human being. And you know what? He' s always been like this. Always taking you for granted. Always knowing you' d be there to pick up his pieces, to cheer him on, to make him look good. You were always the one picking out his ties, reminding him of his mother' s birthday, making sure he had coffee before his exams. You basically ran his life for him, darling, and he just... absorbed it. He expected it."

Her words, though harsh, were a cold splash of truth. She was right. I had spent years, my entire young adulthood, shaping myself into the perfect partner for Felix. I' d adjusted my dreams, chosen Columbia simply because it was his dream school, planning to study architecture there so I could be near him, supporting him while he took over his family' s real estate empire. I' d seen it as devotion, as love. He' d seen it as an entitlement, a given. He' d used my love as a cushion, a convenient, always-present comfort. My pain twisted into a bitter knot of indignation.

"I can' t do this anymore, Chloe," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. "I can' t. I won' t." A strange resolve began to solidify within me, a hard, cold core replacing the shattered pieces. My tears dried, leaving my cheeks feeling stiff and raw.

"Good," Chloe said, her voice firm, supportive. "It' s about damn time, Kiera. You deserve so much more than to be someone' s 'safety net.' You are brilliant, kind, beautiful, and you have dreams of your own, remember? What about Stanford? You got into Stanford' s architecture program, the best in the country, with a full scholarship! You told me you turned it down because you wanted to be with Felix at Columbia! What if... what if you didn' t?"

My head snapped up. Stanford. I had almost forgotten. It was a distant, painful memory, a road not taken for a man who didn't deserve a single step of my journey. The idea, whispered by Chloe, settled into the hollow space in my chest, not as a pang of regret, but as a spark of defiant hope.

"I' m withdrawing my acceptance from Columbia," I stated, the words coming out surprisingly steady. "And I' m accepting Stanford' s offer."

Chloe gasped, a delighted sound. "Kiera! Are you serious? Oh my god, this is amazing! This is... this is you, Kiera! This is what you should have done all along!"

A small, genuine smile touched my lips, the first in what felt like an eternity. "I' m serious. I' m going to Stanford. I' m going to build my own life, my own dreams. Far away from him." Felix' s dismissive words about me being a "safety net" had sealed my fate, but not in the way he intended. He had pushed me out of his shadow, right into my own light.

"That' s my girl!" Chloe cheered, her face beaming. "When do you call them? Now? Call them now!"

I laughed, a fragile, shaky sound, but a laugh nonetheless. "I will. First thing in the morning." I thought of all the times Felix had casually dismissed my architectural sketches, his eyes glazing over as I spoke passionately about designing sustainable cities, sleek skyscrapers, and innovative public spaces. He' d barely listened, his focus always on his own next big deal, his next conquest. I' d always swallowed my disappointment, telling myself he was just busy, that he' d appreciate it eventually. But he wouldn' t. He never would. My passion was irrelevant to him; it didn't serve his narrative.

No more. I would build my own narrative. I would build towering structures that reached for the sky, and he, the man who thought I belonged in his shadow, would simply be a tiny man on the ground, looking up. The thought, sharp and sweet, filled me with a quiet, fierce determination.

"He won't even know what hit him," Chloe murmured, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "He'll be too busy preening with his 'prize.' And when he finally looks around for his loyal little shadow, you'll be gone. Light years away, shining brighter than he ever could."

"He will never find his 'safety net' again," I vowed, my voice firm, resolute. "Because there's nothing left to catch."