Chapter 2

The next morning, the world felt gray and muted. The adrenaline from the night before had worn off, leaving behind a dull, crushing ache in the center of my chest. I hadn' t slept. I just stared at the water-stained ceiling of the motel room, replaying Olivia' s words, the image of her kissing Liam, the sound of the crowd cheering for a love story I had unknowingly funded.

I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. The lukewarm water did little to wash away the feeling of grime that seemed to have settled deep under my skin. I was a fool. A seven-year fool. I had been so blinded by love, so invested in her dream, that I never saw what was right in front of me. Liam was always there. The late-night studio sessions that I wasn' t invited to. The "inside jokes" I never understood. The way she would sometimes look at him when she thought I wasn't watching. I had explained it all away. They were creative partners. They had history. I was just being paranoid.

The truth was, I hadn' t been a partner in a relationship. I had been an investor. A convenient, supportive, all-giving foundation for her real life, the one she was building with someone else.

My phone, which I had picked up from the floor, had a cracked screen but still worked. It was full of notifications. Dozens of missed calls from Olivia. A string of increasingly frantic texts.

Ethan, pick up the phone.

This is ridiculous. We need to talk.

You' re overreacting. You' re ruining my moment!

Are you seriously doing this to me right now? After all my hard work?

Her hard work. The irony was so thick I could choke on it. I deleted the messages without reading the rest. Then I opened a web browser. It was a mistake.

Her name was everywhere. "Indie Sensation Olivia Reed Announces Love for Producer Liam Hayes at Album Launch!" was the top headline on a major entertainment site. The article was gushing, full of praise for her "bravery" and "authenticity." It painted a romantic picture of two childhood sweethearts finding their way back to each other through music. They even had a cute couple name already: 'Livia' .

And there it was. The picture. A high-resolution, professionally shot photo of the kiss. Her hand was on his cheek, his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. They looked passionate, destined, perfect. In the background, just out of focus, you could see the blurry shape of someone in the crowd. Me. A faceless, insignificant part of the scenery of their great love story.

I felt a fresh wave of nausea. I clicked off the page, but it was too late. The image was seared into my brain again. I was the schmuck in the background of their fairytale. The guy who paid for the castle and then was kicked out before the ball.

My phone rang again. It was her. I stared at her picture on the cracked screen, the one I took on our trip to the coast two years ago. She was laughing, her hair blowing in the wind. It felt like a photo of a stranger. On impulse, I answered it. I don' t know why. Maybe I wanted to hear her try to lie her way out of this. Maybe I just wanted to hear a single word of remorse.

"Ethan! Finally!" Her voice was not apologetic. It was high-pitched and excited, buzzing with energy. "Oh my god, did you see the news? We' re everywhere! The label is ecstatic. They said the whole love story angle is marketing gold!"

I was silent. I couldn't form words. Marketing gold. That' s what my seven years of devotion had been reduced to. A promotional strategy.

"Are you there?" she asked, a hint of irritation creeping in. "Look, I know last night was a shock. I' m sorry about how it happened. It wasn' t planned, it just... came out. The energy was so high, and looking at Liam, I just felt it so strongly. I had to be true to myself."

"True to yourself," I repeated, my voice hollow. "And when were you planning on being true to me, Olivia?"

"Don' t use that tone, Ethan," she warned. "I was going to tell you this week. I was trying to find the right time. It' s not like this is easy for me, either. I do care about you."

"You care about me?" I let out a short, harsh laugh. "You have a funny way of showing it. Was I just a placeholder, Olivia? A wallet? Someone to keep you company until Liam was ready to step up?"

"That' s not fair!" she cried, her voice rising. "You were important to me! You helped me. I'll always be grateful for that. But what Liam and I have is different. It's real. It's forever."

Forever. A word she used to whisper to me in the dark. The hypocrisy was suffocating. I thought back to three years ago. Her laptop had crashed, the one with all her new song demos. She was devastated. A new, top-of-the-line laptop with the best music software was thousands of dollars we didn't have. I was saving up for a new drafting table, a professional one that wouldn't give me backaches. I took all that money, my entire savings, and bought her the laptop without a second thought. I kept using my old, wobbly table. I remember her crying with gratitude, hugging me so tight. "I'll pay you back for all of this, Ethan, I swear. I'll buy you the biggest, best house you can design."

The memory was so clear, so painful. It wasn't a memory of love anymore. It was a record of a transaction. I had paid for her tools, and now she was done with me.

"I want my key back," I said, my voice cold and steady.

There was a pause. "What? Your key? It' s your apartment, Ethan, what are you talking about?"

"It was our apartment. Now it' s mine. I want you and your things out by the end of the week."

"You can' t be serious!" she shrieked. "Where am I supposed to go? All my equipment is there! My whole life is in that apartment!"

"That sounds like a problem for you and your soulmate," I said flatly. "I' m sure Liam has a place you can stay. You two have a lot of history to catch up on."

"You' re being an asshole, Ethan! A cruel, vindictive asshole! After everything I' ve done for you!"

"Everything you' ve done for me?" This time I did laugh, a full, bitter sound. "That' s rich. You know what, Olivia? Enjoy your marketing gold. I hope it keeps you warm at night. Because you' ve lost the one person who actually, genuinely gave a damn about you. You just weren' t smart enough to see it."

"I don' t need you!" she screamed into the phone. "I have Liam! I have a record deal! I have everything! What do you have, Ethan? A crappy architecture job and an empty apartment!"

Her words were meant to hurt, to cut me down. And they did. They stung, reminding me of all the career opportunities I had passed up to be her support system. The junior partnership I turned down because it required more travel. The design competitions I didn't enter because I was too busy managing her schedule or driving her to gigs.

But as the sting faded, something else took its place. A cold, hard resolve. She was right. I had a crappy job and an empty apartment. But they were mine. For the first time in seven years, my life was completely my own. The thought was terrifying, but it was also liberating.

"I have my self-respect," I said quietly. "It' s not much, but it' s more than you have."

I could hear her sputtering on the other end, ready to launch into another tirade. But I didn't give her the chance.

"Goodbye, Olivia."

I ended the call and blocked her number. Then I blocked Liam. Then her mother. I went through my contacts and social media and methodically erased every trace of her, every shared friend who was more hers than mine. It felt like I was amputating a part of myself, but it was a part that had become diseased. It had to be cut away for me to survive.

I sat on the bed in the silent motel room, the cracked phone in my hand. The pain was still there, a giant hole in my life where Olivia used to be. But for the first time since she walked on that stage, I felt a flicker of something else. A flicker of strength. She thought she had left me with nothing. But she was wrong. She had left me with the truth. And now, I had to figure out what to do with it.