The cold air stung my cheeks as I adjusted the scarf over my face, hiding in plain sight. It was a pathetic irony—me, Layla Reid, the model whose face was plastered on billboards and magazines, now trying to disappear into the crowd. Colton Locke, the man who once promised to love me forever, had replaced me with an internet celebrity. A nobody. And yet, here I was, the one hiding.

My feet moved on their own, carrying me down streets I barely noticed until I came to a crosswalk. As I stepped forward, my gaze lifted, and I stopped dead in my tracks. There it was—a massive billboard looming over the street.

Our engagement proposal.

Colton kneeling with that perfect smile, holding the diamond ring he claimed was as eternal as his love. My face glowed with joy, frozen in time, a façade for the world to admire. To everyone else, we were the dream couple—beautiful, successful, untouchable. But I knew better now. That billboard was a lie, a monument to a love that had rotted away long before anyone noticed.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I wanted to look away, but my feet wouldn’t move. The memories rushed in, drowning me.

It was Colton’s birthday, two years ago. I’d just flown in from New York, exhausted but excited to surprise him. I remember the box in my hands—a cake I’d picked up from his favorite bakery, along with a handwritten note tucked inside. I couldn’t wait to see his face when I walked into his office, unannounced, with the things he loved most in the world: me and chocolate mousse cake.

But the moment I opened the door, the world I’d built around him began to crumble.

The room was dimly lit, and at first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. I heard noises—soft, rhythmic, almost melodic. My eyes adjusted, and then I saw them. Colton and Georgia.

Colton’s back was to me, shirtless, his body moving with hers. Georgia was beneath him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her face tilted toward the ceiling. She saw me first.

And she smiled.

Not a look of shock or embarrassment—just a slow, deliberate smile that made my stomach turn. Then, as if to drive the knife in deeper, she moaned. Loudly.

Colton didn’t even notice me. He didn’t pause, didn’t turn, didn’t care that someone else was in the room. My fiancé was so consumed by his betrayal that I became invisible.

I wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers. But all I could do was stand there, my heart breaking into pieces I didn’t know how to gather.

I walked out without a word. My legs carried me through the hallways and out of the building, but my mind stayed behind, replaying the scene over and over. For weeks, I told myself it was a mistake, that Colton would come to his senses, that he’d beg for forgiveness.

He never did.

Instead, he kept lying, kept sneaking around with Georgia while pretending to be the doting fiancé in public. And I kept pretending not to notice because I couldn’t bear the humiliation of people knowing the truth.

The billboard blurred through the haze of my tears. Two years. That’s how long I’d endured the lies, the gaslighting, the stolen glances at his phone when he thought I wasn’t looking. Two years of clinging to a relationship that had become a prison.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and forced myself to keep walking. But my chest ached with the weight of everything I’d suppressed. How many times had I walked into a room and felt like I wasn’t enough? How many times had Colton made me feel like I had to fight for a love that should have been mine without question?

I didn’t realize I’d stepped into the street until I heard the horn.

The blaring noise jolted me, but I couldn’t move. A truck was barreling toward me, its headlights cutting through the fog. People on the sidewalk shouted, their voices blending into a distant hum, but my feet stayed rooted in place.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable. Maybe this was how it was meant to end. Maybe the pain would stop if I just let go.

The bruises on my legs throbbed as I sat on the couch, pressing an ice pack against my aching skin. I should have been relieved, grateful even, that a stranger had pulled me out of harm's way before the truck barreled through the crosswalk. But all I felt was a numbness that seeped into my chest, spreading like a shadow. My body was bruised, sure, but it was nothing compared to the cracks in my heart—the ones that Colton had carved there.

The door slammed open, pulling me from my thoughts. Colton’s voice filled the room, frantic and sharp. “Layla!” he called, his gaze sweeping over me before he rushed forward. His suit jacket was half off, his tie loose around his neck. He knelt in front of me, his hands hovering, unsure of where to touch. “What happened? Are you okay?”

I stared at him, searching his face for answers he would never give me. His eyes were wide with concern, his brows furrowed like he actually cared. But I knew better now. I knew those same hands that hovered over me with worry had held Georgia, touched her in ways that had once been reserved for me. The thought turned my stomach, but I kept my expression calm. He couldn’t know what I knew.

“It’s nothing,” I said quietly, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. “I wasn’t paying attention and almost got hit by a truck. Someone pulled me back.”

“A truck?” His voice cracked, and he grabbed my hands, his grip firm. “Layla, you can’t be careless like that! You’re a model, for God’s sake. What if something worse happened? You can’t risk your career—or yourself.”

His concern sounded genuine, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that the man kneeling before me was the Colton I had fallen in love with—the one who had once made me laugh until my stomach hurt, who had whispered promises of forever into my ear late at night. But that man didn’t exist anymore. Maybe he never had.

“It was just an accident,” I said, pulling my hands from his grasp. The ice pack slipped, and he reached to adjust it for me, but I stopped him with a slight shake of my head. “I’m tired, Colton. I just want to sleep.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening as if to argue, but then he sighed and stood. “I’ll stay here with you,” he said. His tone softened, and for a moment, his hand hovered near my shoulder before he let it drop. “Just rest, okay? I’ll be here.”

I nodded, leaning back into the cushions and closing my eyes. His footsteps faded as he moved to the armchair across from me, and I could feel his gaze lingering on me. It felt heavy, like the weight of all the lies he had told me pressed into my chest. But I stayed quiet, pretending to drift into sleep, even as my thoughts raced.

Eventually, exhaustion won. My body gave in to the pull of sleep, though it was restless and uneasy. My dreams were fractured images—Colton’s smile, Georgia’s laugh, and the haunting memory of walking into his office to see her perched on his desk. The way her hand had lingered on his shoulder, the way she hadn’t moved to stop him, even when she saw me standing in the doorway.

When I woke in the middle of the night, the room was dark. The glow of my phone on the nightstand caught my attention, and I reached for it, my fingers brushing across the screen. A message notification blinked at me.

I opened it, and my heart stopped. The photo was unmistakable. Colton and Georgia lay tangled in each other’s arms, the soft hotel sheets draped around their bodies. Her arm was wrapped around his chest, her head nestled into the crook of his neck as though she belonged there. They looked peaceful, intimate. Like lovers.

The message beneath the photo was cruel in its simplicity: He’s mine now.

A sharp pain radiated through my chest as my breath hitched. My hands shook, the phone slipping slightly in my grip. I stared at the photo, willing it to disappear, to be anything other than what it was. But it didn’t change. It was real. The confirmation of everything I had tried so hard to deny.

How long had this been going on? How many nights had he spent with her, whispering the same sweet words he had once said to me? How many lies had he told to cover his tracks?

I thought of all the times I had questioned him—the late-night calls, the lingering scent of unfamiliar perfume, the excuses about long work hours. Each time, he had smiled, kissed my forehead, and told me I was overthinking. And I had believed him. I had let myself believe in the version of him that I wanted to see, even as the evidence piled up.

I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. My body felt heavy, my mind foggy with exhaustion and despair. I wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room, to wake him and demand answers. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because deep down, I already knew the truth, and no explanation he could offer would change it.

He had broken me, yes. But I wouldn’t stay broken. Not for him. Not for anyone.

The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment as I leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through emails about the upcoming fashion show. It was one of the most prestigious events of the year, and being invited to attend was an honor I didn’t take lightly. My stylist had already sent over options for my outfit, and I was mentally preparing for the whirlwind of cameras and flashing lights when Colton walked in.

His voice was casual at first, almost hesitant. “Layla, Georgia wants to go to the fashion show with you.”

I barely looked up from my phone. “Georgia wasn’t invited.”

He sighed, his tone shifting into something softer, almost pleading. “She knows, but she really wants to experience it. She’s never been to an event like this, and you have the connections. Can’t you bring her as your plus-one?”

I finally looked up, narrowing my eyes at him. “My plus-one is reserved for someone who actually deserves to be there. This isn’t just some cocktail party, Colton. It’s an exclusive event, and I’m not going to risk my reputation by dragging along someone who doesn’t belong.”

His brows furrowed, and I could see the irritation creeping into his expression. “You’re making it sound like she’s beneath you. She’s not asking for much, Layla. She just wants to be included.”

I set my phone down, crossing my arms. “This isn’t about inclusion. It’s about boundaries. Georgia doesn’t get to crash events I’ve worked years to be a part of just because she wants to play dress-up.”

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult? You act like she’s trying to steal your career or something. She’s not a threat to you, Layla. Stop being so jealous.”

Jealous. The word hit like a slap. I stared at him, my anger boiling just under the surface. “Jealous? Of Georgia?” I let out a humorless laugh. “You really don’t get it, do you? This has nothing to do with jealousy. It’s about respect—something you and she clearly lack.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might drop it. But no. Colton always had to push. “You have no reason to feel threatened. Georgia admires you, Layla. Why can’t you just be gracious and let her come with you?”

I shook my head, exhausted. He wasn’t listening. He never did. “Fine,” I said finally, my voice flat. “If it’ll stop this argument, I’ll bring her.”

The smug satisfaction on his face was infuriating, but I let it go. Fighting with him was like talking to a brick wall. And if Georgia wanted to embarrass herself by tagging along to an event where she didn’t belong, so be it.

---

The days leading up to the show passed in a blur of fittings and preparations. I barely heard from Georgia, though I imagined she was busy selecting the most over-the-top dress she could find. On the morning of the event, I saw her post on social media—something about being “so excited for tonight” with a string of heart and star emojis. I rolled my eyes and put my phone down.

When I arrived at the venue that evening, the energy was electric. Photographers swarmed outside, snapping shots of every celebrity and socialite who stepped onto the carpet. The air buzzed with anticipation, and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that came with events like these.

Inside, everything was seamless. The décor was stunning, the designs were breathtaking, and I was too caught up in the excitement to think about Georgia—until my phone buzzed in my clutch.

Colton.

I didn’t answer. I had no intention of letting him or her ruin my night. But the buzzing continued, text after text flooding in until I finally gave in and glanced at the screen.

Why is Georgia saying she was turned away?

What’s going on, Layla?

Call me. Now.

I smirked to myself. I hadn’t done anything directly, of course. It wasn’t my fault Georgia was banned from events like this. She had a reputation for sneaking into exclusive spaces she had no business being in, and apparently, the staff at this particular show weren’t about to let it slide.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a call. I hit decline, my annoyance flaring. What did he expect me to do? Apologize for something that wasn’t my fault? If Georgia wanted to play in the big leagues, she needed to learn the rules. And one of those rules was that your reputation followed you everywhere.

The texts were relentless.

Why didn’t you warn her?

You embarrassed her on purpose.

Answer me, Layla. I know you’re seeing this.

I stared at the screen for a moment before my thumb hovered over his contact. Without hesitation, I blocked him.