Several days had gone by since Matthew stormed into my apartment, furious over the viral post. Yet, not once had he bothered to reach out to check on me after that. It was clear. He didn’t care.

That realization hit me like a slap, a harsh truth I could no longer ignore. I had wasted years of my life, sacrificing my own happiness for someone who wouldn’t even make sure I was okay.

I let my eyes wander to the television, where the muted screen flickered with the usual noise. I hadn’t bothered turning up the volume—it was always the same. Matthew and Debbie, their movie, their scandal, and the endless ripple effect from it all. But today, something caught my attention.

I reached for the remote, my heart racing as I turned the volume up, eager to hear the latest. The reporter’s voice filled the quiet space, and I listened intently.

"Breaking news: Matthew Flores and Debbie Pearson’s highly anticipated movie has flopped at the box office, with both critics and audiences turning away amidst the escalating scandal."

I leaned forward, my grip tightening on the remote as the broadcast continued.

"The backlash has been swift. Fans are accusing Matthew of deceiving them, while Debbie has been harshly criticized for her involvement in the rumored affair. Major endorsement deals have been withdrawn, and sources close to Debbie suggest she’s struggling to cope with the public fallout."

A photo of Matthew and Debbie appeared on screen, both looking visibly distressed. The words continued to pour in, a steady stream of betrayal and scandal.

"In a recent interview, Matthew Flores denied the pregnancy rumors, calling them a ‘baseless attack on my character.’ He added, ‘If the woman behind this has any proof, she should come forward and stop hiding behind a screen trying to destroy my career.’"

I couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that escaped me. Baseless? Proof? They wanted proof?

Fine. I would give them proof.

Hours passed as I sat at my desk, typing the article that would expose everything.

I began with the truth.

"My name is Jillian Brennan, heiress to the Brennan Corporation. For five years, I kept my relationship with actor Matthew Flores a secret, hidden from the public eye due to his contract restrictions. During that time, I supported him in every way I could, sacrificing my own dreams and career to help him achieve his goals."

I attached the photos—ones he thought would never see the light of day. Pictures of us together: laughing over private dinners, walking hand in hand, and a few candid moments he never realized I had captured.

I included the receipts: the pregnancy test, the car keys I had planned to give him, everything.

Then I laid bare his lies.

"Recently, I discovered that Matthew had been using me for years, intending to discard me once he had achieved his goals. His public relationship with Debbie Pearson was nothing but a betrayal. He promised me love while secretly plotting to replace me. I’ve attached recordings and messages that prove his true intentions."

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen. The evidence was undeniable.

With a final breath, I pressed “publish.”

The article spread like wildfire.

Within minutes, my phone began buzzing non-stop—headlines popping up, social media feeds flooded with comments, and news outlets all across the board picking up the story.

“Jillian Brennan Exposes Matthew Flores!”

“Brennan Corporation Heiress Breaks Silence on Five-Year Relationship with Matthew Flores!”

“Scandal Deepens: Proof of Betrayal and Lies!”

The public’s reaction was immediate and unforgiving.

“I always knew Matthew was shady!”

“This poor woman, used and abandoned—he thought he could get away with it.”

“Matthew and Debbie deserve each other—both liars caught red-handed.”

I sat back and watched as the chaos erupted around me, the storm I had set in motion.

Then, my phone rang. It was Matthew’s name flashing across the screen.

I ignored it.

It rang again. Then a third time.

Finally, I answered, my voice cold and unyielding. “What do you want?”

“Jillian, what the hell is wrong with you?” His voice was a mix of fury and disbelief. “Why would you do this? Why would you lie like that?”

“Lie?” I replied, a sarcastic edge creeping into my tone. “What exactly did I lie about, Matthew? The photos? The messages? Or the fact that you were planning to dispose of me once you started your own agency?”

There was a long pause, the silence thick with tension before he spoke again, his voice shaking with anger. “You have no idea what you’ve done! You’ve destroyed my career! Do you understand that? Do you even care?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Care? Matthew, you didn’t care about me for five years. You used me, lied to me, and then flaunted your relationship with Debbie like I didn’t even exist. So no, I don’t care about your career.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, trying to reason with me.

“And let you walk away scot-free?” I shot back, my voice cutting through the air. “Not a chance.”

He took a shaky breath. “Jillian, please. We can fix this. I’ll make it right. Just take the article down.”

Before he could continue, I said, “Enjoy your downfall,” and ended the call, blocking his number for good.

Five years ago, I had everything I needed to launch my own career. A lead role in a big-budget romance film was within my grasp—a role I’d dreamed of, one that could’ve made me a household name. The script was perfect, the opportunity rare.

But then Matthew happened.

“You can’t take this role, Jillian,” he’d said, leaning against the kitchen counter with that disarming smile of his.

I’d frowned. “Why not? Matthew, this could change my life.”

He shook his head, taking my hands in his. “You know how the industry works. If we’re seen together, people will start asking questions. I can’t risk breaking my contract. Not right now.”

“But Matthew,” I protested, “I’ve been waiting for something like this for years. It’s not fair.”

His expression softened, but his words didn’t. “I need you, Jillian. Behind the scenes. You’ve always been my rock. We’re in this together, remember? Your time will come.”

And just like that, I let the role slip away.

Not long after, it was handed to Debbie Pearson.

At the time, I told myself it didn’t matter. I loved Matthew, and if supporting him meant putting my dreams on hold, then so be it. But looking back now, I realized the truth: Matthew had been into Debbie from the start, and I had been nothing but a convenient tool in his rise to stardom.

But that version of Jillian—the one who gave up everything for him—was long gone.

I sat in the grand living room of our estate. My phone buzzed with notifications about the ongoing fallout from Matthew’s scandal, but I ignored it.

While scrolling through my tablet, a message from Stephen caught my attention.

“We’re working on securing the cast for an upcoming romance-action adaptation. Heard it’s going to be a huge hit. You should audition.”

A spark of interest flickered in me. I opened the attachment Stephen had sent, detailing the project. It was a much-anticipated adaptation of a bestselling novel, and the original cast had been Matthew and Debbie.

But with the scandal, the director was looking to recast.

I smiled to myself.

I called Stephen. “Send me the script,” I said. “I want to audition.”

The day of the audition arrived, and I walked into the bustling theater where it was being held. Women crowded the lobby, their chatter filling the air as they rehearsed lines and adjusted their outfits.

I kept my head down, blending into the crowd. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to accuse me of using my family connections.

When my name was finally called, I stepped onto the stage, my heart pounding.

The script felt natural in my hands, and as I delivered the lines, the world around me faded. When I finished, the room fell silent for a moment before erupting into applause.

The judges exchanged whispers, nodding in approval. One of them leaned forward, narrowing their eyes. “You’re Jillian Brennan, aren’t you? The rising star from years ago?”

I nodded, offering a polite smile.

“Well, Miss Brennan,” he said, “you haven’t lost your touch. That was exceptional.”

The praise filled me with a sense of validation I hadn’t felt in years.

Hours passed as the judges deliberated. I waited in the corner of the room, avoiding the stares of the other actresses. But I could hear their murmurs. I didn’t care. All I wanted is to show Matthew and Debbie that I could take back the life they had stole from me.

Finally, the director appeared, holding a clipboard. The room fell silent in anticipation.

But before he could speak, the door burst open.

Debbie stormed in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. The sound echoed through the room, cutting through the low hum of conversation. Her designer outfit clung perfectly to her, her makeup impeccable. It was as if the recent scandal hadn’t touched her—like she’d willed the world to forget.

I couldn’t believe how she still managed to hold her head high. Her confidence was infuriating.

The other aspiring actresses began whispering.

“Can you believe she showed up here?” one woman murmured, her hand over her mouth as if hiding her words made them less noticeable.

“I thought her career was over after that scandal with Matthew,” another added, shooting a sharp look toward Debbie’s perfectly styled hair.

“Honestly, it’s embarrassing. Does she think she still owns this role?” someone else scoffed, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall. “Maybe she just wants to pick a fight with Jillian Brennan.”

I stayed seated, silent, watching her every move.

“She shouldn’t even be here,” a woman whispered just loud enough for the murmurs to carry. “Doesn’t she know the studio already decided to replace her?”

Debbie’s head snapped in the direction of the comment, her jaw clenching.

“I do know,” Debbie said loudly, silencing the room. “And that decision was a mistake.”

The director’s brow furrowed. “Miss Pearson, what are you doing here?”

“This is my role,” she snapped. “There shouldn’t even be an audition. Everyone knows I’m the lead. This is ridiculous.”

The director’s expression hardened. “We’ve already discussed this, Debbie. The studio decided to recast. Your involvement is no longer an option.”

Debbie laughed bitterly. “Recast? With who? Who could possibly replace me? I am the best in this field and you can’t do this to me!”

Her eyes scanned the room, daring anyone to meet her gaze.

The director turned to the side and gestured for me to step forward. “Meet your replacement.”

Debbie’s eyes locked onto me, widening in shock.

“You,” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing here, bitch?”

I stepped forward. “I’m here to take back what you stole from me, Debbie. Starting with this role.”

“You arrogant little—” she hissed, stepping toward me, her hand raised like she was about to grab my hair.

I took a quick step back, instinctively avoiding her. She moved too fast, and before she realized it, her heel slipped on the polished floor.

It all happened so quickly. One second she was lunging at me, and the next, her arms flailed wildly as she lost her balance. And then, down she went. The sound of her hitting the ground echoed through the room. Flat on her face.

The room went silent for a beat before laughter broke out, and the phones came out. The soft hum of video recording filled the space.

In an instant, she became the laugh of the town again while I became the headlines for getting the lead role.

It was astounding how much could change in a single week.

Just days ago, I had been watching my life crumble, and now I was standing at the peak of something new. My face was plastered on billboards, magazines, and social media campaigns as the new face of a luxury brand—a title that had once belonged to Debbie Pearson.

The scandal had completely dismantled her career, and with her endorsements pulled, her name was all but erased from the acting industry.

During that week, Matthew didn’t stop trying to get my attention. My phone buzzed relentlessly with his texts and missed calls using new numbers each time I blocked him. He sent flowers, gifts, and even handwritten letters begging for forgiveness.

“Jillian, please just talk to me.”

“I made a mistake. We can fix this.”

“I love you.”

I deleted every message without reading further. I burned the flowers and trashed the gifts without hesitation. He could grovel all he wanted, but I was done.

Finally, the day I’d been waiting for arrived—the first day of shooting for the much-anticipated film. The set was abuzz with activity as everyone prepared for the announcement of the new male lead.

The production team had been tight-lipped about his identity, teasing the media and fans with the promise of a surprise. Even I didn’t know who it would be.

On set, the air was alive with excitement and speculation. The crew hustled to get everything ready, and I could hear whispers of curiosity among the staff.

“Do you think it’ll be someone famous?”

“Maybe a rising star?”

As I walked towards my tent to prepare, I heard a familiar voice coming from the director’s office.

“Please, you can’t replace me. You know no one else can deliver what I can,” Matthew’s voice echoed, filled with desperation.

I stopped in my tracks, my stomach twisting in disgust. Of course, he was here, still trying to claw his way back into relevance.

The director responded. “The decision has been made, Matthew. It’s not up for discussion.”

I smirked to myself and kept walking. He was getting exactly what he deserved.

Inside my tent, the makeup artist assigned to me turned out to be Debbie’s former stylist. When I saw her, I raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me.

“Is this okay, Ms. Brennan?” the stylist asked nervously, probably wondering if I’d object.

“It’s perfect,” I said with a smile. “Let’s get started.”

As I sat in the chair, letting her work, I could feel the weight of the day settling in. This was my moment—a chance to reclaim everything I had sacrificed for Matthew. But, of course, he couldn’t stay out of my way for long.

The tent flap burst open, and there he was—Matthew Flores, looking disheveled and frantic.

“Jillian,” he said, his voice pleading.

I didn’t even flinch. “What do you want, Matthew?”

He stepped closer, his eyes wide with desperation. “You have to help me. Please, I’m begging you.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Help you? After everything you’ve done? You must be joking.”

“I made a mistake,” he said quickly. “I know I messed up, but I want to make it right. Please, Jillian. I need you.”

“You needed me five years ago, Matthew. Now? You’re on your own.”

His desperation turned into anger, and he stepped closer, his voice rising. “You don’t understand. My career is falling apart. I have nothing left.”

“And whose fault is that?” I snapped, standing up from the chair. “I gave you everything, Matthew. My time, my energy, my love. And you threw it all away. You don’t get to come crawling back now.”

He reached out, his hand brushing my arm. “Please, Jillian, I’ll do anything—”

Before he could finish, I grabbed the nearest water bottle and threw it at his face.

The cold water splashed over him, and he froze, stunned.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted, wiping his face. His expression twisted with fury, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out.

But before he could do anything, another hand shot out, grabbing Matthew’s wrist and stopping him in his tracks.

“Back off,” a deep voice said.

I turned, my eyes widening as I saw the man standing behind Matthew.

Brett Cantrell.

Matthew’s eyes widened in shock. “Brett? What the hell are you doing here?”

Brett smirked, his grip on Matthew’s wrist tightening. “What else? I’m here because I’m the male lead for this movie.”

My jaw dropped. Brett Cantrell is my leading man?

The Brett Cantrell. The A-list actor who had disappeared from the spotlight years ago. Everyone in the industry had always speculated where he’d gone. Now, here he was, standing in front of me—every inch the star he used to be—declaring he was the male lead for the movie I was about to star in.

I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, Brett turned to me with that trademark smirk that could melt anyone’s resolve. His eyes locked onto mine, and then, as if the words had been rehearsed for years, he said:

“Oh, hello there, my dear fiancée…”

The world seemed to tilt, and my breath caught in my throat as my eyes widened.

“Fiancée?” I whispered to myself, more confused than I had ever been in my life.