Chapter 4

The first rays of Saturday morning sun streamed through the skylights of the architecture studio, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Kaelyn stared at her CAD drawing, her eyes burning from lack of sleep. She mechanically clicked the mouse, her movements robotic.

The cup of coffee next to her was cold. It was her third since she'd left the penthouse last night, each one a bitter attempt to numb the hollow ache in her chest.

Her phone screen lit up. A text from Clemente.

Sorry about last night. The meeting with the lawyers went on forever. Will call you later.

A dry, mirthless smile touched her lips. She stared at the lie, so blatant and effortless. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to type a reply. What was there to say?

The studio door banged open, and Thea rushed in, looking like she'd just run a sprint. She was balancing two cups of steaming coffee and her expression was one of manic excitement.

"You are not going to believe this," she announced, slamming the coffees down on Kaelyn's desk. A few drops of hot liquid splashed onto a spare blueprint. "Open Whisper. Now."

Kaelyn recoiled. "I'm not interested in stupid campus gossip, Thea."

"This isn't stupid, this is front-page news! Someone just reposted a blind item from a New York gossip column directly onto our app!" Thea shoved her own phone under Kaelyn's nose, refusing to take no for an answer.

Kaelyn's gaze was forced onto the screen. It was a blurry, paparazzi-style photo that had originally surfaced on a prominent city gossip blog before spreading like wildfire to their campus app. The timestamp read 6:30 a. m. that morning. The background was unmistakable: the entrance to the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts.

The car was even more unmistakable: a sleek black Maybach with a license plate she could recite in her sleep. Clemente's car.

But it was the action in the photo that made the world tilt on its axis.

Clemente himself was holding the passenger door open. He was leaning in, his posture protective, as he helped a girl get out of the car. She was petite, dressed in rehearsal leotards, and draped over her shoulders was a man's suit jacket.

A dark navy, custom-tailored suit jacket.

The exact same one Clemente had grabbed from his closet last night as he rushed out the door.

The girl's head was down, but the graceful line of her neck, the delicate frame, the aura of fragility-it could only be Hilda Kramer.

A roaring sound filled Kaelyn's ears. Her vision tunneled, focusing on that jacket. His jacket. On her shoulders.

"They spent the night together!" Thea was babbling, completely oblivious to Kaelyn's internal collapse. "He's dropping her off at her morning ballet practice. This is it! The hard launch! I knew they were a thing!"

Kaelyn's hand trembled. She slowly, deliberately, unlocked her own phone and pulled up the text from Clemente she'd received just ten minutes ago.

The meeting with the lawyers went on forever.

The sheer, breathtaking audacity of the lie. The crushing weight of the humiliation. It was a physical force, a wave that crashed over her, leaving her breathless. Her secret pain, her private compromises, her quiet hope-it all felt like a pathetic joke.

"Kae? Are you okay?" Thea's voice cut through the fog. "You're really pale. Is your blood sugar low?"

Kaelyn snapped back to reality. She quickly locked her phone and pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. "Just... tired. Pulled an all-nighter."

Thea bought it. "Well, this is better than caffeine. The whole campus is freaking out. People are already placing bets on when the engagement will be announced."

Engagement.

The word was a needle, jabbing directly into the rawest part of her heart.

She shot to her feet, the leg of her chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. A violent cramp seized her stomach. She started shoving her drawings and notebooks into her bag with clumsy, jerky movements, tearing the corner of a sketch.

"Whoa, where are you going?" Thea asked, startled. "The project isn't due yet."

"I need to sleep," Kaelyn said, not looking at her. She grabbed her backpack and practically ran from the studio.

In the hallway, a group of girls were huddled over a phone, whispering excitedly. She caught snippets of their conversation. "...Clemente is so romantic..." "...they look so perfect..."

Their words felt like public accusations, each one a stone thrown at her. She walked faster, her pace quickening to a run as she rushed toward the elevators.

The moment the doors slid shut, encasing her in the small metal box, she sagged against the wall. The facade crumbled. A single, hot tear escaped and splashed onto the back of her hand.

She pulled out her phone. Her fingers were shaking, but her movements were precise. She copied the URL of the gossip post. She opened her message thread with Clemente. She pasted the link.

No words. No questions. No accusations.

Just the cold, hard evidence.

Then, with a final, decisive tap, she powered her phone off.