Chapter 4

On my last day, a sleek black car pulled up outside my apartment building. A man in a suit knocked on my door.

"Ms. Gordon? Mr. Clarkson requests your presence at the label headquarters."

Jennifer's husband. The powerful executive. My stomach twisted.

I was escorted into a large, intimidating boardroom. The executive, a man with cold, predatory eyes, sat at the head of the table. Andrew Scott, his notoriously ruthless A&R man, "The Hatchet," stood beside him. And Nathaniel was there, looking uncomfortable in the corporate setting.

"Nathaniel," the executive began, his voice booming with false sincerity. "Your loyalty the other night, protecting my wife... it has not gone unnoticed."

He slid a contract across the polished table. "A five-album deal. The full backing of the label. And of course," he added with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "my blessing for your marriage to this lovely young woman."

All eyes turned to me. This was it. The prize. Everything I had supposedly worked for. A future with the man I loved, his career secured.

I took a deep breath.

"No," I said.

The room went silent. The executive's smile faltered. Nathaniel stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief.

"I'm not marrying him," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "And I won't be signing anything. I'm leaving."

Just as the shock began to register, the boardroom door burst open. A frantic assistant rushed in.

"Sir! It's Mrs. Clarkson! She's collapsed! She's having another one of her episodes!"

The executive's face went pale. He shot up from his chair and ran out of the room.

Nathaniel, his composure completely gone, grabbed my arm. His grip was desperate.

"Stella, don't. Don't do this. Don't leave me."

His words were a plea, but his attention was already divided. From the next room, we could hear a faint, weak voice.

"Nate...? Nate, I need you..."

Jennifer.

He was torn. His eyes darted between me and the door. And in that moment of chaos, as people rushed around, a purse fell from a nearby chair-Jennifer's purse. Its contents spilled onto the floor.

Among the lipstick and keys, I saw it. A vintage, laminated tour pass. A rare collectible from a long-defunct music festival.

I had found it for him. I spent weeks scouring flea markets and collectors' stalls. I gave it to him on his birthday, a piece of history I knew he'd appreciate. I thought he cherished it.

He had given it to her. My gift. My effort. My love. He had just given it away.

That was the final straw.

"Let go of me," I said, my voice dangerously low. The pain of five years, the humiliation, the heartbreak, it all came pouring out. "You want to know why I'm leaving? Because of this." I wrenched my arm free and pulled down the collar of my shirt, exposing the raw, stitched-up gash on my shoulder. "This is from the party. This is from when you shoved me to the ground to save her."

He stared at the wound, stunned into silence.

"And that," I said, pointing to the tour pass on the floor. "I gave you that. You gave my gift to her. You used me, Nathaniel. I was just a replacement for the woman you could never have."

His face was white. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He had no defense.

"I have to go to her," he finally stammered, his eyes flicking back toward the sound of Jennifer's voice. "But I'll be back. Stella, wait for me. I'll be right back."

"Don't bother," I said, turning away. "I won't be here."

I walked out of the boardroom, out of the building, and out of his life. I didn't look back.