Chapter 2

My first real business venture, long before Apex Innovations, was selling what I called "diet peanuts" in college. They were just regular roasted peanuts that I repackaged into smaller bags with a label I designed myself, claiming they were a "guilt-free, portion-controlled snack." It was a stupid idea, but I was desperate for money. I worked hard, I was practical, and I knew how to sell.

I remembered the early days with Chloe, back when I was just getting my first software company off the ground. I had just bought my first car, a used Honda, not the Tesla Model S Plaid I drove now. I was so proud of it.

The first thing I did was drive to her dance academy.

"I can give you a ride home from now on," I told her, my chest puffed out with pride.

She smiled, a sweet, gentle smile that made my heart ache.

"Oh, Ethan, that's sweet. But I don't want the other dancers to think I'm getting special treatment. It's better if I just take the bus with everyone else."

I felt a little disappointed, but I understood. I thought it was her being humble and fair.

So I would drive my empty car behind her bus, just to make sure she got home safe.

A few months later, my company started doing better. Her dance troupe needed new costumes for a regional competition, but their funding was cut. I anonymously donated the exact amount they needed. They won, and Chloe was ecstatic.

Later that week, I drove her and a few of her friends to a celebration dinner. She had me drop them off at the front and then find parking.

"Could you just wait in the car, Ethan?" she had asked, her voice a soft whisper. "My friends can be a little much, and I don't want to complicate things. They think the donation was from a mysterious benefactor."

I agreed. I sat in my car for two hours in the restaurant parking lot, watching them laugh and talk through the window, feeling like a chauffeur. She told me it was to protect our relationship from gossip, to keep it pure.

I believed her.

I believed everything she said.

Now, standing backstage, the memory felt like a slap in the face. It wasn't about keeping us private. It was about keeping me hidden.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from Instagram. Chloe had just posted a picture of herself in her stage makeup. The caption read: "Finals night! Feeling so grateful for all the spiritual and emotional support. Wish all my friends could be here to share this moment!"

All her friends. That's what I was.

A cold resolve settled over me. I had cancelled my trip home. I had a ticket for the front row. She wanted her "friends" here. Fine. I would stay. I would watch the show.

I bent down and picked up the velvet box from the floor. I walked away from her dressing room door and found my seat in the darkened auditorium.

When the curtain rose, Chloe was center stage. The spotlight hit her, and she was breathtaking. She moved with a power and grace that captivated the entire audience. She was a star.

And I was just a man in the crowd, a stranger watching her shine, the heavy box in my coat pocket a reminder of a love that was never real.