Chapter 3

"A stalker?" The word echoed in my head. He had called me a stalker. A sycophant.

My mind flashed back to the day we met. I had orchestrated it, of course. I' d heard about him from a distance-the brilliant, principled son of the struggling Hayes family. I saw him on campus one day, standing up to a group of rich bullies who were harassing a freshman. He didn't back down, even when they threatened him. He was brave and kind, everything I was looking for.

So I arranged to "accidentally" spill coffee on him at the library. I was dressed in my usual uniform of faded jeans and a plain t-shirt, looking like any other struggling student. He was immediately concerned, helping me clean up, insisting on buying me a new coffee.

He never once looked down on me for my simple clothes or my part-time job. He was drawn to my mind, he said. He loved our conversations, the way we could talk for hours about everything and nothing.

For four years, I maintained the charade. I let him pay for our cheap dates, feeling a pang of guilt every time he scraped together enough money to take me to a movie. I let him believe I was poor because I wanted him to love me, Ava, not the Riley Tech heiress.

Our friends on campus always joked about it. They saw him, the handsome son of a formerly prominent family, with me, the quiet, unassuming girl. They whispered that he was my sugar daddy, that he was showering me with gifts.

The irony was that it was the other way around. Every "lucky" break his family's business got, every "anonymous" investment that kept them afloat just a little longer, came from me. He had no idea.

Our relationship had been perfect. Or so I thought. We rarely fought. We supported each other's dreams. I thought we had a love that was pure, untouched by the complications of wealth and status that I had tried so hard to escape.

And now, this.

I refused to believe it. I refused to believe that the man I loved was capable of such cruelty.

"No," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I' m not leaving until you tell me the truth, Ethan."

I started walking towards the stage, my steps determined. The crowd parted before me like the Red Sea.

Brittany shrieked and lunged at me, her long, gaudy nails aimed for my face. "Get away from him, you psycho bitch!"

I sidestepped her clumsy attack easily. She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the stage, her face twisted in an ugly grimace.

I reached the steps of the stage and looked up at Ethan. "Why, Ethan? Why her?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Look at her. Is this what you want?"

His face was a storm of conflicting emotions. Pain, anger, regret.

Then, he raised his hand.

It happened in slow motion. I saw the movement, the intention in his eyes. I could have dodged it. I was fast enough.

But I didn't. I stood perfectly still.

Because in that last second before his hand connected with my cheek, I saw the tears welling in his eyes. He was hurting me to protect me.

The slap echoed through the silent ballroom.

My head snapped to the side, a sharp, stinging pain exploding on my skin.

The shock was physical, but the emotional pain was a thousand times worse. He hit me. Ethan, my Ethan, hit me.

For a moment, all the fight went out of me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was real. Maybe the four years we shared were a lie. Maybe I was just a fool.

Was it all for nothing? My carefully constructed normal life, the love I thought was real-was it all just a prelude to this public humiliation?

Brittany let out a triumphant cackle. "Did you see that? He can' t stand you! He' s with me now."

She puffed out her chest, preening. "I' m Brittany Vance. My family practically owns this city. And you? You' re nothing. A nobody."

I slowly turned my head back to face Ethan, my cheek throbbing. The crowd was whispering, their eyes filled with pity and morbid curiosity.

I ignored them all. I only had eyes for him.

"Do you love me, Ethan?" I whispered, the question hanging in the air between us.

I needed to hear it from his lips. I needed to hear the final lie, or the hidden truth.

He looked down at me, his expression hardening into something unrecognizable. His voice was a blade.

"Love you?" he scoffed, a cruel, mocking sound. "Don' t be ridiculous. You were just a game. A distraction. Someone to pass the time with before I took my rightful place in the world."

He looked from me to Brittany, a grotesque parody of affection on his face. "This is my future. Not you."