Chapter 2

Cohen and I met in a crowded lecture hall at college. He was the golden boy, heir to the Bolton tech empire, radiating a confidence that came from a life without obstacles. I was a scholarship kid, perpetually worried about my grades and my part-time job, invisible in the sea of privileged faces.

He saw me, though. He pursued me with a single-minded intensity that was both flattering and overwhelming.

"Social status means nothing to me, Jaycee," he'd said one night, under a sky full of stars. "It's you I want. I would give up everything for you."

I believed him. I fell for him, hard and fast. His world was intoxicating, a whirlwind of glamour and possibility I'd only ever read about. But I was always aware of the whispers, the disapproving looks from his family and friends. I was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, not good enough for the Bolton heir.

So I decided to prove them wrong.

When he offered me a job at his family's company, Bolton Corp, after graduation, I accepted. We kept our relationship a secret at first. I wanted to earn my place, to show everyone I was more than just Cohen's girlfriend.

I poured my entire being into that company. I was the first to arrive and the last to leave. I worked weekends and holidays, surviving on coffee and ambition. I once worked for three days straight on a major project proposal, sleeping on a cot in my office, until I collapsed from exhaustion right after the presentation. I didn't care. The project was a success.

I believed my hard work was the price of admission into his world. I thought if I could just become indispensable, if I could just achieve enough, no one could question my worthiness to stand by his side.

And for a while, it worked. I rose through the ranks, my achievements undeniable. Cohen was proud of me. He'd brag about my successes to his father, to his friends.

The day he took me to the top of the Bolton Tower, got down on one knee, and publicly proposed was the happiest day of my life. He announced our engagement to the world, silencing the critics. I had finally made it. I had earned my place.

Then Hillary Peterson came back to town.

She was his childhood best friend, a socialite with a serpent's smile and a sense of entitlement as vast as her trust fund. She had been living abroad, and her return was like a shadow falling over our lives.

Slowly, things began to change. The time Cohen spent with me began to shrink.

"Hillary's just having a tough time readjusting," he'd say when he canceled our dinner plans to go out with her. "She needs me right now."

He called her 'Hilly'. A cute, affectionate nickname. He always called me Jaycee.

He started spending more and more time with her. Late-night drinks became entire weekends away. His social media, once filled with pictures of us, was now a gallery of his adventures with Hillary. Skiing in Aspen, wine tasting in Napa, sailing in the Hamptons.

When I would bring it up, my voice tight with a jealousy I hated, he would sigh.

"You're being insecure, Jaycee. She's like a sister to me. You know that."

It was always the same excuse. She's like a sister.

He'd come home late, smelling of her perfume, and fall into bed without a word. I'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my heart a tight knot of doubt and anxiety.

I told myself I was overthinking it. I told myself to trust him. He loved me. We were getting married. I had poured years of my life, my sweat and my soul, into this relationship, into this company, into proving I was worthy. I couldn't let it all be for nothing.

So I suppressed my doubts. I ignored the pit in my stomach. I chose to believe his lies because the truth was too painful to face.

The attack on my mother was the catalyst. His casual dismissal, his defense of Hillary, his prioritizing a 'business trip' over my family's crisis-it was the culmination of a thousand smaller betrayals.

But even then, a part of me tried to make excuses. Until I saw that picture from the Maldives.

That one, single, celebratory photo shattered every illusion I had clung to. There was no business trip. There was no misunderstanding.

There was only a lie. A deep, cruel, and comprehensive lie.

He wasn't just prioritizing his friend. He had abandoned me in my darkest hour to go on a romantic vacation with another woman.

The sister excuse was a pathetic, transparent lie that I had been a fool to ever believe.

And in that moment, kneeling at my mother's grave, I finally understood. My hard work hadn't earned me a place by his side. It had just made me a convenient, self-sufficient placeholder until someone he deemed more suitable came along.

All my sacrifices were for nothing. The love I thought we had was a sham.

The decision wasn't even a decision anymore. It was a certainty. A cold, hard fact. I was done.