Chapter 2

My manager, Beth, handled the press. She was a pro. She released a simple statement: "The wedding has been canceled. Chloe asks for privacy at this time."

I didn't need privacy to cry. I needed it to work.

I locked myself in my home studio, the one Liam always said was too far from the "downtown scene." The one he never moved into. Now I knew why. Savannah's apartment was downtown.

I didn't pick up my guitar to write a sad song. I picked it up to write an angry one.

The memories flooded back, sharp and clear. All the little betrayals I had ignored.

Like our anniversary last year. I booked a private table at the Bluebird Cafe, the place where we first met. He showed up an hour late, with Savannah.

"Networking meeting," he'd said, smiling that charming smile. "Savannah needed some advice." He sat her down at our table, and they talked about her influencer career all night. I just sat there, a third wheel at my own anniversary dinner.

Or the time he faked a stage injury. He called me, sounding like he was in agony. He said he twisted his ankle during a soundcheck. I dropped everything, cooked his favorite stew, and drove across town to his place.

I found him on the couch, perfectly fine, laughing with Savannah. She took one look at the food I brought and said, "Stew? Chloe, you're so predictable. Liam needs something exciting."

He just laughed along with her.

I had made so many excuses for him. For them. I had believed his lies because I wanted to. I had loved the idea of us, the "power couple" narrative.

Now, sitting in my studio, the only thing I felt was rage. It was clean and hot, burning away all the love and hurt. I started to write. The lyrics came fast, raw and honest. This wasn't a heartbreak album. It was a war declaration.