Chapter 2

Jenny thought my "jealousy" was cute at first. A sign that I still cared, she said.

To "make it up to me," she decided to throw a surprise party for my birthday.

She filled our apartment with our entire social circle-her sycophantic backup dancers, vapid socialites, and a few aspiring artists who clung to her and Caleb like barnacles.

The air was thick with fake laughter and the cloying scent of expensive perfume.

Then, Jenny made her grand entrance, holding a guitar case.

"Ethan, baby," she cooed, her voice dripping with performative sweetness for the crowd. "I know things have been... tense. But I want you to know how much I love you."

She opened the case. Inside was a pristine, sunburst 1950s Gibson J-200.

The holy grail. The exact guitar I' d once told her, in a moment of whiskey-fueled dreaming, was my ultimate fantasy.

"I' ve been saving for a year to get this for you," she announced, making sure everyone heard. The crowd oohed and aahed on cue.

I was speechless, my mind a swirl of confusion and a dangerous flicker of hope. Maybe she did see me. Maybe she did care.

She handed me the guitar, its lacquered wood smooth and cool beneath my trembling fingers. Then, in front of everyone, she dropped to one knee.

"Ethan Lester, will you marry me?"

The room erupted. Phones were out, live streams were on. I was overwhelmed, the Gibson feeling heavy in my hands, the proposal feeling heavier in my chest.

Just as I opened my mouth to say something-anything-Jenny' s phone rang, shrill and demanding.

Her smile faltered. She glanced at the screen. Caleb.

She answered, her voice a nervous whisper. "Caleb? What' s wrong?"

His voice, even from across the room, was a venomous shriek. "What' s WRONG? I' m watching this on Tiffany' s live! You' re getting engaged without my blessing? You' re a star, Jenny! Do you have any idea what being tied to a kept man will do to your image? You put me second AGAIN!"

Panic washed over Jenny' s face. The charismatic pop star vanished, replaced by a terrified girl desperate for approval.

Without a second thought, she snatched the Gibson J-200 out of my hands. "I' m so sorry, Caleb, it' s not what it looks like! I' ll fix it!"

She turned to me, her eyes cold and distant. "The party' s over."

As she rushed out of the room, her friends began to pack up, their whispers and mocking laughter filling the void.

"Bad luck, Ethan."

"Guess you' re not getting that ring after all."

"Or the guitar."

I stood there, humiliated and empty-handed, the ghost of a dream guitar in my arms.