Chapter 2

The bus ride was a 12-hour blur of cheap coffee and regret. I finally stumbled off in my small Ohio hometown, the torn designer dress looking ridiculous under the morning sun. My parents' house was a modest, two-story home with a porch swing, a world away from Ethan's penthouse.

My mom opened the door and gasped, her eyes going from my dirty, expensive dress to the scratch marks on my arm.

"Annabel! What happened to you?"

"I got into a fight," I mumbled, pushing past her. "I broke up with Ethan."

My dad looked up from his newspaper, his face grim. "A fight? What kind of trouble are you in, Annie?"

Before I could answer, my mom's laptop, open on the kitchen table, caught my eye. It was open to my food blog, "Annabel's Eats." The comment section was a war zone.

Gold-digger got what she deserved.

Heard she attacked Sabrina Fuller! Psycho!

Hope Ethan Lester sues her for every penny.

My stomach twisted. I scrolled down and saw it: a post from Sabrina. It was a video of her, face tear-streaked, a delicate bandage on her cheek.

"I don't know why she attacked me," Sabrina whimpered to her millions of followers. "She's always been so jealous of my success. She even tried to steal my content ideas. I just want everyone to know the truth about the kind of violent, unstable person Annabel Jenkins really is."

My career was over. My reputation, destroyed. All because of a lie.

The memory of the gala came back, sharp and painful. I had seen Sabrina by the bar, flashing a massive diamond ring on her left hand. It was bigger than any ring I'd ever seen.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" she'd purred, making sure I saw it. "Ethan has such good taste. I can't wait to be the future Mrs. Lester."

The words hit me like a physical blow. The future Mrs. Lester.

So this was it. After three years, he was finally getting married, and I was being replaced. All the little insecurities, the fear of being just a temporary arrangement, solidified into a hard, ugly certainty.

That's when I snapped.

I didn't even think. I lunged, my nails finding her cheek. She shrieked, tearing my dress. Then Ethan was there, pulling me off her, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Annabel, stop it! What the hell are you doing?" he'd yelled, holding me back while he checked on a crying Sabrina.

Seeing him protect her was the final straw. I shoved him, hard. He stumbled backward, lost his balance, and fell into the ridiculously ornate swimming pool behind him.

That's when I ran.

My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. A number I didn't recognize. I answered, my voice flat.

"Annabel? It's Chloe," a rival food blogger said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I just heard what happened. So awful. By the way, I just wanted to let you know, I've hired your photographer, Mark. And your assistant, Jenny. They said you probably wouldn't be needing them anymore."

The phone felt heavy in my hand. Betrayed. Not just by Ethan, but by my own team. The people I thought were my friends.

A different memory surfaced, pushing through the anger. It was from when I first started the blog, struggling to film a recipe video in my tiny apartment kitchen. I was failing, crying in frustration over the bad lighting and shaky camera work.

Ethan had found me like that. He didn't say much. He just sat down, took my laptop, and started researching. All night, he stayed up, looking at photography tutorials and reading articles about social media analytics.

The next day, he had a list for me. The best camera angles. The right lighting equipment to buy. The optimal times to post on Instagram.

When I asked him why, he just shrugged, not looking at me. "I don't want to see you cry."

He was my first and most important supporter. And I had just thrown it all away.