Chapter 1

1.

My phone vibrated violently on the nightstand, as if it was trying to shake itself to pieces.

I fumbled for the alarm with my eyes still closed.

It wasn't the alarm.

It vibrated again.

I shoved it under my pillow.

The vibrations became muffled, but even more frantic.

It was 3:30 AM, and the blue light from the screen stabbed at my eyes. My notification bar had exploded―Instagram, Twitter, iMessage, all glowing with red numbers.

My heart started to pound. That familiar, sinking feeling of dread poured over me like ice water.

At the very top was a push notification from CNN.

#Hollywood Star Chase Sterling Announces Relationship Late Tuesday Night#

It was followed by a fire emoji.

Trending number one in the country.

I tapped on it.

Pinned to the top was Chase’s Instagram post from an hour ago.

The photo was cinematic: the Santa Monica Pier at night, the coastline lights blurred into a golden halo in the background. He was wearing a white t-shirt, smiling brilliantly, his arm wrapped around a girl in a white sundress. The girl was turned to the side, her blonde hair blowing against his neck in the sea breeze, her smile impossibly soft.

The caption was just one sentence:

Finally found my person. @SummerQuinn

I stared at the photo until my eyes burned.

Chase Sterling.

My husband.

Legally.

Our marriage certificate was locked in the bottom drawer of my nightstand, where it had been for nearly three years.

The girl in the photo was Summer Quinn, Hollywood’s newest "sweetheart." They had just wrapped a blockbuster rom-com, and the entire internet was shipping Chase Sterling and Summer Quinn.

The comment section was a warzone.

"OMG FINALLY!!! I’ve been shipping you two from day one!!!"

"Summer you deserve the world!!!"

"This is the fairytale romance we all need right now"

"Such a romantic couple!! Not like those nameless actresses trying to ride his coattails"

"Nameless actresses trying to ride his coattails."

I scrolled down.

There it was.

Mixed in with the screams of joy and congratulations were a few comments clearly aimed at me.

"@JoanGalloway Girl, bye. This is what real love looks like. Stop buying those fake paparazzi pics."

"Remember when @JoanGalloway ‘accidentally’ fell into Chase’s arms at the Oscars? So cringe lol"

"@JoanGalloway can you please stop with the PR stunts? He’s with someone now."

My name, #JoanGalloway, was trending.

I clicked on it.

It was filled with screenshots.

Gossip bloggers posted threads suggesting Chase and I had some kind of "secret arrangement."

There was a slow-motion GIF from the last Oscars red carpet where my heel got stuck and Chase, being a gentleman, steadied me. The caption read, "Thirsty actress throws herself at him again."

There were even a few blurry photos of a supposed "late-night rendezvous"―photos that were actually from three years ago, our backs to a paparazzi camera in the parking lot of that little chapel in Las Vegas, right after we got our license, waiting for his assistant to bring the car.

He had just hit it big back then. His team, his family’s trust fund managers, they all said that a sudden marriage reveal would severely damage his commercial value as "Hollywood's Most Eligible Bachelor." Their advice was: keep it quiet for now, and announce it when the time is right.

I agreed.

Partly because I loved him and believed him when he said, "It's just temporary."

And partly because of the "compensation agreement" his team offered―as long as I cooperated and kept a low profile, not revealing the marriage myself, I would receive a monthly payment large enough to live comfortably.

So we became husband and wife in the eyes of the law, but lived completely separate lives in the eyes of the world.