Chapter 3

3.

Dead silence on the other end of the line.

A few seconds later, Brenda gasped. "Joan! What… what are you thinking?! Are you crazy?! Do you know what the consequences will be?! Chase's fans will literally tear you apart! His commercial value, the corporations behind him, and that mother of his in the Hamptons! They won't let you get away with it! You'll be blacklisted from the entire industry! Is your career over?!"

Career?

I let out a laugh that was uglier than a sob.

An actress who'd been grinding in Hollywood for six years, still stuck on the sidelines, only able to get a whiff of the trending page thanks to the occasional "rumor" Chase's team threw my way like scraps. What kind of career was that?

These three years of "staying low-profile" felt more like an invisible cage, locking away all my potential.

I couldn't have a real relationship.

I couldn't have close male friends.

Every public appearance had to be carefully managed, afraid that some small detail might give us away.

My name was permanently tied to "Chase Sterling," always preceded by "rumored," "clout-chasing," or "PR stunt."

I was done.

"Brenda," I said calmly. "Thank you for everything these past few years. But my career is my own responsibility now."

Without waiting for her to respond, I hung up.

I swiped open my phone and found the Twitter app, an app I had barely ever used.

Log in.

Handle: @JoanGalloway.

Followers: Just over three million. How many of them followed me just to curse me out, I had no idea.

The red number on my DMs icon was stuck at "999+."

The mentions were endless.

I ignored all the glaring notifications and tapped the compose button.

Photo album.

I scrolled all the way to the bottom.

To a locked album.

I entered the password.

There was only one photo inside.

I opened it.

Three years ago, Las Vegas, outside that place called the Little White Chapel.

No professional photographer, just a stranger we asked to press the button.

The photo was a bit grainy, but that only made it feel incredibly real.

Me and Chase.

The neon lights of the Nevada night glittered in the background.

He was wearing a leather jacket he bought at a thrift store, his lips pressed into a tight line, but his eyes were shining as he held my hand.

I was leaning against him, smiling shyly, but mostly, I was just happy.

Most importantly, we were holding up a document between us―a marriage certificate issued by Clark County, Nevada.

The official seal was perfectly clear.

Our names, the date, everything was visible.

I selected the photo.

The cursor blinked in the text box.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, a dull, heavy thud.

My fingers were ice-cold, the tips white from how hard I was pressing.

What would happen if I posted this?

Brenda's screams were still ringing in my ears.

The fans' insane hatred.

The industry blacklist.

The retaliation from Chase's PR team.

The fury of his powerful mother.

And… Chase himself.

How would he see me? A hysterical, crazy ex-wife? The bitch who ruined his career?

A sharp pain shot through my heart.

But in the next second, the image of him and Summer embracing, the flood of comments calling me a "whore," a "homewrecker," "pathetic," burned that pain to ash.

Why the fuck should I be the one to suffer?

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, there was nothing left but cold determination.

My fingers tapped the screen.

No caption.

Just that one, undeniable photo.

The date: Three years ago today.

The people: Joan Galloway. Chase Sterling.

The place: Las Vegas, The Little White Chapel.

I tapped.

Tweet.

The screen went dark.

For a moment, the world stood still.

No sound.

No breath.

Just my heart beating heavily in my empty chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Like a death knell.

For me, and for him.

A few seconds passed.

Then, my phone, like a dying animal in its last throes, exploded with an unprecedented, insane, hysterical vibration!

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ―!

The screen was instantly swallowed by a blinding white light.

Countless new notifications, stacking, refreshing, exploding at a terrifying speed!

Twitter crashed.

It froze on the "Tweet Sent" screen, completely unresponsive.

But I knew.

It went through.

The bomb I had just dropped into the deep sea.

It had detonated.

I threw the phone to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers over my head.

My body was shaking uncontrollably.

From the cold.

Or maybe the heat.

Blood was roaring in my veins.

I don't know how much time passed.

Maybe a few minutes, maybe a century.

The phone, abandoned in the corner, started to vibrate again.

Not the rapid-fire buzz of notifications, but a phone call.

A persistent, relentless ringing.