Chapter 5: The Proposal and Its Fallout

That must’ve been the first time Ryan met the documentary guy. He instinctively shielded me, eyeing the man warily.

Ryan had always been protective, especially with strangers poking around. He stood a little in front of me, posture tense, the way he did when we had to talk our way out of bad apartment leases.

I quickly explained the situation.

After listening, he helplessly pinched my cheek, smiling.

“Nat, I keep telling you—don’t trust every sweet-talking stranger. Remember that old lady with the fake job flyers? You’re still out seven hundred bucks.”

His voice was teasing, but I could hear the concern tucked underneath. The seven hundred bucks had been my entire rent savings that month—scammed by a woman selling fake job leads outside the grocery store. Classic New York hustle, but it still stung.

I grinned, playfully begging for mercy, promising it wouldn’t happen again.

The man stood quietly by, filming. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in and cleared his throat. The camera shook with the movement.

Once Ryan showed up, the man acted like a real director, making us stand together for an interview.

The first few questions were harmless—about the future, work, the industry. Ryan and I answered perfunctorily, skirting the real issues.

Until suddenly, the man looked at Ryan and made a strange comment:

“Really handsome.”

While I was still confused, he turned to me and suddenly asked:

“With such a good-looking boyfriend, Miss Cross, aren’t you worried about the temptations in the industry? Are you sure he’ll always love you?”

The question was pointed and blunt.

I was stunned for a second, then, as if hearing a joke, grabbed Ryan’s arm, my eyes curving with confident laughter.

“Not worried at all. I’m sure Ryan will love me forever.”

I looked at Ryan, coughed dramatically, raised my chin, and held out my hand.

“Come on, future movie star Caldwell—someone’s doubting your love. Shouldn’t you prove him wrong?”

Ryan was used to my occasional theatrics. He gazed at me with gentle eyes, full of affection.

He knelt on one knee, took my hand, and to my shock, slipped a silver ring onto my finger.

“That’s right. Ryan Caldwell will love Natalie Cross for a lifetime.”

“So, Miss Natalie Cross, will you marry me?”

My hands flew to my face, and for a second, I thought I’d drop right there in the parking lot. Overwhelmed, I bit my lip, eyes instantly filling with tears, and choked out, “I will—”

I closed the video and went to wash up.

I splashed cold water on my face, letting the sting wake me up. The tile in my tiny bathroom was still cracked from where I’d dropped my hairdryer last winter. Some things never change.

When I checked the comments again, the mood had shifted—two camps were now locked in a fierce argument.

[Who are these people shipping them? Ryan Caldwell is doing great with Lillian now, and you’re here shipping him with his ex? Are you serious? The new couple doesn’t deserve this drama.]

[Ship, ship, ship! Where were you all when Natalie Cross got dragged through the mud as his girlfriend? Now you’re here crying at the grave, acting like you care.]

[Am I the only one who remembers? Why are people calling for them to get back together? Did you forget Natalie was caught sneaking into some director’s hotel room? That breakup was a total mess—she was called every name in the book.]

[Finally someone said it—Natalie the bitch, stop buying trending topics. Don’t you know what you did? Stop trying to leech off our man; he’s happy with Lillian now. If you need money or attention, go sell yourself—you’re good at that.]

[That’s it, I’m organizing a GoFundMe for Natalie’s handstand at the Statue of Liberty.]

The fight spilled over to Instagram, Twitter, even TikTok. Americans love a side to pick, and the internet gave them plenty of ammo.

As the debate got more heated, the documentary’s popularity kept climbing.

This was the first time I’d stayed at the top of the trending list for so long—longer than five years ago.

Just then, Lillian posted on Instagram.

No caption, just a photo.

In the picture, she was smiling in Ryan’s arms, flashing the diamond ring on her finger at the camera.

The diamond looked big enough to buy a small car. I wondered if Ryan picked it out himself, or if Lillian had just sent him a Pinterest board. After five years together, Ryan had proposed to her.

I stared at the screen for a long moment. Her nails were manicured a soft pink, the diamond catching the sunlight just so. Ryan looked happy. Maybe he really was. I let out a slow breath, closed the app, and turned the lights off early that night.