Chapter 3: The Breakup Talk

When I told Ryan it was over, we were sitting in his apartment with those floor-to-ceiling windows staring out at Central Park. He just looked at me, silent, like I’d started speaking a foreign language.

Just when I thought he’d explode, he asked what country I wanted to visit for winter break. His voice was smooth, too normal, like we were planning takeout, not a breakup.

I tried again, more carefully: “Ryan, did you not hear me? I said let’s break up.”

He kept scrolling through his phone, probably already booking a five-star resort. “How about the Bahamas? Didn’t you say you wanted to go? I know a great hotel…” His tone was pure Ryan—trying to charm me into forgetting reality.

My hands shook as I squeezed the throw pillow his decorator probably charged three hundred bucks for. “Ryan, I don’t want to go to the Bahamas. I want to break up.”

This time, he stopped pretending. His jaw clenched, eyes hard. “Emma, I’m trying here. Can’t you just meet me halfway for once?”

“What’s your deal? Why do you have to break up with me?”

“Without me, who’s gonna take you out, huh?”

I felt a little guilty, but the words came out quiet. “I don’t want to go out and play. Staying in sounds nice for once.”

Ryan blinked, stunned, then let out a cold laugh—the one he saved for his dad’s business partners. “So you’ve had your fun, now you’re done with me?”

“Emma Sullivan, don’t think you’re special. I’ve got girls lined up for me.”

I’d seen the DMs. He wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t come crawling back, Emma. I won’t even look at you.”

He slammed the door so hard it rattled the glass. That same day, he posted a cryptic breakup announcement on Instagram—black-and-white skyline, some quote about loyalty.