Chapter 1: Betrayal on Live TV

When my girlfriend Natalie Brooks won Best Actress, I was stuck entertaining a client in a downtown Savannah hotel. The TV in our suite was tuned to the 29th Golden Star Awards—her big night.

A slow jazz track drifted from hidden speakers, mixing with the hum of the AC and the soft clink of glasses from the next suite. Outside, rain peppered the windows, blurring neon city lights. My client—a chatty, balding guy from Jacksonville—barely noticed the TV, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounding as the award was announced.

"The Best Actress at this year's Golden Star Awards is—Natalie Brooks!"

My heart just about jumped out of my chest. For a second, I forgot I was supposed to play it cool. I fumbled for my phone and texted Natalie: "Congrats, babe. You’re amazing. I’ve got something special to tell you tonight."

My thumb brushed the velvet box in my jacket pocket—midnight blue, simple, just enough sparkle. Tonight was supposed to be the night. I’d finally tell Natalie the truth—and ask her to marry me. But before I could hit send, I heard her voice ring out from the TV: "Thank you to my team, my fans, and most of all, my boyfriend…"

My chest went tight. There she was—tall, glowing, honey-blonde hair pinned up, makeup flawless. I grinned like an idiot, nerves buzzing. But then she said, "Thank you to my boyfriend Derek Hall. He’s been there since my first bit part. He believed in me and made this hard road brighter."

My face went slack, frozen in a half-smile that felt like a slap. She was crying on stage. I was paralyzed on the couch, blood draining from my face. The world stopped, except for the pounding in my ears.

My name isn’t Derek Hall.

My mind spun. Natalie owed everything to me—every role, every connection, every break. I’d worked the phones, pulled the strings, spent money I never told her about. I even made sure tonight’s award was hers. For three years, I made sure she was always the lead, except for one high-profile supporting role—another favor cashed in.

I remembered the late-night calls, the closed-door meetings, the deals I made behind the scenes. I smoothed every path for her. She calls that a tough road?

Just as I was about to call her, a message popped up from Natalie’s agent, Tanya Grant:

"Caleb, don’t bother looking for Natalie anymore. She’s out of your league now."

I thought back to yesterday, when I told Natalie I couldn’t make it to the ceremony. She actually seemed relieved. I was supposed to see her win in person, but tonight’s dinner was crucial for the company. I had no choice.

I replayed our last call—her voice rushed, almost impatient. I should’ve known.

"Sir, the organizers want to know if you’ll be attending the dinner?" My assistant reappeared, speaking quietly.

I waved him off, suddenly not in the mood for anything.

The heaviness in my chest made it hard to breathe. "Clear out everything. I’m crashing at my parents’ place tonight."

My house was decked out for a proposal—roses, candles, the works. Now I couldn’t even look at it. Dumped like that, I just needed to be anywhere but there. I pictured the hidden takeout containers in the garage—pointless now.

Then, as if to twist the knife, Natalie texted:

"Caleb, since I supported you all these years, let’s end things peacefully. I’ll Venmo you $15,000 as a breakup fee. Don’t count on women to take care of you anymore."

She supported me? A breakup fee? Like I was some failed musician she sponsored on a reality show.

I laughed, sharp and bitter. My thumb hovered over the reply button, mind racing with everything I wanted to say—but I stopped myself. Screw it. I’d go to the dinner after all. I straightened my tie, took a breath, and decided it was time for everyone to see what reality really looked like.