Chapter 1: A Million Reasons to Leave

I dated the CEO for three years. One day, his mother showed up out of nowhere and said, “A million dollars. Leave my son.”

Her voice was sharp, but honestly, her manicure looked like it could cut glass—French tips flashing as she slid a check across the table at the Four Seasons lounge, totally straight out of a Manhattan drama. The place smelled like espresso and money. For a second, I nearly burst out laughing at how bold this all was—who does this in real life?

After a heavy pause, I pulled out my phone, kept my face calm, and texted the CEO: “Hey, just so you know, I’m putting in my two weeks’ notice. Actually, make that immediate. ✌️”

I watched the typing bubble pop up, then vanish. Figures. Ghosted at the finish line. I wondered for a split second if he’d say something, but honestly, I was already over it. I could practically hear his confused voice in my head, and it almost made me laugh.

Later, as if we were in a Netflix rom-com, the CEO drove across state lines to find me, only to catch me flirting up a storm with a soft-spoken, six-foot-tall college guy.

He must’ve broken every speed limit from New York to Vermont. He pulled up, tension in his jaw, his Audi still running. Headlights glared in the dusk. I barely glanced his way—too busy cracking up at whatever Tyler had just whispered. Internally, I thought, Wow, talk about dramatic entrances.

Tyler, my distraction, said, “People are watching.”

He ducked his head, cheeks pink, clearly not used to being the center of attention. His voice had that easy Southern drawl, slow and low, like he was still deciding if this was real.

I grinned, rubbing my palms together. “That’s fine. I’m a total weirdo.” I caught myself and added, Not that I cared who was watching.

I winked, making a goofy face, and Tyler just shook his head, grinning. The CEO, meanwhile, looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon. I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

He just stared at me, totally confused, like he’d walked into a conversation halfway through.

He didn’t even have time to react before I blocked him, deleted his number right in front of his mom, and walked away. My thumb hesitated, just for a second, then—gone. His mom watched me, suspicious, and asked, “Did you really delete him?”

I made a show of it, letting her see the empty contact list. My thumb hovered over the screen, milking the drama. She looked at me like I was a riddle she’d forgotten how to solve. For a second, I wondered if she’d ever had to work this hard before.

I nodded sweetly, adding a little extra sugar to my smile. “Yup, all gone.” Inside, I was thinking, Fake it till you make it, right?

She said it with the finality of a woman who’s run out of patience—and maybe out of storylines. She pulled her purse closer. For a second, I half-expected her to offer me a gift bag on the way out.

She put on her sunglasses with a dramatic flourish, radiating that Park Avenue energy. I caught her eye and couldn’t help but think, If she handed out party favors, I’d take two. She gave me a dismissive glance. “Since you’re so reasonable, if you ever need anything, you can come to me. You and Aidan were classmates once—I won’t just stand by.”

She tossed her hair like she was in a Chanel ad. Honestly, the world was her runway. Me? Total cameo. Her driver waited outside, engine idling.

My face split into a grin. “Really?”

I couldn’t help it—my voice squeaked a little. Honestly, having Mrs. Whitmore as my godmother? Too wild not to try.

She hummed a yes, then looked at me. I hesitated for a beat, then dropped to one knee, trying to keep it together.

I dropped to one knee, hands clasped, grinning up at her like a kid at Christmas. The marble floor was freezing, but honestly, who cared? I was too giddy to notice. This was the kind of story you told at parties.

“Mrs. Whitmore, if you don’t mind, I’d love for you to be my godmother.” I felt my heart thumping in my chest, hoping she’d play along.

Mrs. Whitmore blinked, for once at a loss for words. For a heartbeat, I thought she might actually say yes just to see what chaos would unfold next.

Read The Art of War, conquer the world. Honestly, I needed a second to catch my breath after all that.

I’d been reading Sun Tzu since high school, using his advice for everything from breakups to board games. Don’t judge. It works.

When my best friend, Annalise Keaton—Ice Tears, as we called her, because she could cry on cue at any rom-com—found out I’d broken up with the CEO, she hugged me, worried. “Don’t be sad, babe. I never liked him anyway. While dating you, he still babied that fake-sweet girl. Ugh! You cut your losses in time. Want me to order some male models for you tonight?”

She squeezed me so tight my ribs popped. Her nails were painted neon green, and she smelled like vanilla and rebellion. I almost laughed at her offer, but with Annalise, you never really knew what she’d pull out next.

I sighed, patted her back, and said, “We all make mistakes when we’re young. Sometimes we mix up family and love.” I tried to sound chill, but I could hear my own voice soften.

I tried to sound wise, but the words came out softer than I meant. For a second, I wondered if I even believed myself. Annalise’s eyes went wide, then narrowed like she was trying to do calculus in her head.

She just stared at me, totally lost, like I’d started speaking in Morse code. I shrugged, trying to play it off, like, Don’t worry about it.

Three years is still something, but honestly, that check wiped out any sadness before it could even settle in. Getting a godmother out of it? That was just the cherry on top.

I waved the check in the air, fanning myself. “If only every breakup came with perks.” Annalise rolled her eyes but grinned anyway, and I could tell she was half-jealous, half-proud.

She stared at the ceiling, muttering, “Damn, why can’t good stuff like this ever happen to me?” I snorted, thinking she’d probably turn it into a TikTok.

I laughed, nudging her shoulder. “You’re just not weird enough, that’s all.” I gave her a playful wink, knowing she’d never admit it.