Chapter 1: The Day I Stopped Waiting

I used to be a nobody, and weirdly, I was proud of it. All I wanted was Lucas Whitaker’s love.

Back then, that hope was everything—just the dream that one day he’d look at me like I was the only person in the world. I’d convince myself it was enough, even if it meant making myself smaller just to fit in his shadow. Love was supposed to be simple. I guess I was just naive.

After he blocked me once, I finally got the message. I swallowed my pride and quietly took whatever scraps of work he sent my way. I’d tell myself it was just business, but every job stung. I just didn’t love him anymore. Or maybe I was finally done pretending. For a moment, I let that truth settle in—heavy, strange, freeing.

It was like a switch flipped inside me. No more waiting by the phone, no more checking his socials at 2 a.m. Was I finally free? Maybe. I took the jobs, did the work, and kept my head down. The old ache faded, replaced by something cold and clean—like winter air stinging your lungs.

Later, when he landed in the hospital after a car crash, I was overseas for Fashion Week. The lights of Paris flashed by outside my hotel window, the air thick with perfume and cigarette smoke. I remember standing backstage, the hum of a foreign language in my ears, too far away to do anything but scroll through updates. By the time I got back, I’d already signed onto a new show.

The world kept spinning. Paris was bright, loud, and indifferent. I’d wake up to city lights, not hospital beeps. I thought about him, sure, but from a distance—like I was watching someone else’s life play out on a screen. I convinced myself he didn’t need me, not really.

When he finally recovered and got discharged, he showed up at my apartment, eyes rimmed red, pressing me against the doorframe. “I—I was in a car accident…”

He looked so lost, like a kid who’d wandered too far from home. His hand trembled just a little, barely brushing my shoulder. Like he wasn’t sure I’d let him.

I looked at him, blank. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t.

Inside, my heart thudded, but my face stayed empty. I’d learned how to shut down, how to lock the door and throw away the key. Silence stretched between us, heavy as storm clouds.

His jaw tightened, eyes red, hurt showing. “You didn’t… not even once… come see me.”

There was a waver in his voice, something I’d never heard before. For a split second, I almost reached out, my fingers twitching with old muscle memory. But the moment passed. I just stared, feeling the distance like a wall of glass.

I’d always known there was a world of difference between Lucas and me. I always thought I didn’t want his handouts. We were just a normal couple, right? He was my boyfriend. I was his girlfriend. I liked him, he liked me. But in the end, he was the one who shattered that illusion.

Sometimes, I’d wonder if I was just playing house in someone else’s dream. Normal was just a costume we both wore. It never really fit. I kept telling myself love could bridge the gap, but all it did was leave me stranded in the middle. Alone, echoing the same lie.

Ten days after Lucas blocked me, Dana knocked on my door again, just as exasperated as ever.

She had that look—the one that meant I was about to get the riot act. Her knock was sharp, businesslike, but when I opened up, she hesitated, taking in the mess I’d become. Her eyes softened for a second, but she masked it with a huff. My stomach twisted, bracing for the lecture.

She kicked off her heels, slung her bag on the side table, and let out a breath that sounded more like a prayer for patience than a sigh. The scent of peppermint gum followed her as she plopped onto the faded armchair by the window.

“Autumn, can’t you see it yet? You and Lucas? Different worlds. Do you know who he is? CEO of Whitaker Holdings. And you—no connections. You’re an actress with no one to vouch for you.”

Her voice was sharp, but there was a thread of worry underneath. I heard it—she cared, even if she’d never say it out loud. Guys like Lucas don’t play by our rules. The way she said "CEO" was half awe, half warning—a reminder that his life was nothing like mine.

She flopped onto the couch, trying her best to drill it into me. I braced myself.

She picked up a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, like it was the only thing holding her together. “You’re talented, Autumn, but talent only gets you so far in this town. Connections are currency, and you’re broke.”

I listened. Didn’t say a word. Just poured her a glass of water.

The tap squeaked as I filled her glass. I handed it over, my hands steady for once—a weird contrast to the way my insides shook. For a second, I wondered if I’d ever feel steady again.

“Love? What love? If he really loved you, would he block you? Just like that? Look at yourself.”

She sounded almost angry at me, but I knew it was because she cared. Her words pressed in, sharp and familiar. I just stared at the floor, tracing the cracks in the tile with my toe.

She pulled a compact from her purse, making me face my own miserable reflection.

She pressed the mirror into my hand. My eyes were rimmed red, cheeks hollow, lips chapped. I looked like a ghost of myself—someone who’d forgotten how to live. For a second, I almost didn’t recognize the person staring back.

“Could you look any worse than you did then?”

Her words stung, but I couldn’t deny it. My knuckles white on the compact, I set it down. Shame burned behind my eyes, but I forced myself to meet her gaze.

My voice was rough, every word scraped out. “Was it as bad as that day?” I let the question hang, not sure if I wanted the answer.

It came out raw, almost a croak. I needed to hear it from someone who’d seen me at my worst.

She knew I meant the night of the Golden Reel Awards. In that viral clip, I was grinning at the host as they opened the envelope, sure I’d win. But it wasn’t me. The camera caught my stunned face, splashed across the big screen. Even though I managed a shaky smile and clapped, I couldn’t dodge the online hate for being a sore loser. I could still feel the heat of the stage lights, the weight of every eye on me.

The memory hit me in the gut. I could still hear the laughter, see the headlines. My phone blew up for days—memes, snarky tweets, strangers dissecting my heartbreak like it was a game to them. I’d never felt so exposed.

Dana sighed again. “I told you from the start, you two weren’t right. I told you to use your youth to get what you could from him. That’s how you get ahead in this business.” I felt her words land, heavy as always.

She sounded tired, like she’d given this speech a hundred times. Her eyes flicked to the window. “It’s not about love, Autumn. It’s about survival. Don’t let your heart ruin your career.”

“You’re hopelessly lovesick. Nothing I say gets through. You’re driving me nuts…” She shook her head, exasperated. But then she softened, reaching out and squeezed my shoulder. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Not again.”

Lately, I’d been drinking so much my brain felt foggy. Maybe that’s why my chest didn’t hurt anymore. Or maybe I just stopped caring.

The whiskey numbed everything. Nights blurred together—empty bottles, muted TV, the city glowing behind the curtains. Sometimes I’d wake up on the couch, unsure how I got there. It was easier than feeling anything at all. I wondered if this was what moving on felt like.

Lucas and I started dating in high school. In that fancy prep school that reeked of old money, I was just the scholarship kid—good grades, no pedigree. But Lucas? He shielded me from all that.

The campus was all brick and ivy, the kind of place where legacies mattered. Lucas was golden—captain of the swim team, everyone’s favorite. Everyone loved him. He’d slip me notes in class, walk me to my bus, make me feel like I belonged. For a while, I let myself believe it.

Back then, at dusk, he’d sit beside me, twirling my hair as I did my homework. Out of nowhere, he’d lean in, his eyes bright. His smile dazzling. “Hey, Honor Roll, ever think about dating me?”

He’d say it like it was the most natural thing in the world, his voice warm and teasing. I’d blush, roll my eyes, but secretly I loved it. That spark made everything else fade away.

That clear, open gaze from our youth blurred together with the cold look he gave me years later in the rose garden.

The memory was sharp—a summer afternoon, roses in bloom, his eyes hard as glass. The same boy, but older, distant. The garden smelled sweet. But the air between us was ice.

“Autumn Hayes, you’ll regret this.”

His words echoed, heavy with warning. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I broke up with him, sobbing, after overhearing him say we had no future.

I replayed that night over and over, picking apart every word, every glance. But the truth was right there—he’d already decided.

Back then, I clung to my ridiculous pride. I wanted an equal love. Or at least, I thought I did. He’d always laugh and say, if I needed anything, I could just ask him—why work so hard?

He’d pull me close, ruffle my hair, and say, “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” I’d stiffen, but secretly, I loved it. I was terrified of being seen as a charity case, another girl using him for a leg up.

I loved hugging him, burying my face in his strong chest, poking him in protest. “I don’t want your help. I want to earn it myself. So no one can say I’m with you for the perks.”

He’d laugh, low and soft, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re stubborn as hell, Autumn.” Sometimes he sounded proud, sometimes tired. But he always held me a little tighter.

Every time, he’d just ruffle my hair, half-amused, half-defeated. I’d smile, pretending I didn’t notice the sadness in his eyes.

Those little moments felt like home. Even now, I missed the way his fingers tangled in my hair, the way he’d sigh and let me win. It was our secret language—one I’d lost. I ached for it in ways I couldn’t explain.

Now, I laughed, tears splattering the floor. The sound was ugly, broken. My shoulders shook as I cried, the kind of sobs that leave you empty afterward. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, hating how much I still cared.

To hell with love. Yeah, right. I let the words echo in my mind, sharp and final.

For the first time, I meant it. I was done waiting, done hoping. I was going to survive, with or without him. The resolve tasted bitter and strange.

…

That night, I went back to the place we used to call “home.” The drive felt endless. Headlights streaked through the rain. The building was the same—red brick, white trim, a porch swing creaking in the wind. I let myself in, heart pounding. The air smelled faintly of his cologne and old wood.

I wore a black lace camisole, sitting quietly on the bed. The room was still packed with cute, colorful knickknacks. The stuffed animals were just as I’d left them, lined up on the couch. Every inch of this place still screamed us.

I ran my fingers over a chipped mug, a faded Polaroid tucked into the mirror. For a second, I wanted to run. The memories pressed in from all sides, sweet and suffocating. But I stayed. I needed to face it—every bit of it.

There was a security camera in the living room, and my fingerprint still worked. He knew I’d come back for him. That trust lingered, even now.

Just like he’d once told me, “Autumn Hayes, you’ll regret this.” The words echoed, haunting and true.

His voice haunted the empty rooms. I could almost see him, leaning in the doorway, that half-smile on his lips. I hated how right he was. It burned.

He was right. I did regret it—regretted being so naive, chasing after something as foolish as “pure” love.

Regret tasted like metal in my mouth. I wished I’d been smarter, tougher. I wished I’d known how to love him without losing myself. I wished for a do-over, but all I had was now.

Soon, I heard a car pull up outside. The low growl of an engine, tires crunching on gravel. My heart skipped a beat, nerves jangling.

The car rolled to a stop and my heart kicked. I held my breath. Headlights flashed through the window, painting shadows on the walls. Everything in me tensed, waiting.

By the time I came to, the bedroom door was already open. He filled the doorway, tall and sharp in a black suit. For a moment, neither of us moved. The air was thick with everything we hadn’t said.

My lashes trembled. Dana’s words echoed in my ears. My mind raced with her warnings, my heart pounding with everything I’d tried to bury.

Her voice was a warning siren—reminding me of everything I’d tried to forget. What is love, anyway? Can you spend it? Can you eat it? He never planned to marry you. Wake up, girl. The doubts pressed in, cold and sharp.

The words stung all over again. I pressed my lips together, swallowing the pain. I wanted to prove her wrong, but deep down, I wasn’t sure I could.

I bit my lip, barefoot, and walked over to him. Each step felt like a leap. The hardwood was cool beneath my feet. My heart hammered, but I kept moving—one foot in front of the other.

I stopped in front of him, reached up, and started unbuttoning his suit jacket. My hands shook, but I kept going. The fabric was smooth, expensive. I tried to focus on the details—anything to keep from falling apart.

Whenever we fought before, I’d always wait for him to come home, then hug his waist and whine, “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” That was our thing—a way to make peace without saying it. I’d bury my face in his chest, breathe in his scent, pretend the world outside didn’t exist. For a moment, we were just us again.

He was a head taller than me. I stood on tiptoe, struggling to get his jacket off, then started on his shirt, one button at a time. My breath came faster, nerves and longing tangled together.

His strong chest and abs came into view. I looked up, meeting his eyes, dark with longing. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tense. It made me ache in ways I couldn’t name.

I brushed my lips lightly over his bare chest, about to reach for his belt. My lips lingered, tasting salt and skin. The moment stretched, heavy with need.

His breath caught, and suddenly I was lifted off my feet. My heart jumped, fear and excitement mixing in my veins. I gasped, clutching his shoulders.

He set me down gently on the bed, pressing over me. The world narrowed to just us—no past, no future. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

He kissed my forehead, voice raw. “You know you were wrong, right?” The words were soft, almost pleading. My breath caught, my chest tight.

I dropped my gaze and whispered, “Yeah.” My voice was barely there—shaky and small. I meant it, even if I didn’t know what I was apologizing for anymore.

Maybe that answer pleased him—he took my hand and set it on his belt. My fingers hesitated, the air thick between us.

Fingers brushing cold metal, he bit my earlobe, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Undo it.” His breath was hot against my skin. The world spun, nerves jangling.

I fumbled with the buckle, nerves jangling. For a moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of us, tangled in old desire. My mind went blank except for the feeling of him, close and real.

When everything finally calmed down, I listened to his steady breathing beside me. The room was dark, quiet except for his slow, even breaths. My mind raced, chasing memories and regrets. I stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks.

Carefully, I eased his arm off me. Then I squeezed my eyes shut. I slipped out from under his arm, careful not to wake him. Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

…