Chapter 1: When the Fairy Tale Breaks

Evan Whitlock always had me wrapped around his finger, looking out for me from the time I was a kid all the way through adulthood.

Even now, when I look back, I can practically feel his presence—steady and warm, like sunlight streaming through my window on a lazy Saturday. He was everywhere, seriously, always showing up, making sure nothing ever touched me. I thought that was love. Maybe, for a while, it really was. The memory is so sharp I can almost smell his cologne, feel the hush in the room when he walked in.

He planned my studies, my routines—everything. Did I ever even have to worry about a thing? Nope. He handled every detail, making sure my life was smooth as butter.

He’d color-code my school binders, set reminders for dentist appointments, and even check my backpack before I left for school. Sometimes it was sweet—like, who does that? Other times, it felt like I was living in a bubble he’d built just for me. My friends used to joke I had a personal assistant before I even hit puberty. Honestly, they weren’t wrong.

He raised me into someone who couldn’t even take care of herself—then tossed me aside and left me to fend for myself. Just like that.

It’s funny how you can spend years believing you’re someone’s everything, only to realize you were just a project. I didn’t even know how to pay my own phone bill when he left. I had to Google it. Sitting on the kitchen floor, I let out a sigh—feeling like a lost kid in an adult’s body.

Because he’d found his true love.

I remember the day he told me. His voice was gentle, almost apologetic. I could see the guilt in his eyes, but honestly? Didn’t help, though. He’d found someone else, and suddenly, my whole world was upside down.

I thought I would die without him, but I survived. I built my own career and started to shine in my own life.

The first few months were hell. Some nights, I thought I’d never stop crying. But slowly, I started to piece myself back together. I learned how to cook more than just ramen, got a job, and even made a few friends. I started to feel… alive. For the first time, I was living for myself.

And then Evan Whitlock came back, telling me I was the one he really loved.

He showed up at my apartment, rain-soaked and desperate, like something out of a bad rom-com. Figures. Only this wasn’t a movie, and I wasn’t the girl who’d take him back with open arms.

He said he hadn’t understood his own heart before, and had mistaken the love between siblings for romantic love.

He looked so earnest, but all I could think was: How do you mistake something like that?

How do you confuse decades of comfort with the spark of real love?

Ha. That cheap love of his? I don’t want it anymore.

I almost laughed in his face. The old me would’ve caved, but I’d finally learned what I was worth. I thought, Not a chance. Some things, once broken, can’t be fixed with apologies and half-hearted confessions.

At the company’s internal presentation, Dana Murphy stood confidently on stage, talking smoothly and engagingly. Her voluminous waves softened her striking features, giving her a gentle allure. Confidence is gorgeous—Dana had it in spades. She was glowing.

The conference room was buzzing. You could feel the anticipation—thick enough to choke on. Dana’s PowerPoint flickered behind her, but all eyes were on her—she had that kind of presence. You could practically feel the admiration rolling off the crowd.

Nervously, I glanced at Evan sitting in the front row. As expected, the corners of his mouth unconsciously lifted, his eyes full of admiration. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

My heart was pounding. It was a look I knew all too well—the one he used to save just for me. Now, it belonged to someone else. I pressed my lips together, willing myself not to cry in front of the entire company.

I’d lost count of how many times Evan had looked at Dana with that same admiring gaze. And lately, her name had been coming up in his conversations more and more often.

He’d mention her ideas at dinner, her work ethic during car rides. It was like Dana had moved into our lives without even trying. Every time he brought her up, I felt myself shrinking a little more.

Call it gut instinct—I knew Evan liked her.

It’s like a sixth sense. The way his eyes lingered on her, the softness in his voice when he said her name. You don’t need proof when your gut already knows the truth. I felt it like a chill down my spine.

As his girlfriend, I instinctively became wary. Because for as long as I could remember, this was the first time Evan had shown this kind of interest in another woman.

I’d always been the center of his world. Now, for the first time, I felt like I was orbiting someone else’s sun. The jealousy was sharp, a bitter taste at the back of my throat.

When the presentation ended, the room erupted in applause. But Dana immediately ran off the stage and straight to Evan, blinking up at him with excitement and anticipation.

I watched her weave through the crowd, her energy infectious. She looked at Evan like he hung the moon, and the way he smiled back… it stung.

"Well? Well? I was so nervous I thought I’d die."

Her voice was breathless, her cheeks flushed. She looked younger, more vulnerable than she had on stage. I almost felt sorry for her—almost.

Compared to her confident demeanor on stage, she now had a softer, more playful charm.

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes wide and hopeful. The transformation was almost comical—like watching a puppy go from barking to rolling over for belly rubs.

Evan pressed his lips together, schooling his face blank. Dana’s smile faded, and she pouted. "Was it that bad?"

He let the silence hang just long enough to make her squirm, then finally cracked a smile. Classic Evan. It was a game they played, and I was the unwilling audience.

When her eyes started to shine with tears, Evan finally cleared his throat, nodded, and gave her a thumbs-up. "You were fantastic!"

His voice was warm, reassuring—the kind of praise that made you believe you could do anything. I used to live for that praise. Now, it felt like a punch to the gut. My breath caught. It hurt more than I expected.

"You scared me!" Dana let out a breath, smacking Evan on the shoulder. "For a second there, I really thought I’d messed up."

They laughed together, the sound ringing out in the quieting room. It was the kind of easy intimacy that comes from countless shared moments.

"That’s not like you—you’re always so confident," Evan chuckled.

His laugh was soft, almost teasing. I could see the pride in his eyes, and for a split second, I hated how natural they seemed together.

"Well, this is the first design I’ve done since joining the company. I had no idea if everyone would like it." Dana shot him a look. "And I was worried you’d think I wasn’t worth my salary."

She gave a little shrug, biting her lip. The vulnerability in her voice made her seem even more likable. I couldn’t help but feel like I was watching a scene I wasn’t supposed to see.

"Now I can say it—hiring you, a top grad who studied in New York—" Evan paused, his tone utterly sincere as Dana looked at him expectantly. "Totally worth it!"

He said it like he was announcing the winner of a prize. Dana beamed, her confidence restored in an instant. The rest of us might as well have been invisible.

"Then I’m relieved," Dana said, pressing a hand to her chest.

She let out a dramatic sigh, and Evan laughed again. I felt like I was watching the two leads in a romantic comedy, except I was the extra in the background.

The two of them chatted as they walked out of the conference room. As soon as they left, everyone else in the room started sneaking glances at me. See? Everyone could tell there was something off about how close they were.

You could feel the shift in the air—the whispers, the sideways looks. Great. Just what I needed. I kept my chin up, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me crack. Still, I felt like I was on display, my heartbreak a public spectacle.

Now, everyone was watching to see how I—the official girlfriend—would react.

I could almost hear the office betting pool forming in real time. Would I confront him? Cry in the bathroom? Everyone loves a little workplace drama, as long as it’s not their own.

Everyone in the company knew I was Evan’s girlfriend. He’d always been high-profile about it—on my first day, he introduced me to everyone: "This is my girlfriend."

He’d said it loud enough for the whole floor to hear, his arm around my shoulders. The message was clear: I was his, and he was proud of it. At the time, I’d felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Being the boss, he took all the staff out for a big meal at the best steakhouse in town to make sure everyone looked out for me. After that, everyone could see just how much Evan always spoiled his girlfriend.

He ordered the most expensive wine, made a toast in my honor, and even had the chef come out to meet me. It was over-the-top, but I loved it. I felt special, chosen.

Every morning, I needed a cup of hot honey water—Evan would personally make it for me. It’s an old family thing—hot water with honey, not coffee. The first time he walked into our office with a mug, everyone jumped to their feet in shock. He just smiled, "I’m just here to bring my girlfriend some hot honey water."

It became a running joke in the office. People would nudge each other when he showed up, whispering, "Here comes the honey delivery!" But Evan never cared. He’d just wink at me and go back to his day.

After that, he came by every day. He’d leave right after delivering the drink. At first, people were nervous, but they got used to it.

It became part of the routine—like the morning coffee run or the elevator small talk. Eventually, no one even blinked when Evan popped in with my mug.

Sometimes I’d bring lunch my Aunt Linda made, and it was always Evan who microwaved it for me. No matter how busy or tired he was, he’d personally drive me to and from work. If I had to work overtime, he’d take me home first, then go back to the office.

He never missed a beat. Even when he had back-to-back meetings, he’d find time to make sure I got home safe. Looking back, I realize just how much of my life he managed—how much I let him. I didn’t see it then.

His business partners even teased him, saying the company was dripping with PDA vibes. Some employees even “shipped” the CEO-and-his-wifey pairing behind our backs.

I used to laugh it off, pretending not to care. But deep down, I loved the attention. It felt like we were starring in our own little fairy tale.

Now, he was openly showing interest in another woman. I forced myself to swallow the embarrassment, bit my lip, and left the conference room. Don’t cry. Not here.

The humiliation was sharp, but I kept my head high. I wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart—not here, not now.

The door to Evan’s office was open, so I walked right in. Their conversation stopped abruptly.

You could cut the tension with a knife. I pasted on my sweetest smile, determined not to let them see me sweat.

I walked up to Evan and wrapped my arms around his, acting sweet. "There’s half an hour left until we get off work—want to get pizza later?"

My voice was light, almost playful, but inside I was screaming. I clung to him like a lifeline, desperate to remind him—and Dana—where he belonged.

He patted my head, his voice soft and almost parental. "Take it easy, your stomach’s been acting up the last couple days. You should just have some chicken soup tonight."

His tone was gentle, but patronizing. I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment, but I forced a smile anyway. If this was a competition, I wasn’t going to lose.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dana’s smile disappear. Mission accomplished—I felt a little better.

It was petty, but I needed the win. For once, I wanted her to feel like the outsider.

"You two talk, I’ll wait for you."

I settled into Evan’s desk chair, scrolling aimlessly through my phone. I pretended not to listen, but every word felt like a dagger.

They sat on the couch, and I went over to Evan’s desk, sprawled out, and played on my phone.

The minutes crawled by. I checked the clock every few seconds, willing time to move faster. I just wanted to get out of there. God, could time move any slower?

When it was time to clock out, they were still talking.

I stood up, stretching theatrically, hoping to break the spell between them. It didn’t work.

I walked over and tugged on Evan’s arm, whining, "I’m hungry."

I let my voice go soft, the way he liked. Maybe if I acted cute enough, he’d remember who he came home to.

Dana gave a polite smile. "I always lose track of time when I’m working. Is it really time to go home? Hope I don’t forget everything by tomorrow."

She glanced at Evan, her eyes shining. The implication was clear: she wanted more time with him. I wanted to scream.

"If a designer burns out, I lose too," Evan said. "Want to grab dinner and talk while we eat?"

He barely glanced at me. My heart sank. It was like I’d become invisible.

"Then I won’t be shy," Dana stood up.

She flashed me a quick, apologetic smile, but I could see the satisfaction in her eyes. She’d won this round, and she knew it.

Just like that, the two of them decided to have dinner together—no one cared to ask for my opinion. At dinner, they chatted non-stop. Dana talked about her design philosophy and study-abroad experiences, and Evan listened, totally absorbed.

I picked at my food, counting the minutes until I could escape. They laughed and reminisced, swapping stories about New York and design trends. I felt like a third wheel on my own date.

It wasn’t until after dropping Dana off at home, when it was just me and Evan left in the car, that he finally noticed my mood.

The car was silent except for the soft hum of the engine. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur by.

"Why so quiet? You barely said a word all evening." At a red light, he reached over and ruffled my hair.

His touch was familiar, comforting. But tonight, it felt like an afterthought.

I pouted. "You two were so in sync—where was I supposed to jump in?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I hated how small I sounded, but I couldn’t help it.

"Don’t be jealous for no reason. Dana is the company’s designer—I headhunted her with a high salary. We have to treat her well if we want her to stay."

He sounded so reasonable, so logical. Like my feelings were just another problem to be managed.

"Is she really that amazing?" I snapped. "Her designs haven’t even hit the market yet—how do you know they’ll be a success?"

My jealousy flared, sharp and ugly. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t let it go.

"She won awards in college, graduated from a top international design school, and I’ve liked some of her past work," Evan said, clearly pleased. "I personally interviewed her—her style is a great fit for our company."

He sounded proud, almost smug. I wanted to scream.

"We’ll see how her products sell," I grumbled, still annoyed.

I crossed my arms, turning away from him. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

"Why are you still being petty? If her products sell well, doesn’t the company benefit? My money is your money—she’s basically making you money. You should be happy."

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. I wanted to believe him, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t go away. Maybe he was right. Maybe.

He kind of had a point. I felt a little better.

I let out a slow breath, trying to unclench my fists. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe.

After several rounds of discussion and revisions, the new product design was nearly finalized. At the final review meeting, Dana presented her designs to the leadership team.

The room was tense, everyone waiting for someone else to speak. Dana’s confidence never wavered. She owned the room.

"Any feedback?" she asked.

Her voice was clear, steady. I could tell she was used to this—used to being the smartest person in the room.

No one replied. She clapped her hands. "Alright, then let’s settle on—"

She was about to close the meeting when I finally spoke up, my nerves buzzing.

"Wait," I interrupted. "I think this bow looks too old-fashioned. It doesn’t match the style of the outfit. Maybe try a livelier bow?"

My voice trembled, but I forced myself to keep going. I knew everyone was watching, waiting to see if I’d challenge her.

"Assistant Harper, I take my work very seriously, so I can be blunt—please don’t take it personally." Dana smiled at me, calm and measured. "Fashion design is complex. It blends theory, practice, and market realities. It’s not something you decide on a whim. You get what I’m saying, right?"

Her words were polite, but the message was clear: stay in your lane. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I refused to back down. Not today.

I got it—she was calling me an outsider who didn’t understand her field. But aren’t clothes meant to look good? Isn’t that a gut feeling? Just because you can draw a design, does that put you above everyone else?

I gripped the edge of the table, refusing to let her see me sweat. Just because I didn’t have a design degree didn’t mean my opinion didn’t matter.

"But I just think—" I started to argue, but Evan cut me off.

He didn’t even look at me, just raised a hand to silence me. The sting of his dismissal was worse than Dana’s words.

"Harper, wait outside."

His voice was calm, but there was no room for argument. I felt like a child being sent to her room.

"Evan—"

I tried to protest, but he just shook his head.

"Be good. Go wait for me in the office."

I took a deep breath and turned to leave. With other company leaders present, I didn’t want to embarrass him.

My pride screamed at me to stay, but I forced myself out the door. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

After the meeting, Evan came back to the office.

He closed the door behind him, leaning against it like he was bracing for a storm.

"She asked for feedback—why couldn’t I give my opinion?" I fumed, still angry. "She made a point to call me ‘assistant’ just to show I know nothing. I graduated from a top university too, you know!"

My voice was shaking, but I refused to back down. I’d earned my place here, even if no one else believed it.

Evan pinched the bridge of his nose, sounding helpless. "Harper, you never studied design. It’s not something you can sum up in a sentence—"

He sounded tired, like he’d explained this a thousand times. I wanted to scream.

"I never studied it? Who was it that wouldn’t let me?" I felt a surge of injustice.

The words spilled out before I could stop them. For the first time, I let myself be angry at him—not just at Dana, not just at the situation, but at Evan.

I’d wanted to study design, but he said the art world was too risky and told me to major in English instead.

He’d always said he knew what was best for me. I’d believed him. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

"Let me handle making money. You just enjoy life and don’t worry about anything." That used to be his favorite line.

He’d say it with a smile, like it was a gift. But it was just another way to keep me dependent.

Maybe he remembered saying it, because his tone softened. "Design is hard work. I just didn’t want you to have a tough life. This way, you can relax at work every day, never worry about being fired. Isn’t that good?"

He looked at me like he expected gratitude. I stared back, my anger simmering just below the surface.

Yeah, everyone in the company knew I was CEO Evan’s "little princess." They treated me kindly. I clocked in and out on time, could take leave whenever, never had to worry about the boss playing favorites, and had the easiest job anyone could envy. Evan kept his promise—he took care of me in every way. It was all a little too perfect.

From the outside, it looked perfect. But inside, I was suffocating.

But why was I getting unhappier?

The question echoed in my mind, louder every day. Wasn’t this what I’d always wanted?