"Babe, look." Drew finally reached us, focused entirely on Candi. "I made a mistake. Huge mistake. We were GOLD together. Our brand was everything. I can see your numbers are climbing—almost 600K now? That's solid. But with us together? We'd hit a million within weeks, two million by Valentine's Day. Easy."
He was pitching her. In a church. On Christmas Eve. In front of the entire town.
Anger coiled low in my gut, but Candi's hand found mine and held tight.
"Think about it," Drew continued, oblivious to the shocked faces around us. "'Drew & Candi: Second Chances.' Redemption arc, holiday miracle, couple goals. The engagement would be INSANE. Sponsors would come crawling back—we're talking six-figure deals, babe. Maybe seven if we play it right."
He gestured dismissively around the church. "This small-town thing? It's cute for seasonal content, I'll give you that. The numbers don't lie—you've got decent engagement. But it's not sustainable. You need to think bigger." He waved his hand at me. "And honestly? A former techie playing lumberjack in the woods? That's his midlife crisis, not your future. You needsomeone who actually gets the market, who wants to capitalize on the window of opportunity in front of us right now."
He stepped closer to here. "Come back to Phoenix with me. Rebuild what we had. You don’t belong here any more than I do. We can film the whole reconciliation—it would absolutely break the internet."
Every person in that church stood frozen, staring.
Candi stepped beside me, taking my hand firmly, and faced her ex. Her voice rang clear and strong through the space.
"No."
Drew blinked, clearly not expecting such a simple answer. "What? That's it? Just no?"
"We're not getting back together, Drew. Not professionally, not personally. Ever."
"Candi, be reasonable—"
"You don't love me. You never did." Her voice strengthened, and pride surged through me. "You loved what I represented—someone to make you relevant. You humiliated me on camera for the sake of followers, to feed your greed and twisted desire for validation. You spent everything we earned behind my back. You made our relationship, our breakup, our entire lives—just about metrics and money."
She looked at me, her face softening, and my breath caught.
"This man sees ME. The real me. Not the influencer. Not the content creator. Just me." Her eyes shone. "He's teaching me what genuine connection feels like. What it means to be valued for who I am, not what I can provide. That's what I want. That's what I deserve."
I wanted to pull her into my arms right there.
Drew's face went from shocked to ugly. "Fine. You want him? Everyone should know who your new boyfriend really is."
Dread hit me hard.
He turned to the congregation, a vindictive smile spreading across his face. "I did my homework. You're not just some simple woodworker, are you?" His eyes met mine. "Bartholomew Kane. Pinnacle Systems. I Googled you. Sold your company for what—eight hundred million? Nine hundred million? Articles say eight forty-seven million, to be exact. You're a tech billionaire hiding in the mountains."
Gasps rippled through the church. Phones came out. I heard whispers, saw people typing into their screens.
This was it. My worst nightmare—exposed, vulnerable, everything I'd run from catching up.
But Candi's hand never left mine. She stood beside me, steady and sure, and something in her presence gave me courage.
I could run. Leave. Try to disappear again.
Or I could make a different choice.
"Can I have everyone's attention, please?"
The room quieted. Every eye fixed on me. I felt the weight of their attention but kept my shoulders straight.
"He's right. My name is Bartholomew Kane. I co-founded Pinnacle Systems when I was twenty-eight. Built it over eleven years into a three-billion-dollar company. Sold my shares eighteen months ago."
More gasps. I watched recognition dawn on faces—some had obviously seen the tabloid coverage of my divorce and were now connecting the dots.
"I moved to Hope Peak to escape Silicon Valley. To get away from the constant spotlight, from people who only cared about my bank account instead of me. I wanted privacy. Peace." I looked around at familiar faces—people I'd shared coffee with, nodded to at the store, worked alongside today.
Gerald Thompson stood from his pew. "Money or not, it doesn’t matter here. You're one of us because of who you are, not what you're worth."
