I walked away before I could hear anything else. What else was there to hear?
That night, I sat in my dorm room and scrolled through Instagram, torturing myself the way you do when you’re young and your heart has just been ripped out of your chest.
And there it was: a photo posted by Madison Glover, the most beautiful girl in my major, all long dark hair and perfect skin and the kind of confidence I would never have.
She was at the party, smiling at the camera.
And there, in the background, clear as day, was Jack.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
Jack had chosen someone else—I’d always known he would, eventually. Boys like him didn’t end up with girls like me. I wasn’t beautiful enough, rich enough, polished enough to fit into his world.
But I had let myself hope anyway. I had let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I was different. Special. Worth something.
He had made it clear I wasn’t.
The next day, he came to my room. Asked me to be his girlfriend.
I looked at him—this golden boy who was probably playing a prank to laugh about with his friends—and I said no.
I never told him what I’d overheard. My pride wouldn’t allow it. He’d already taken enough from me. He didn’t get to have my humiliation too.
And now here I was, seven years later, having just transferred my entire savings to a man who had never loved me the way I loved him.
He had never said it. Not once. I was the one who fell. I was the one who broke.
He had just watched me shatter and then wondered why I wouldn’t let him pick up the pieces.
My phone buzzed. A notification from my banking app.
Transfer complete.
I stared at the words and I did not cry, because crying would mean he still had power over me.
And I refused to give him that.
I refused.
CHAPTER 6
Pauline
The news broke on a Monday,spreading through the office like wildfire through dry brush.
California Times had been acquired. Some anonymous billionaire had swept in over the weekend, closed the deal before anyone could blink, and now every single person in the building was losing their collective mind trying to figure out who.
I heard about it the moment I stepped off the elevator. Two women from accounting huddled by the water cooler, voices pitched low but not low enough.
“Hostile takeover,” one whispered.
“I heard it’s someone famous,” the other replied. “Someone controversial.”
“I heard the whole executive team is getting replaced.”
I walked past without slowing down. Speculation was a waste of energy. Whoever bought the company would reveal themselves eventually. Until then, worrying about it wouldn’t change anything. I had work to do, stories to chase, a career to build—assuming I still had a job by the end of the week.
The newsroom buzzed with nervous energy. Gerald stood in the center of the floor with his face red, barking orders at anyonewho made eye contact. Alice had gathered a cluster of senior reporters near her desk, trading theories like currency. I caught fragments as I passed:tech mogul, media conglomerate, foreign investor with shadowy connections.
