Chapter 1
The night my nemesis Charlotte Anderson made her dramatic return to the States, Manhattan’s golden boy Sebastian Hayes mysteriously showed up at JFK Airport.
The paparazzi practically smell the scandal brewing, and by morning, rumors of their rekindled romance were splashed across every gossip rag in the city.
For the next two weeks, social media went absolutely feral. One day it was photos of them entering the same upscale apartment complex, the next it was some “Insider source” dishing about their supposedly steamy reunion details.
Then someone dug up that photo from last year–me delivering a birthday cake to Sebastian like some lovesick delivery girl. Suddenly, I became everyone’s favorite punching bag:
[LMAOOO Sophia really thought she had a chance? Girl’s been simping for Sebastian since forever and Charlotte waltzes back for five minutes and wins. I cannot.]
[Sebastian and Charlotte need to just get married already so these desperate pick–mes will finally back off.]
The knockout punch came via Charlotte’s Instagram.
Her post–a perfectly manicured photo of intertwined hands with the caption: [After all these years apart, fate brought us back together. Some things are just meant to be~]
Being the noble idiot I apparently was, I packed my bags, left the divorce papers on the kitchen counter, and walked away.
But then the man completely lost his shit.
“Babe, what the hell?!” Sebastian’s voice cracked. “When other guys get hit with cheating rumors, their wives at least stick around to fight for them! You just… you just bailed without saying a word! How can you be this cold?!”
:
My business trip return flight just happened to land at the exact same time as Charlotte’s grand homecoming.
After all these years, she still had that effortless, magazine–cover glow that made everyone else fade into the background.
Her messy breakup with Sebastian before jetting off to Europe had been front–page gossip for weeks, so naturally, the vultures were circling the second news of her return hit the tabloids.
A swarm of reporters surrounded her like she was some A–list celebrity, firing questions left and right and turning the arrivals gate into a complete shitshow.
Meanwhile, I pulled my face mask up higher and tried to slink past unnoticed, praying to God she wouldn’t spot me.
Charlotte and I had been at each other’s throats since we were kids–the kind of toxic rivalry where we’d compete over literally everything and throw shade at every opportunity. But all of that petty drama combined didn’t even come close to the sheer mindfuck of her ex–boyfriend becoming my husband.
Sebastian and I had been secretly married for three years now, tying the knot barely a year after she’d flounced off to Paris or
22.54
Signed Divorce at 3PM. By 5PM He Was Plooding Out Saving “Don’t Co”
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Chapter 1
wherever the hell she went.
At that time, two reporters who couldn’t push their way through the Charlotte circus were standing right next to me, practically vibrating with excitement:
“Dude, I just caught Sebastian’s Maserati pulling up outside. Now THAT’S the real story!”
“What the hell is he doing here at midnight?”
“Come on, are you serious? The guy hasn’t dated anyone since their breakup–what, like four years ago? His first love just waltzed back into town. Of course he’s gonna make some grand romantic gesture!”
My fingers went ice–cold around the handle of my suitcase. I was originally supposed to fly back tomorrow morning, but Sebastian had secretly changed my ticket to tonight.
His excuse? “We’re having family dinner tomorrow, babe. Come home early.”
Just an hour ago, he’d texted saying he was “swamped with work stuff” and would send his assistant to pick me up instead of coming himself.
But listening to these two reporters gossip was like having cold water thrown in my face.
“Yo, it’s pitch black out there. You sure you got the right car?”
“Are you kidding me? That custom license plate? There’s maybe three people in all of Manhattan who could afford that ride. My eyes might be shit, but this fifty–grand camera equipment doesn’t lie. Tomorrow’s gonna be one hell of a show!”
Sebastian’s assistant rolled up in some generic black sedan, calling me “Mrs. Hayes” with that overly respectful tone that somehow made everything feel even more wrong. But I could read guilt written all over his face like an open book.
“Sebastian’s still tied up at the office?” I asked, testing him.
“Yes, ma’am… but Mr. Hayes specifically said he’d be home tonight to spend time with you…”
It was 1 AM. Sebastian never worked late–ever.
So basically what this poor guy was really saying was: [He’ll be home eventually, so please don’t ask what he’s doing out there right now.]
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