I didn't handle the breakup well. After Jake ended things, I locked myself inside and cried. Every memory we shared twisted into a cruel joke. The pain kept striking my chest in sharp pricks. All this time, I was nothing but a slum girl to him.
But all of it couldn't have been nothing. The way he looked at me… it couldn't all be a game. It couldn't all be lies. Maybe it was at first, but after all those years together, he must have fallen for me along the way. We were happy—truly happy.
I wasn't planning on leaving my apartment—until my phone started dinging nonstop, like the world was ending. At first, I ignored it, thinking it was just some colleagues checking in. But when the notifications didn't stop for half an hour, I knew something was wrong.
A loud shriek tore from my throat as I scrolled through the hate messages. At first, I couldn't make sense of it—until my eyes landed on one that stood out: "So shameless to imagine someone like her could have Klint Morgan."
That's when I noticed the link in her comment and clicked it—taking me straight to Lucas's page. It was CCTV footage from Jake's apartment, showing me saying I was falling out of love with him after meeting Klint Morgan. The worst part? It had over ten million views.
"Shit."
Two things hit me.
First, I had completely forgotten about Klint's race and instead drank myself to near death over a breakup.
Second, Jake Sinclair and his friends had just ruined my life.
That's when I noticed the half a thousand missed calls from Klint. I nodded slowly, realizing that if breaking up with Jake Sinclair didn't kill me, Klint Morgan's manager definitely would.
I debated pretending I hadn't seen the video, packing up everything I owned, boarding a train back to my hometown, and hiding there until everything cooled down. Or… I could return Klint's missed calls.
But even though I craved the first option so badly, I couldn't do it. That kind of escape was for people with families who actually cared enough to shelter them — not someone like me. So I picked up my phone and dialed Klint's number. My hands trembled, memories of how we met flooding my mind, along with the painful truth that what we shared wasn't even solid enough for me to have dragged his name into that mess just to get back at Jake.
"I messed up." I bite my lip.
I didn't even notice he'd picked up until he spoke.
"Lavina, why the hell are you not picking your calls or replying to my messages?" he demanded.
I opened my mouth to reply when a commotion broke out on the other end. My heart thudded.
"Miss Lavina Gavin…" the voice wasn't Klint's anymore, but his manager, John Walker—Mr. Spitfire.
"We are honored that you finally decided to acknowledge our calls. Could you do us the honor of showing up at the arena, Klint Morgan's girlfriend?"
He definitely seemed mad, and I knew going there would probably be the death of me.
Memories of John warning Klint about relationship scandals whenever we sneaked out to hang out burned through my chest.
I forced a chuckle.
"Mr. John, I'm really busy right now, but if I manage to get some free time, I'll let you know."
"Miss Lavina Gavin, I hope you know the only reason Klint's fans don't have your contact information and home address is because we spent a lot to keep it under wraps. But I could speed things up a bit."
His voice lowers.
"I want you down here at the arena in the next thirty minutes."
The line went dead. If there was anyone I feared, it was Klint's manager. Even at his average height, he managed to instill fear deep in my bones.
I got dressed and took a taxi to the arena. My chest clenched as I stepped out, the hot afternoon air pressing against me. I stepped past the restriction board, spotting Manager John pacing near the entrance.
"Look, look. It'll be fixed immediately." He drops the call and glares at me. "My office. Now."
I hang my head and follow him, ignoring the intense stares from the group of racers, just trailing behind. He slams the door shut after me and picks up his telephone.
I distract myself with the machine noise. "Klint… my office. Now."
As soon as he hangs up, I can't help but wonder just how close my relationship with Klint really is—and how furious he's going to be, on a scale of one to ten. Probably a ten. He's always been nothing but kind to me, and in one careless moment, I nearly ruined his reputation.
Three years ago, while doing one of my Jake-pleasing research errands, I left my phone in a taxi. Klint happened to be the next passenger and found it. When I tried to get it back, he made me buy him dinner.
It was supposed to end there, but after dinner, he realized he had left the phone at his workplace, so I had to go with him. That's when I discovered he was a car racer—and so cool behind the wheel. After that, we just started hanging out.
Jake always hated anyone I hung out with, so I never really made friends. But when Klint suggested we be friends, I couldn't say no—he'd found my lost item, after all.
Klint pushed open the door and came in. I couldn't bring myself to look at him. He's so angry. A guy like him probably has a girlfriend, and I've just caused trouble.
I jumped when wet leather wrapped around my arms.
"Klint… you're here."
He arches a brow.
"And you look like you've seen a ghost."
He dropped his helmet on the desk and peeled off his gloves. I quickly turned my eyes away. Whatever racers eat, it must be divine—every curl on Klint's head looks like it came straight from Orion himself.
"You missed my match…" Klint casually slings his arm around my shoulder. I stiffen, my chest tightening, and force myself to look at him.
"Aren't you mad?" I whisper. "About that video… where I said you were my boyfriend? I swear, I only wanted to make Jake mad. I didn't think he'd go that far."
Klint shrugged lazily.
"I knew from the start you were dating a douchebag, but…"
"Both of you, take a seat," Manager John interrupted, hanging up his phone with an annoyed snap.
He looks pissed, as always. My stomach twists, knowing he would never take things calmly like Klint.
"As we've seen, both videos are trending right now, and the higher-ups want everything to cool down as soon as possible to avoid messing with fan support," he says. But my ears catch one thing: two videos!
I lean forward.
"Two videos?"
I already knew Manager John hated me—but I hadn't realized the full extent. He glares at me for a solid thirty seconds before reluctantly pulling up a video and handing it over.
"That's one of Klint's toxic fans," he says, as I watch a woman claiming Klint slept with her after his race two nights ago. "Fortunately, your post came first. Instead of attacking Klint, people are now debating who his real girlfriend is."
The lady in the video is stunning—messy blonde hair, eyes that pierce straight through you. For once, I feel a pang of envy. She can look this hot in a mini dress and jacket, something I'd never been allowed to wear. Jake always insisted I look… respectable, like I was running for president.
It's stupid, but jealousy bites deep. Of course his manager wants this hot lady beside Klint, not someone like me. The words slip out before I can bite them back.
"Isn't she older than Klint?"
The room goes quiet. I bite my lip, wishing I could take the words back.
Then Manager John laughs unexpectedly.
"That's the spirit. I like her."