Episode 1
THE MOMENT THE GLITTER CRACKED
Ava Sinclair should’ve known better than to wear white to a rooftop party.
Not because of the wine which she had already spilled on herself twice but because nothing good ever happened when she dressed like hope. And that was exactly what tonight was supposed to be: hopeful. Celebratory. Perfect.
Cole had promised.
“Trust me, babe. You’re gonna love it,” he said earlier, flashing the same grin that always got him out of trouble. The one that had talked her into second chances. And thirds. And forgivenesses she couldn’t count anymore.
So here she was twenty-nine floors up, surrounded by clinking glasses, ambient string lights, and people who looked more like magazine covers than actual humans. She stood beside him, smiling through small talk and balancing on heels that cost more than her electricity bill.
And she was trying. God, she was trying.
To believe this night was different. That he meant what he said. That she wasn’t crazy. That the tightness in her chest was just anxiety and not another lie waiting to unwrap itself.
But the gut never lies.
It tugged at her as Cole leaned in too close to a brunette in red. As his hand lingered a second too long on her back. As their laughter twisted in Ava’s ear like thorns.
“I’m gonna grab another drink,” she said to no one in particular.
She walked away slowly, careful not to let her face crack. Not yet.
At the bar, Ava ordered a dirty martini with extra olives—her comfort drink. A strange thing to seek comfort in, she thought, watching the bartender pour with careless grace. But comfort was rare these days. She took it wherever she could.
Leighton would’ve told her to throw the whole man away. Her therapist would’ve asked what this moment reminded her of from childhood. Ava didn’t want to think about either. Not now.
Not while Cole laughed behind her with his hand now cupping the small of Red Dress’s back like it belonged there.
The worst part wasn’t the betrayal—it was how predictable it was. How unsurprised she felt. Like her body had already rehearsed this breakdown and was just waiting for her mind to catch up.
The olive in her drink rolled lazily against the glass, round and green and innocent. She stared at it too long, willing herself to feel something other than shame.
“Hey, Ava,” came a voice.
She turned. It was Reese, one of Cole’s coworkers. Or maybe exes. With Cole, the line was always blurred.
“You okay?” Reese asked, eyes flicking toward the spectacle behind them.
Ava tried to smile. “Peachy.”
Reese nodded slowly. “Right. Well, just so you know... you deserve better. I mean that.”
And with that, she walked away.
Ava stared after her.
It took exactly eleven more minutes for the glitter to crack.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t throw her drink. She simply turned, heels echoing like accusations across the rooftop, and walked right up to Cole—who was now laughing at something Red Dress said, his hand still comfortably low.
“Cole,” she said, voice light, almost too light.
He turned, smirk ready.
She threw her martini in his face.
The rooftop fell silent. Time hung in the air like static.
Ava didn’t wait for anyone to react. She turned on her heel, the wind catching her hair dramatically, and walked toward the elevator. Her heart beat a furious rhythm in her chest. She felt tears sting the back of her eyes but refused to let them fall.
Not here. Not now.
She made it into the elevator and pressed the button, breathing hard. As the doors closed, her phone buzzed.
Cole: WTF Ava??
Cole: Are you serious??
Cole: You’re being crazy right now
She silenced her phone. Then deleted his number.
The thing about heartbreak is how unremarkable it looks to everyone else.
The next morning, she lay curled in bed, mascara crusted under her eyes and hair matted against the pillow. Sunlight dared to shine through the blinds. Her phone buzzed again—this time a call from her mom. Ava let it go to voicemail.
She scrolled i********: instead, morbid curiosity driving her to check Cole’s stories. And there it was.
A boomerang of him and Red Dress clinking glasses. The caption read: "Good vibes only."
Ava hurled her phone across the room.
She cried for a long time. Ugly sobs. The kind that leave your ribs sore.
Then, she got up.
Not for revenge. Not for some grand plan. She got up because she couldn’t lay in that bed another minute.
She showered. Brushed her teeth. Put on sweatpants. Then she sat on the floor of her kitchen eating dry cereal and staring into space.
An hour later, she opened a blank note in her phone and titled it:
Things to Leave Behind:
1. Cole
2. Crying in bathrooms
3. Shrinking for people who don’t clap when you grow
She stared at the list.
Then added: 4. That stupid job
The job that paid the bills but sucked the soul. The one she only stayed in because Cole convinced her security was sexier than happiness.
She opened her laptop.
And quit.
No fanfare. No grand exit email. Just a resignation and a goodbye.
Then she deleted i********:.
She wasn’t running. She was shedding.
Three days later, Leighton showed up with brunch and bottomless champagne.
“Say the word and I’ll key his car,” she offered between bites of avocado toast.
Ava snorted. “Tempting. But no. I’m done giving him my energy.”
Leighton eyed her. “That’s growth, babe. That’s healing.”
“It’s rage. Dressed in yoga pants.”
They laughed. It felt foreign, but good.
Later, when Leighton left, Ava wandered into the spare room. The one that had always been a junk room. A "someday" room.
She stood in the doorway and whispered, "Someday is now."
Then she got to work.
Old canvases. Dusty paints. Forgotten brushes.
The room transformed.
And so did she.
That night, she painted until her hands cramped. Until her eyes blurred. Until her heart slowed to a steady beat.
When she finally crawled into bed, she didn’t cry.
For the first time in a long time, Ava Sinclair slept without dreams—and woke up with purpose.
The glitter had cracked.
Now, she was ready to shine.
