The early May air in New York City thrummed with excitement as I stood in a Manhattan hotel suite, my reflection glowing in a gilded mirror. It was May 2026, over a year since Justin’s press tour had defended our love, since TMZ and E! News branded me Kayla Reed, the Greenwich waitress turned billionaire’s partner. I’d moved to Montclair, New Jersey, six months ago, seeking a quieter life and starting community college, my jet-black hair now shoulder-length, my plus-sized curves draped in a custom sapphire gown. The dress mirrored the sapphire necklace Justin bid $100,000 for at the Greenwich auction, its deep blue silk shimmering with crystals dripping like starlight from the bodice to the hem, catching every light. Tonight, at the Met Gala, we’d face the world together, but my heart race
