Chapter 3
1303 Words
Elena's POV
There Marcus stood in my doorway, face pale, hands shoved deep in his pockets like a scolded child.
I wasn't expecting him. Not now. Not ever.
How could he be shameless enough to show up at my apartment after humiliating me in front of the entire world? I wouldn't wish that kind of public betrayal on my enemy.
I slammed the door in his face.
"Elena, please"
"Go away, Marcus." My voice cracked despite my anger.
"I didn't mean for it to happen like that."
I yanked the door open just wide enough to glare at him. "How was it supposed to happen? In private? With fewer cameras? Because that ring looked perfectly rehearsed to me."
His mouth opened. Closed. Nothing.
"That's what I thought." I shut the door again, softer this time. My hands trembled against the wood.
"Elena"
"Go explain yourself to Isabella."
Silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we'd never say to each other again. Through the c***k beneath the door, I watched his shadow shift, hesitate, then finally retreat down the hallway.
I slid down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest. The boy who once whispered forever in the dark had chosen someone else. Had chosen her.
My breath came in shallow gasps, but no tears fell. I'd cried so much already that my body had nothing left to give.
***
Morning arrived with cruelty.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, once, twice, then continuously until I grabbed it with shaking hands.
PITY PARTY: Elena Park Cries Alone While Bestie Gets the Ring
From It-Girl to Has-Been in 24 Hours
#PoorElena Trends Worldwide
Below the headlines were photos of me. Outside my apartment building, mascara streaked, face blotchy and swollen. Someone had caught me through my window when I thought I was hidden in the dark.
The internet had turned my breakdown into entertainment.
I threw the phone across the room and buried my face in my pillow.
By noon, my inbox had exploded. PR managers. Brands "reconsidering partnerships". Fans demanding responses. Some sent sympathy. Most sent daggers.
I ignored all of it.
Two days later, my mother called.
"Elena." Her voice was clipped, efficient. "We need to talk about this scandal."
I closed my eyes. "Mom, I really can't."
"This isn't just about your heartbreak. It's about our family name. Do you understand the embarrassment this has caused?"
"Do you think I wanted any of this?" My throat tightened. "Do you think I planned to be humiliated?"
"Of course not. But you're trending for all the wrong reasons, and if you keep hiding, you'll only look weaker. The brands are already pulling out, aren't they?"
I swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Then you need to act. Fast." She paused, and I could hear her thinking, calculating. "A distraction. A public appearance. Something that shows you're moving forward. I've spoken to some people, and perhaps… a date. The right man, the right restaurant, the right photograph. Suddenly the narrative isn't that you were humiliated; it's that you've already moved on."
"A staged date?" My voice came out flat. "Mom, my heart just"
"I'm not telling you to fall in love; I'm telling you to save yourself. To protect everything you've built."
Before I could respond, my doorbell rang.
"I have to go."
I opened the door to find Taylor, my manager, striding in with his leather binder and the expression of a man preparing for war.
"We have a problem," he announced, tossing the binder onto my coffee table. "Three sponsors have pulled out. Five more are 'reviewing contracts'. You've lost two hundred thousand followers since yesterday."
I sank into the couch, feeling the cushions give beneath me, wishing they would swallow me completely.
"Brands don't like scandals unless they can spin them," Taylor continued, pacing my living room. "Right now, there's nothing to spin. You're the crying ex, the meme, the punchline. We need to pivot."
"My mom just said the same thing." I rubbed my forehead "A date. A distraction."
Taylor stopped pacing. His expression shifted from surprise to reluctant agreement. "She's not wrong. If we reframe you as strong, unbothered, already moving forward… a public dinner with the right person could change everything overnight."
"I can't just pretend."
"Elena." His voice softened. "I know you're hurting. But this is your career. Everything you've worked for could disappear if you don't take control now."
The walls pressed in. My mother's voice in my ear. Taylor's warnings in my living room. The weight of millions of strangers judging me through their screens.
And beneath it all, the ache. Still raw. Still bleeding.
"Fine." The word tasted like surrender. "I'll do it."
Taylor exhaled. "Good. I'll handle the details. Just one dinner, one night. Trust me, you'll thank me when the narrative shifts."
But as he gathered his things and left, all I felt was emptiness.
That evening, I curled up on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
My mother and Taylor were right. I needed a distraction, a lifeline. But how could I fake interest in some stranger when my heart was still in pieces?
Then I remembered something Isabella had mentioned months ago, back when we were still friends. "There's this app, Faceless. You talk before you see each other. It's kind of safer. Kind of exciting."
I'd laughed it off then. But now, with silence pressing against my chest, I found myself scrolling through the app store.
Faceless. Black icon, white mask.
I downloaded it before I could overthink.
Sign-up was quick. Username, preferences, a few clicks. Then a chat window blinked open.
[Stranger]: Hey. Couldn't sleep either?
I hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
[Me]: Something like that.
[Stranger]: Lucky for me, then. You sound interesting already.
[Me]: You don't even know me.
[Stranger]: Sometimes the mystery is the best part. No filters. No angles. Just words.
[Me]: Words can lie.
[Stranger]: True. But sometimes they tell you what a picture can't.
I found myself typing faster, the conversation flowing easier than anything I'd had in days. He was funny without trying too hard. Thoughtful without being pretentious. He didn't ask what I did for work. Didn't pry into why I couldn't sleep.
An hour passed like minutes.
[Stranger]: You know what? I don't want to keep calling you "stranger".
[Me]: Same. I'm Elena.
[Stranger]: Elena. I like that. I'm Andre.
[Me]: Just Andre?
[Andre]: Just Andre. For now. You?
[Me]: Just Elena.
[Andre]: Fair enough.
A pause. Then:
[Andre]: So here's a wild idea. What if we met? By the weekend. Dinner.
My breath skipped
Me]: You're asking me on a date through an anonymous app?
[Andre]: I'm asking Elena to dinner. The app is just how we met.
[Me]: You could be anyone.
[Andre]: So could you. That's the fun part.
I heard my mother's voice. A date. A distraction.
Taylor's warning. Trust me, you'll thank me.
And this stranger, Andre, was offering me both. A chance to be someone who wasn't crying on the internet. Someone who could still say yes.
[Me]: Where?
[Andre]: You pick. Your city, your comfort zone.
[Me]: Rosetti's. 8 PM Friday night.
[Andre]: I'll be there. How will I know it's you?
[Me]: I'll be the one trying not to look nervous.
[Andre]: Then I'll be the one trying not to stare.
I hit send before doubt could creep back in.
For the first time in days, my heartbeat changed. Not hope exactly. But maybe a small relief from the constant ache, a brief moment when I could breathe without feeling like I was drowning.
Today is Wednesday, so in 2 days I will meet a stranger. I would try to remember who I was before the world watched me break.
By Friday night, everything would change.
I just didn't know how much.
- Writer
