After My Boyfriend Burned Me for a Livestream, I Became the Chapman Heiress

The service corridor smelled like lemon disinfectant and old grease. I pushed my janitor's cart through the narrow hallway, the wheels squeaking against the tile. My uniform was damp. It stuck to my back. I'd been scrubbing a wine spill in the kitchen ten minutes ago and the solvent had soaked through my vest.

I pulled out my burner phone. The screen glowed in the dim hallway light. 02:47:31. Two hours, forty-seven minutes, thirty-one seconds until the timer hit zero. Until three years of this ended.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and kept walking. Ahead of me, the swinging service door leaked light and noise. Music. Laughter. The sharp clink of champagne glasses. The grand opening gala for the resort's new wing was in full swing on the other side.

I stopped at the door and looked through the small window.

The ballroom was massive. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen fireworks. White marble floors reflected the light. Women in silk gowns glided past men in tailored tuxedos. A champagne tower sat on a long table near the center of the room, golden liquid cascading down the pyramid of glasses. Waiters in crisp uniforms moved through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres.

At the far side of the ballroom, near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hamptons coastline, was the VIP section. A cluster of low velvet couches and glass tables. A private bar. That's where the real money sat.

And that's where I saw him.

Julien Chapman. My distant cousin. Though he had no idea who I was.

He sat in the center of the VIP section like a king on a throne. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a custom navy suit that probably cost more than most people's cars. His dark hair was slicked back. His smile was wide and easy. He had a glass of scotch in one hand and his other arm draped across the back of the couch. Around him sat a circle of trust-fund socialites. The kind of people who summered in the Hamptons and wintered in Aspen. They laughed at his jokes. Hung on his words. Julien loved it. He leaned back and gestured broadly as he told some story I couldn't hear from here.

I took a breath and pushed through the service door.

The noise hit me first. Voices layered over music layered over the hum of two hundred people pretending to have a good time. The air smelled like expensive perfume and fresh roses. I kept my head down and guided my cart along the edge of the ballroom, staying close to the wall. My job tonight was to clear empty glasses from the side tables and keep the event spaces tidy. Invisible work. The kind nobody noticed unless it didn't get done.

I made my way toward the VIP section. As I got closer, I could hear Julien's voice rising above the rest. He was talking about some yacht party he'd thrown last summer. The others were laughing. One of them — a blonde guy in a white dinner jacket I recognized as Pierce Sterling, another trust-fund heir — clinked his glass against Julien's in a toast.

Then I saw her.

Cassidy Rivera.

She sat on the couch next to Julien, angled toward him with her legs crossed, her phone held up in one hand. She was livestreaming. I could see the little red dot on her screen. Her voice was high and breathy as she narrated to her followers.

"Oh my God, you guys, this gala is insane," she said, panning the phone across the ballroom. "Look at this chandelier. Look at these people. I'm literally sitting with Julien Chapman right now. He's the director of this whole resort. Say hi, Julien!"

Julien glanced at the camera and raised his scotch glass with a lazy grin. "Hey, internet."

Cassidy giggled and swung the phone back to herself. She wore a tight red dress that looked like it cost a month of my rent. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. Her makeup was flawless. She looked like she belonged here. Like she'd been born into this world.

But I knew better.

I also knew the man standing just behind her. Hovering at her elbow like a shadow.

Kylian Arnold.

My boyfriend.

He wore a black suit that fit well enough but didn't quite match the tailored perfection of the other men in the VIP section. On his wrist was a luxury watch I knew he leased because he couldn't afford to buy it. His hair was styled with too much gel. He laughed at something Julien said, louder than necessary, leaning in like he was part of the inner circle.

But he wasn't. Not really. He was trying. Desperately.

I stopped at a side table near the VIP section and started collecting empty glasses. I moved quietly, my hands steady. I'd done this a thousand times. I was good at being invisible.

Kylian's eyes flicked toward me for half a second. Just long enough to register my existence. Then they slid right past me, back to Julien. He didn't smile. Didn't nod. Didn't acknowledge me at all.

I placed the glasses on my cart, the sound of crystal clinking together barely audible over the noise of the gala.

Cassidy's voice rose again as she continued her livestream, tilting her phone to capture the glittering ballroom behind her. "This is literally the most amazing night ever," she said. "I'm so lucky to be here."

I turned my cart and moved toward the next table.

Two hours and forty-six minutes left.