Chapter 1: Dumped, Broke, and Pregnant

I guess you could call me an internet celebrity.

Sometimes that sounds a lot fancier than it actually is. I’m the girl who posts sports clips and snarky commentary—the one who gets recognized at the gym or the grocery store, but still has to take out her own trash. Some days, I forget how many people are watching. Other days, it feels like the whole world is staring at my every move. Weird, right?

Because I trusted my boyfriend, I agreed to have all my platform income routed through his company’s account.

It sounds wild now, but at the time, I figured that’s just what you do when you’re building a life together. I told myself it was a power move, a sign of faith. It never even crossed my mind that this could go sideways.

Every shareholder in that company? His relatives and friends—none of them had anything to do with me. Figures.

Looking back, it was all there in black and white: his uncle, his cousin, a buddy from college who always had a beer in his hand. Not a single person who’d ever even met my Aunt Carol or seen my old yearbook photo. I was an outsider, even as my money poured in.

Who could’ve guessed that in less than six months, he’d dump me out of nowhere? Not me.

It wasn’t a slow fade or a big, messy fight. One day, he just stopped calling. I got a text that said, “We need to talk,” and that was it. My world spun off its axis.

When I checked the books, not a single dollar was left. Everything had been drained.

My hands shook as I scrolled through the statements. Zeroes where there should have been commas. I called the bank, thinking it was a glitch. It wasn’t.

I got swindled out of two million dollars, and on top of that, found out I was pregnant.

I wish I could say I screamed or broke something. Instead, I just sat on the floor and stared at the wall, numb. Pathetic, right? I thought about the baby. I thought about the money. I thought about how stupid I’d been.

A textbook case of being cheated both financially and emotionally.

If there was a warning label for heartbreak, my face would be on it. I could’ve been the poster child for "don’t trust too easily." Seriously, put me on a billboard.

I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I had surgery, and for a long time, I was stuck in heartbreak, unable to pull myself out.

The world kept spinning, but I was stuck in place. I’d walk past the mirror and not even recognize myself. I lost my appetite. Even my favorite sneakers felt heavy on my feet.

Most of my followers were men—they couldn’t stand my lovesick posts.

They came for the highlights, the trash talk, the energy. Not the late-night rants or the sad song playlists. My DMs filled up with eye rolls and “unfollowed.”

After all that, I lost a huge chunk of my fanbase.

I watched the numbers drop like the temperature in February. Every time I refreshed, it hurt a little more. I thought about quitting for good.

Physically and mentally wrecked. My income tanked. Every day I felt more and more empty.

I’d scroll through my feed at 3 a.m., seeing everyone else’s wins, their new sponsorships, their glowing skin. I felt like a ghost in my own life.

Depression hit, hard.

It crept in quietly, like fog. I stopped returning calls. I stopped opening the curtains. The world shrank to the size of my bedroom.

One night, after another round of fans dragging me for being pathetic, I just couldn’t take it. I sat in the bathtub and let myself slip under the water. Maybe this was it.

I remember the cold, the silence, the way the water muffled everything. The ache in my chest was heavier than the water itself. If you’ve never been there, I hope you never are.

But then, I got a second chance.

I don’t know if it was God, fate, or just dumb luck. But I woke up, gasping, like I’d surfaced from the deepest part of the ocean.

I woke up on the day I was supposed to sign the paperwork. Was it all a dream?

It was like I’d rewound my life to the moment everything started to go wrong. The world felt sharper, the air colder. I could hear the clock ticking.

When I came to, I was sitting at a conference table, pen in hand.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. My heart pounded. I looked down at the contract, the pen poised between my fingers, my signature line empty.

The black-and-white print on the contract was crystal clear.

Every clause, every comma, every “heretofore” and “notwithstanding.” I could see the trap now. The fine print was a net, and I was the fish.

My boyfriend, Mitchell Lane, sat across from me, looking at me with that eager, practiced smile.

He wore his best suit—cheap, but pressed. His hair was slicked back, his eyes too bright. He looked like a guy who thought he’d already won.

"Nora, trust me. I’ll take care of everything for you."

His voice was smooth, rehearsed. Like he was auditioning for the role of “good boyfriend” and I was the only one who didn’t get the script. Figures.

Really?

Trust you, just to get scammed out of two million?

I could almost hear the laugh track in my head. Not this time.

I tossed the pen aside. "I’ve changed my mind. I’m not signing."

The pen clattered on the table. I felt a rush of adrenaline—like hitting a buzzer-beater. For the first time in forever, I felt like myself again.

It felt like a mountain slid off my shoulders. I relaxed and patted my assistant, Emma, who sat beside me. "Let’s go. We’ve got a lot to do."

Emma’s eyes went wide, then she grinned. She started gathering our stuff, her hands moving faster than I’d ever seen. She looked at me like I’d just handed her a golden ticket.

Mitchell’s jaw dropped. He scrambled around the table to block me. "Nora, didn’t we already agree?"

He tried to sound hurt, but his voice cracked. He was sweating, and his hands trembled just a little.

"This is a win-win for both of us."

He kept repeating it, like saying it enough times would make it true. His lawyer sat in the corner, shuffling papers, pretending not to notice the tension.

"Besides, our lawyer already prepped the paperwork."

He gestured toward the stack of documents. The lawyer gave a weak smile, clearly uncomfortable. I shot him a look—he looked away.

We, we, we.

Mitchell was something else. I was the one losing out, but he made it sound like a win-win. So slick.

I could see right through him now. His “team” was just a bunch of yes-men. I almost felt sorry for them—almost. Not quite.

I glanced at his yes-man lawyer. Yeah.

In my last life, I must’ve been out of my mind to share a lawyer with Mitchell—basically paying someone to sell me out.

I could practically see the dollar signs in the lawyer’s eyes. I wondered if he’d ever had a real client, or if he just lived off Mitchell’s scraps.

I smiled coolly. "From today on, the lawyer’s yours. He’s not my lawyer anymore."

I said it loud enough for the whole room to hear. Emma smirked. The lawyer looked relieved. Mitchell looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.

Mitchell ignored everyone else and grabbed my hand, trying to play the pity card. "Nora, you’re just a young woman. Your parents are gone, you’ve worked so hard—breaks my heart."

He squeezed my hand, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. I wanted to pull away, but I held steady, meeting his eyes.

"Besides, you don’t have anyone else to trust but me—"

He leaned in, lowering his voice like we were sharing a secret. I remembered every time he’d used that line to get his way.