Chapter 1
I could feel it—the judging eyes of everyone at the gala. The whispers and glares were all directed at us.
Why... why would Sarah do something like this?
She was my best friend. I told her everything. My family treated her like one of their own.
I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. I should have seen it coming. She'd been acting strangely for a while—I should have known she was up to something.
My family looked at me with so much anger, like they wanted me to drop dead right there. We left the gala and climbed into the car, beginning the silent drive home.
The ride was filled with a tension so thick you could almost see it, lingering like a ghost in the car.
My mum's phone wouldn't stop ringing—probably her sponsors and endorsement partners calling to cancel. Every glance at the screen darkened her face further. Her cheeks were flushed with rage, her hands trembling as she held the phone.
My dad, the center of the exposé, had been revealed for numerous crimes—fraud, embezzlement, and more. His clients were blowing up his phone, demanding answers. He sat pale, drenched in sweat, probably trying to figure a way out of the mess.
My brother James was silent the entire way home.
When we finally arrived, we found our house had been vandalized by furious victims of my dad's schemes. That seemed to be the final blow for everyone.
Then the screaming started. Accusations flew like daggers—until the room suddenly fell silent.
And then, they all turned to me.
"This is all your fault," my dad said, very calmly.
I shook my head slowly, trying to reason with him. "Dad, I—"
He cut me off, screaming. "This is all your fault! You brought that girl into our house! You let her snoop around and told her all our secrets!"
"Dad, please listen—"
"Don't call me that. I'm no longer your father," he snapped.
I stared at him, wide-eyed.
"Leave this house by sunrise. And never come back."
Tears streamed down my face as I bolted up the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me. I collapsed behind it, sobbing, my head buried in my knees.
My phone buzzed. I picked it up, staring at the screen.
Sarah was on national television, crying crocodile tears and pretending to be the victim. She was playing the whistleblower, acting like she had uncovered some noble truth.
But that wasn't the worst part.
She blamed me.
She said I knew everything and chose to stay silent—that I was just a spoiled daddy's girl who didn't care where the money came from, as long as I got to spend it.
I was heartbroken.
She had been my best friend for as long as I could remember.
I couldn't believe she would do this to me.
I thought back to when we first met—she was the awkward scholarship girl at my prestigious high school. I hated her at first. She was poor, yet effortlessly beautiful. But then we bonded, almost instantly. We liked the same things. Did everything together.
My family adored her. Sometimes, it felt like they worshipped her.
Funny thing is... I'm not even mad at her. Because the truth is, I did know.
I just didn't have the courage to say anything.
I was scared—of my family, of the media, of the world.
I just don't understand... why did she do it?
She was dating my brother, who would have inherited the family business.
My mother loved her and could have placed her in any modeling agency she wanted.
My dad treated her like his own daughter, even gave her money to spoil herself.
She was treated better than I ever was in my own home.
So why?
Suddenly, my mother screamed from downstairs.
"James! James! My baby! Where is he?!"
Apparently, James was missing.
"What do you mean no one has seen him since we got back?" she shrieked at the security guard.
I glanced out the window. It was late. I grabbed a duffel bag and began packing.
Just the essentials—some designer clothes, perfumes, a few handbags. I wanted to take more, but there wasn't time. Or maybe, I just didn't care anymore.
I looked around our once-luxurious house. Now it felt empty. Cold. Abandoned.
I stepped outside and checked my phone.
My face was plastered across every tabloid, accompanied by cruel headlines.
I wiped my eyes, forcing myself not to cry. I scrolled through my call log, trying to reach friends.
Not one of them answered.
Some of their butlers even returned my calls—just to tell me not to call again.
I bit my lip. I wouldn't cry. Not again.
I grabbed my bag and walked to the nearest train station, even though I had nowhere to go.
Only when I was finally seated on the cold, near-empty train—makeup streaked down my face, my once-perfect manicure chipped and ruined—did I look into the cracked window.
And then, I cried.
Hi guys I'm currently an upcoming writer so please don't forget to comment your constructive criticism means a lot 🥹
Thanks or reading I'll be back with a new chapter by next Friday thanks again
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