The morning it broke, Ethan wasn't prepared.
He'd woken late after another sleepless night, his head heavy with thoughts of Isabella — her trembling confessions, her stolen touch, the fragments of love she handed him like crumbs. He brewed coffee he barely tasted and opened his laptop, ready to force himself back into the manuscript.
But then the headline stopped him cold:
"Adrian Gray's Bold New Masterpiece: The False Fairytale"
The words blurred before Ethan's eyes. He clicked the article with shaking fingers.
The reviewer gushed about Adrian's latest work, calling it his most daring, vulnerable novel yet. A story about a man caught between love and ruin, trapped in a web of lies and longing. The phrasing wasn't just familiar — it was his. His themes, his sentences, his soul spilled across the page, now wearing Adrian's name like a perfect mask.
He scrolled through the quoted excerpts, each one slicing him open deeper.
"Jesus Christ…" His mug slipped from his hand, shattering across the floor. Coffee spread like blood across the tiles, but Ethan couldn't move. He could only stare at the screen, his stomach hollowing.
It was all there — the cadence of his prose, the rhythm of his suffering, every ounce of himself he had poured into those pages. Adrian hadn't just stolen the story. He'd stolen Ethan.
---
By midday, the news had spread everywhere. His phone buzzed nonstop — texts from Mark, from acquaintances, even from family members who never cared for literature but knew enough to be impressed.
"Have you seen Gray's new book? Incredible, isn't it?"
"He's finally broken free from his old style — it's fresh, raw, haunting."
"Ethan, doesn't it remind you of something?"
He didn't answer a single one. He couldn't.
When Mark finally called, his voice was low, cautious. "Ethan… I know what you're thinking. I know what this looks like. But there's no proof. You understand? If you accuse him—"
"It's mine," Ethan rasped. His throat ached as though the words themselves had claws. "He stole it from me."
Mark hesitated. "And if that's true, then we fight. But right now? He's untouchable. The industry's hailing this as his comeback. They'll crucify you if you speak without evidence."
Ethan slammed the laptop shut, his chest heaving. Evidence. As though his very voice, replicated and butchered, wasn't enough.
---
That evening, unable to bear the suffocating silence of his apartment, Ethan walked through the city aimlessly. Posters of Adrian's face seemed to leer at him from every bookstore window. Adrian Gray: The Genius Returns. Lines of people queued already for the book launch, eager to hold the lie in their hands.
Ethan ducked into a quiet bar, ordered whiskey, then another, and another. The alcohol dulled the edges of his fury but sharpened the hollowness in his chest. He thought of Isabella — her gentle hand tracing his drafts, her whispered "I love you." Had it all been a trick? A performance rehearsed at Adrian's command? Or had she loved him while betraying him in the same breath?
The thought sickened him. And yet, even in his rage, a part of him still longed for her.
---
Three nights later, Ethan forced himself to attend Adrian's book launch. Not out of masochism — or maybe entirely out of it. He needed to see.
The venue glittered with chandeliers and flashing cameras. Adrian commanded the stage effortlessly, dressed in a sleek black suit, radiating charm. Isabella stood nearby, radiant in an emerald dress, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She looked every bit the loyal wife.
Ethan stood at the back, invisible in the crowd, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.
When Adrian spoke, his words were poison sugar.
"I've always believed stories find us when we're ready to tell them. The False Fairytale is a work that came to me in pieces, in shadows — born of pain, love, and the masks we all wear." He smiled knowingly, scanning the audience, his gaze brushing over Ethan for the briefest second before moving on. "It is, without doubt, the most personal book I've ever written."
The crowd erupted in applause. Cameras flashed. Isabella's smile never wavered.
Ethan felt something inside him crack, clean and irrevocable.
It wasn't just the theft anymore. It wasn't just Adrian's triumph. It was the realization that he had no place here — not in the world of glittering lights, not in Isabella's life, not even in his own story. His words, his love, his pain — all of it belonged to someone else now.
And as Adrian basked in glory, Ethan stood drowning in silence, unseen, undone.