I died when he publicly announced I was his girlfriend

chapter 1

My last day on earth was brutally ordinary.

I was at a club in West Hollywood with friends when I saw him. Marcus.

He had my sister, Cassandra, tucked under his arm.

I watched him lean in, his lips brushing her ear. A blush bloomed across Cassandras cheeks.

"Marcus, you're terrible," she purred, her voice a perfect confection of innocence and invitation.

He threw his head back and laughed, a rich, movie-star sound that filled the space. Then, right there, in front of everyone, he tangled a hand in her hair, tilted her head back, and gave her a deep, searing kiss. She made a show of pounding a fist against his chest, a playful protest that melted away as she burrowed her face into his neck.

My own heart felt like it was caught in a fist, a dull, acidic ache spreading through my chest.

He had never once introduced me to his friends.

Id seen the news of Cassandras return to the States online. It was the number one trending topic, right alongside the hashtag that broke me:

#MarcusAndCassandraForever

Marcus Reed. The youngest actor in history to win two Oscars. In every interview, for years, hed spoken of a secret love, a woman he was waiting for. Now, his wish had apparently come true. My entire feed was an endless scroll of fans celebrating, wishing them a lifetime of happiness.

But the one who had been by his side for seven years that was me.

One of Marcuss friends finally spotted me. Brandon, a trust fund kid with a vacant smile.

"Hey, isn't that Serena Jones?" he shouted, his voice slurring slightly. "Yo, you didn't actually fall for Marcus, did you?"

Every head turned. A stage, a spotlight, and me at the center of their cruel little play. Phones went up, their screens like a dozen unblinking eyes.

My friends stiffened, their faces hardening with anger. One of them started to roll up her sleeves, ready for a fight, but I placed a hand on her arm, stopping her.

I looked at them, at their expectant, mocking faces, and I nodded calmly.

"Yes," I said, my voice even. "I do love him."

The table erupted in laughter.

It's strange. I think when your heart breaks past a certain point, you just go numb. I gave them another small nod and turned to leave.

Someone uploaded the video, of course. My social media accounts exploded.

Nathan texted me. "Want me to get my team on this? We can bury it."

I typed back. "No. It doesn't matter."

I must have seemed so eerily calm that my friends didn't see the cracks forming beneath the surface.

When I got home, I sat in the silence for a long time. Then I picked up my car keys.

I drove up into the canyons, found a sharp curve on a dark road, and aimed for the edge.

Cassandra brought Marcus back to my parents' house.

My parents were almost never in the country. It was my house, really. My sanctuary.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I knew exactly what this was. A performance. And I knew who the audience was.

It was a special kind of cruelty, meant to kill the heart even after the body is gone.

They were so impatient they couldn't even make it past the foyer, their mouths finding each other in a desperate clash. That face, the one I had adored for so long, was now fixed on another woman with the same intoxicating intensity. He kissed her, held her, wove his fingers through her hair with a reverence hed never shown me, as if trying to absorb her into himself.

Even that wasn't enough. Marcus swept her into his arms and, with a single, careless motion, cleared the entryway table with his forearm.

I watched as the silver frame containing our picturethe only one we ever took togetherskittered across the floor and shattered against the wall.

The motion-sensor light in the hall flickered on.

Marcus froze, as if waking from a dream.

"Marcus, what's wrong?" Cassandra murmured, the strap of her dress slipping from her shoulder. Her arms were still looped around his neck, her face flushed with desire.

"Nothing," he grunted, the spell broken. He seemed agitated, dragging a hand through his perfect hair. He set her down, a clumsy attempt to soothe her. "Someone filmed us at the club. I need to call my publicist. If this blows up, it won't look good."

My sister pouted, but she was a professional at playing her part for Marcus. She just leaned against him, her voice a delicate, wounded whisper.

"I think my sister was upset tonight. It's all my fault."

"It's not your fault," Marcus said, his voice softening as he nuzzled her nose with his. "You're the only one I've ever loved. From the very beginning."

Cassandra pursed her lips. "Then what about her?"

Shed been using that tactic since we were children. The innocent victim.

Marcus reached out and gently pinched the tip of her nose, an intimate, playful gesture. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Who do you think I love?"

Cassandras blush returned.

"Want me to make you some pasta?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Marcus" she giggled.

He laughed, scooping her up and spinning her around before setting her down gently on the sofa.

"Wait right here, baby."

A tremor of pure dread started in my feet and shot up my spine, making my scalp prickle. I wanted to look away. I wanted to flee.

But I couldn't move.

Some strange force tethered me to Marcus, forcing me to watch him cherish my own sister.

It was sickening.

They say those who take their own lives are doomed to repeat their final moments for eternity.

I was wrong. The worst moment of my existence wasn't the feeling of my car plunging into the abyss. It was this. This soul-crushing, deliberate act of erasure.