1. Chapter 1
Chapter one
March 2026
— THIS IS ME TRYING BY TAYLOR SWIFT
I’ve always believed that life is a series of choices.
Every day you’re alive, you make a thousand decisions that lead you to where you are now. You might not even think about it, but any choice can have a thousand different ripple effects, like rain on a pond.
There are so many things to remember each day, and honestly, it gets exhausting. All these choices and different paths could come from them. What if I choose wrong and end up destroying a once bright future? What if I make one decision that, in my mind, feels small but ends up changing my life for the better? Or for the worse?
All the goddamn what-ifs could drive you crazy if you think about it too long and hard.
I never thought that choosing to post a YouTube video of a book haul one day when I was sixteen would lead me here—a conference room in Pennsylvania, being bored to death and on edge at the same time.
My leg has been shaking since I sat down, my heart beating so fast that I feel like it’s going to explode, and not once in the past week have I felt calm. I keep zoning in and out of the conversation that doesn't really involve me. I might be the one to make the final call, but nobody ever really asks for my opinion anymore; they just tell me what to do, and I do it.
I used to have fight left in me, but I can’t seem to find that anymore. I’m tired of fighting people and choices.
“So, that’s about it. Bree, how do you feel about this arrangement?”
Shit. “Uh, good. I think it will benefit both parties.”
“There’s no way she was paying attention.” A sharp voice I’ve heard before pierces the air, and suddenly, I notice a familiar face on the screen. Alexander Adams—an up-and-coming actor who made his name sleeping around with half his costars.
He’s a decent actor, but most people know him for whichever girl he’s dating that week.
“How nice of you to say, Alex. It appears you’ve only just joined the meeting as well.” I glance down at the watch on my wrist. “A half hour late.”
“It helps that I’ve already agreed to the plan, Brianna.”
I roll my eyes before correcting him. “Just Bree.”
“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” Connie directs what I assume is Alex’s manager back to the topic they were discussing while I zoned out. “Bree, Grace and her team were telling you how this could help you.”
“Fake dating a star of Alexander’s caliber will help immensely,” Grace tells me.
“And you want me to do this because…?” I trail off, the lack of sleep not helping my brain process anything. God, I’m a fucking wreck lately, and there’s nothing I can do to help that.
“To get the press off your back about Ralph getting out.”
My shoulders tense when I hear his name. My lungs suddenly forget how to work, and I want to shrink into the chair I’m sitting on and disappear. I start to twist the bracelet that lives on my wrist to try and calm down, but it doesn’t work. I want to make myself so small that nobody can touch me, so nothing can hurt me.
But I don't, because I have to be professional. I take a short breath before I speak again. “And Alexander agreed to this for what? There’s nothing he can possibly gain from dating someone a lot less popular than him.” I don't mean to take a jab at myself, but there’s a huge difference between being a literal movie star and an influencer with a large fanbase.
“My team has agreed that I need to…clean up my image. Plus, you have a different demographic than I do, which means more publicity for me in different areas.” He smiles, one of those fake movie star smiles that he has probably perfected from years of acting classes.
I dislike him already, but before I can speak, Connie does it for me. “Bree’s excited about the new reach and the media’s distraction from her current situation. She’ll do it.” She looks over at me and smiles, and I shoot her one back, not wanting to upset her.
“It will be a great opportunity for sure,” I grit through my teeth.
“Wonderful. I’ll send over the paperwork for you and your people to look over,” Grace says, scribbling something down on a notepad.
Alex is smirking like he has something up his sleeve, and I fake my best smile to pretend like I actually care.
I just want to be home. I want to curl up in my bed and hide away until something swallows me whole.
“I’ll see you soon, Bree. Get that video camera ready, or whatever you use to film those videos of yours.”
“I’ll charge it right up,” I say as Connie hangs up the call. “So, pawning me off on fake dates now, are we? This wasn't what I imagined when you said you had good news for me, Con.”
Connie, my manager, is one of the only people I trust in this world. She’s around thirty-five, with brown hair that’s currently styled in a bob, and is about a head shorter than me. She handles all the confusing parts of being in the public eye, and we have a love-hate relationship because of certain things—like whatever today has been.
“Bree, you know how it is. I’m trying to get the media attention off—”
If I hear his name one more time, I might collapse. “I know, but is fake dating a movie star the right move? You know I would’ve said no if I knew ahead of time.”
“That’s why I didn't tell you. Wouldn't you rather have the attention on the boy you're dating than the man you’ve tried to forget for four years?”
No. As of right now, I’d rather have no attention on me when I’m relapsing into who I was after I met him for the first time. After what he did to me. After what he took from me. “Yeah, but is fake dating the way to do that?”
“I know you don’t believe in love, Bree, but give him a chance. He might end up surprising you in the end.”
I roll my eyes. “I doubt it.”
I used to believe in love. I used to think that it could conquer everything—every bad day, every shitty feeling I had about myself, everything. Isn't that what every romance novel I read tells me? That, despite it all, despite being who I am and doing what I do, I can still find love?
But it doesn't work like that, and I would never drag someone into the life I have now, and I don't think anybody would willingly walk into it either.
Nobody wants a girlfriend with an active stalker, PTSD, anxiety, and a belief that love doesn't exist. I don't even like who I am most days. Ever since I got the call about Ralph’s release a week ago, I’ve been ghosting through everything. I’m trying my fucking hardest to snap out of it, but I can’t.
Every time I try to tell myself that I’m going to be okay, I panic. Any small sound I hear, I jump. I can’t be alone in small spaces like elevators or my shower, not without feeling like the walls are closing in on me. Nobody wants someone who worries about leaving the house, who worries about her future. All of my time is spent worrying about things that haven't happened yet. I’m constantly on edge, panicked and on the verge of crying because my brain won’t shut off.
Nobody would want that. Nobody would want me, so I guess fake dating is all I’ll get.
“How are you holding up? Have you been sleeping lately? You look tired, B.”
Tired is the understatement of the century. “I’m alright.”
“Have you talked to Dr. Anna lately?”
Dr. Anna—my therapist. “Every single day this week, and I have a call with her later too.”
She smiles at me. “Good. Make sure you start to get some sleep. You and Alex will have your first public outing in a few weeks. There’s going to be lots of press tipped off about it.”
Of course there is. “I’ll try.” It feels like all I’m doing lately is fucking trying, but nobody notices. Every fucking second of every fucking day, I’m trying not to break, not to look like I’m falling apart at the seams, but nobody notices. They only notice how seemingly put together I am for someone whose stalker was released from prison and is probably on their way back to finish what he started.
Nobody ever takes into account that the act of not falling into pieces on the floor because of how exhausted I am, is trying too.
That fucker ruined my life, but I have to pretend like he didn't. I have to pretend like I’m okay, that my order of protection will save me, but I know it won't.
I know he’s coming for me, and I feel like a sitting duck.
“I’ll see you later, Bree. I have another meeting to get to.” She taps my hand as she gets up from the giant glass table we’ve been sitting at in her office. “Feel free to sit here and take it all in. I know it’s a lot to digest, so take all the time you need. I’ll keep the windows frosted so you can't see in or out.”
“Thanks, Connie.” She slips out of the room through one of the doors, and as I sit and stare at the glass walls surrounding me, I wait for something to come.
But the only thing that does is worry. Worry that I have to walk out of here alone, that I have to get back in the elevator and stand in the corner for eight floors as I hope and pray that nobody else gets on. I have to act natural, like I’m perfectly okay as I walk out of the building and get into my car, but I know there’s probably paparazzi outside—there always is. I’m not the only semi-famous person who has meetings here. Connie’s management firm is huge, after all.
To the media, I’m Bree Hart, the social media influencer who talks about books she loves, who always has a bow in her hair no matter what she’s wearing.
To myself, I’m Bree, the 5’4”, long blonde-haired girl, freckles on her face, green eyes, the book lover who doesn't believe in love. I’m just a girl from Pennsylvania who got big by talking about things I loved on the internet. I never imagined this would be what my life looked like as a twenty-five-year-old, but the decisions I made have led me here.
So, as I get up and place my hand on the door, I take a big deep breath and hope it will help calm me down, even knowing it won't.
Love doesn't exist. Worrying and looking over my shoulder is all I’ll ever know now, and I might not be alive if he finds me in the next few weeks. I’m still living in the same area. It’s only a matter of time before he gets me again.
I swing the door open and head down the hallway, the elevator looming at the end of it like a door in a haunted house. My steps drag along the tile floor, the luminescent lighting hurting my eyes, when I notice a familiar figure sitting on a bench by the elevator.
Is he real, or am I imagining him? His face meets mine—those hazel eyes I know so well look back at me like a lifeline in the middle of a storm. I didn't think I was going to see him so soon. I thought he was finishing another assignment. “Vince?”
He doesn't say a word; he only looks at me like he used to all those years ago—like he can see every thought running through my head.
“You're back.” It’s not a question.
“You needed me.”
I did. I do. “I thought you weren't going to be here for another month?”
“Someone else took over for me. I’m needed here.”
God, I want to cry. I want to break down because I know Vince would catch me. He’s the only person other than my sister I trust to catch me when I feel like falling. I’ve been scared out of my mind for the past week, and seeing his familiar face is helping me center myself.
After everything, I never thought I’d be able to be alone with a man without freaking out, yet with Vince, I felt safe. I don't know what it is about him that makes me feel like that, but I still do, even four years later.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I made you a promise, Bree. I’m not one for breaking promises.” He stands from the bench and walks over to where I stand rooted in my spot. His over 6-foot frame, tattoo sleeve, and muscles bigger than I last saw him looms over me, yet I’ve never felt safer.
It’s been years, yet my body isn't screaming at me to get away or hide. I’m starting to think he might be the only person I’ll ever feel safe around since his job is to literally protect me.
His hand reaches out, touching the light pink bow that rests on the end of my braid. “It’s nice to see some things haven't changed.”
“I didn't mean to make you drop everything just for me.”
His eyes move off my bow and lock onto mine. “Do you remember how we’re going to do this, angel? ”
Angel. My codename. Vince picked it out when I first met him. I asked why I needed one, and he said it’s standard practice. I’m obviously not so important as to need one, but he insisted. He does it with all his clients, apparently. I nod at him. “You get in the elevator first, and you exit with me behind you, but only when you tell me it’s all clear.”
He cocks his head, a small smile gracing then disappearing from his lips. “And?”
“And listen to you at all times. You open all my doors for me, and no matter what, no arguing when it comes to my safety. I remember, Vince. It’s not my first rodeo.”
“I know, Bree. Are you ready to go?” I nod at him again, not having words for seeing him here after all this time. He puts his hand to his ear before he speaks again. “Angel is leaving the building. We’ll be down in two. Get the car ready.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
“My team.”
“Your what ?”
“I have a lot to catch you up on, Bree. But let’s focus on getting you out of here safely first, okay?”
“Whatever you say, boss.” I smirk, knowing he hates when I call him that. Before I know it, we’re in the car headed back to my house, and I feel safer than I have in a week.