Chapter 2

But once trust cracks, it can never truly be glued back together.

I began watching him obsessively. Once he fell asleep, I would sneak his phone out of the nightstand. I knew it was toxic, but I couldn't stop myself.

His Instagram, TikTok, WhatsApp, texts, and call logs were all spotless. Shockingly clean.

Until a week later, on pure impulse, I opened his cloud drive app.

It was password-protected.

My heart jumped into my throat. I tried all his usual passwords, but none of them worked.

A sudden, sickening gut feeling took over. My hands shook as I typed: AustinHarper.

The screen flashed, and the folder unlocked.

In that exact second, every drop of blood in my veins turned to ice.

Inside the drive was a folder labeled "Project." Inside were countless pictures, along with a subfolder titled "Her."

My fingers trembled so violently I could barely hold the phone.

I tapped on "Her."

There was only one single photo inside. It was the back of a girl wearing a white sundress, standing in a sprawling field of sunflowers. The golden sunlight poured over her, making the shot look like an ethereal painting.

Even though it was just her back, I knew instantly. That was Harper.

What chilled me to the marrow, however, was that silhouette. The loose, wavy blonde hair, the exact cut and style of that white dress...

It was identical to what I had worn on my very first date with Austin three years ago.

Shaking, I backed out to the "Project" folder and opened another subfolder.

It was entirely full of pictures of me.

Me eating, me sleeping, me reading on the couch, laughing, pouting... Every version of me.

Once, I thought these photos were proof of his deep love for me, a sweet way of documenting our life together.

Now, as I stared at them, a bone-deep chill crept from the soles of my feet straight to my skull.

Because in every single shot—the angles he chose, the poses he casually told me to strike—he was deliberately recreating that image of the girl in the sunflower field.

I whipped my head around to look at the man sleeping beside me.

Austin was dead to the world, his face relaxed and gentle in sleep.

Yet beneath the warm covers, I felt as if I had been dumped into an icy grave.

I backed out to the main "Project" folder again and saw the other subfolders.

Their names were clinical and cold: [001_J], [002_L], [003_M]... Like serial numbers.

My fingertips were ice-cold. I tapped on the nearest one: [002_L].

More photos. Dozens of them. Another girl with long, wavy hair, wearing light-colored dresses. Laughing, reading, sipping coffee... candid shots from specific angles.

Her hair, her aesthetic, the angle of her jawline... they all shared an eerie, unmistakable resemblance to the girl in the sunflower field.

I exited and clicked on [003_M].

Same thing. A different girl. Same wavy hair, same breezy, feminine style. Fewer photos this time, but the blueprint was identical.

So... I wasn't the first.

And I probably wouldn't be the last.

I was just the latest model in his sick collection of knockoffs.

Had he ever felt a shred of genuine love for me? Or was every tender moment just scraps of affection meant for her?

Whatever genuine spark might have existed for Chloe as a person... what chance did it stand against his massive, twisted obsession with Harper?

It was a pathetic joke.

I sat on the cold hardwood floor, hugging my knees, watching the sky outside slowly turn pale gray.