Chapter 2: Humiliation, Heartbreak, and a New Target

I sat in the driver’s seat of my Tesla and let out a heavy sigh.

Leather seat cool against my back, I slouched a little, staring out at the sprawling college parking lot. The sunrise painted the sky pink and gold, but all I felt was the dull ache in my chest. I tapped the steering wheel, watching students shuffle by with coffee and bagels, their laughter echoing through the morning air.

The reflection in my phone screen showed a handsome face—sharp features, strong jaw. Why does Natalie Sanders hate me so much?

I studied my own image, searching for flaws—a hair out of place, a crease in my shirt—but everything was as put together as always. Still, I couldn’t shake the question: was I missing something invisible?

I work out regularly, watch my diet, and I definitely have a model’s physique.

I’d logged enough hours at the gym that the staff knew my playlist by heart. Every morning, protein shake in hand, I told myself today would be different. But a perfect body didn’t win Natalie’s heart.

My phone kept buzzing in my pocket. I wanted to throw my phone across the parking lot, but I was too tired for drama. Instead, I just let the screen burn my retinas, letting every notification sting a little deeper. I pulled it out and unlocked it:

[Heard of this guy—kinda stubborn, a rich kid, spent thousands on a confession scene, only to get rejected in front of everyone...]

A red dot blinked on my Instagram notifications. I scrolled through my DMs: screenshots, tagged memes, anonymous messages. My failed confession had gone viral overnight.

[Born with a silver spoon, dad’s a company exec, mom’s loaded, but instead of living large, insists on being a lovesick fool.]

My parents’ success was campus legend. It didn’t help that my last name was etched onto donor plaques in every building.

[This was his sixteenth confession. Unreal.]

One after another, the comments piled up like bricks on my chest. I closed my eyes, bracing for the next wave.

...

Truly impressive.

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing in the closed car. Sixteen rejections. I should have gotten a loyalty card.

Who the hell posted my confession to Natalie Sanders online just now?

My stomach twisted. I scrolled, searching for the original post, my jaw clenching. Betrayal tasted bitter on my tongue.

I clicked into the comments—over a thousand, all laughing at me.

Some were brutal, some just dumb memes, but the verdict was clear: Jason Miller, campus clown.

What really broke me, though, was a photo a friend sent over.

Natalie was holding hands with another guy, strolling side by side across the crosswalk, her face lit up with a smile.

My breath caught in my throat. Her happiness—so effortless, so real—hit me harder than any insult.

And I recognized that guy.

Caleb Foster, her childhood friend—the one who once saved her life.