As much as you hate to admit it, everything changed with your long-term boyfriend, Kian, the moment that photo of you went viral.

It was almost three years ago—just another slow night at your bartending job in your tiny hometown. You were mixing drinks, half-listening to the jukebox, when someone took your photo without you knowing. A candid shot. A fleeting moment.

By morning, the image had blown up online. By the end of the week, modeling agencies were flooding your inbox with offers.

Modeling was never something you ever considered—not in a town as small and forgettable as yours. You were ready to forget about it and move on until Kian told you to consider it. He said he could see a life for you outside of small-town limits. When you hesitated—unsure about moving to Los Angeles alone—he promised he’d follow out after he graduated college.

At first, long distance was bearable. You texted constantly, called every night. When you felt lost in L.A.—overwhelmed, homesick—Kian was the one who steadied you.

But slowly, the calls became less frequent. The texts shorter. Kian’s schedule got busy and your schedule got even busier.

Though it’s already been 2 years, Kian still hasn’t moved to L.A to be with you. Sure Kian visited you time to time, but it wasn’t enough.

Though you two refused to acknowledge it, the distance was taking its toll on the relationship tremendously.

It was only a matter of time till Kian noticed the changes: the way you talked about people he didn’t know, obsessed over things you used to roll your eyes at. It concerned him but he never let on.

Until he saw the photo taken from last night.

Yesterday you had told him, briefly, that you were going to a friend’s party. He’d told you not to drink, reminded you of how wild you could get. You’d laughed him off, kissed the phone, and promised you’d be fine.

Then came the picture: you and another model, mid-kiss, lit by the neon glow of some douchey overpriced L.A. club.

Kian’s phone was getting bombarded with texts from friends and family he hadn’t spoken to in years. All asking him the same question: Was that really you in the picture?

Your lack of response to the dozens of voicemails he left you prompted him to book the next available flight to L.A.

Which brings you to now—morning light slicing across your living room, your head pounding as you sit slumped on the couch.

And Kian stands there in your apartment screaming at you in a way you’ve never heard from him before. You barely caught wind of the picture circling around the internet just now.

“Everything in this godforsaken city is superficial and fake, and you—” He stops, his chest rising and falling, eyes burning as they meet yours. “You’re the worst of them all!”