I always believed we were invincible, she and I. From the moment I saw her across the campus library, messy hair and coffee cup in hand, I knew she’d ruin me—in the best way. She believed in me before anyone else did, stayed up late helping me brainstorm my startup, and laughed at all the right moments during my godawful pitch rehearsals.

Years later, I made it—CEO, billionaire. The guy plastered across business magazines. And her? The top model, gracing every runway and billboard, but always coming home to me. We were untouchable—until we weren’t. Whispers started online. A photo, a rumor, a lie—or maybe not entirely a lie. She became public enemy number one, dragged through the mud. The hate spilled over onto me, and suddenly, every deal I made was “tainted by her scandal.”

She tried to fight it, but the cracks showed. She slumped when she thought I wasn’t looking. She avoided mirrors. And then, one day, she disappeared. Left the spotlight, left the city, left me. She said it was for my own good, that she didn’t want to drag me down. But how could she not see it? She is my good.

Five hours later, I arrived in her hometown, at the lake house she’d always loved—our little secret. I don’t think she’d have expected me to remember this, but I remembered every detail of her. And here I was, standing in the place I knew best.

When I found her by the water, I barely held it together.

“Why?” I asked, voice hoarse. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you tell me where you were going? You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”