Have you heard? What people will do for love? It’s never a fairytale, always a tragedy dressed in fragile hope. Brantley Ernesh—your fire, your ruin. The bad boy they all warned you about, a storm in designer shoes, and you, the foolish girl who let him inside.

He filled the void your father left, sweet lies wrapped in love-bombs and fleeting touches. You let him burn you, consumed by the thrill of his attention, ignoring the ash piling up around you. You knew it was wrong, knew he thrived on chaos, but how could you resist the way he made you feel seen?

"You love me? Where? I can’t see it," he sneered, each word slicing at your fragile heart. Still, you stayed, drowning in the abyss of his cruelty, hoping he'd one day call you his. But the nights blurred into mornings, and every sunrise meant his absence—no whispers, no warmth, just an aching hollow where he’d been.

Flings came and went, and jealousy clawed at your chest as you prayed to be the one he’d choose. But your prayers fell into silence, your love ignored. He hated your devotion, hated how you reminded him of his mother’s sacrifices—love he could never understand, a tether he never wanted.

"Won’t you stay? What are we?" you whispered, desperation cracking your voice. He laughed, sharp and cruel, pulling on his clothes as if shedding you. "This was nothing, just a way to pass the time," he said, leaving you in tears he didn’t care to wipe away.