Chapter 1The Burner Account: Seven Years of Lust, Zero Years of Lov

The night of high school graduation, Wyatt Reed finally talked me into bed.

After that first taste, he became obsessed, entangling himself in my life for seven long years.

Our friends all teased him for being a total simp:

"Just marry her already, Wyatt. The guy would literally die for you."

Until one day, by pure accident, I stumbled upon his burner social media account.

Hidden among thousands of posts was a record of a twisted, sickening devotion.

A girl in a white sundress—delicate, ethereal, and radiant.

She was his "One That Got Away." His untouchable muse.

That was the moment I realized that in our seven years together,

He had given me his body, but his heart had always belonged to someone else.

* * *

The day I found Wyatt’s burner account was just a regular Tuesday night.

Wyatt had just returned from a business trip.

The moment he stepped through the door, he didn't even drop his bags before pinning me to the bed.

His needs were always high, and after a week apart, he was feral—impatient and rough.

By the time it was over, I was too exhausted to even keep my eyes open.

Ding. A sharp, short notification chimed.

I watched Wyatt pick up his phone, his brow furrowing instantly.

As he reached for his coat to head back out, I grabbed his wrist.

"It’s so late. Where are you going?"

Wyatt turned back, his voice dripping with that familiar, gentle sweetness.

"Just a quick emergency at the office, babe. Go back to sleep. Don’t wait up."

Maybe it was woman’s intuition.

Half an hour after the front door clicked shut,

I was wide awake.

I forced myself out of bed and called the night security desk at his firm.

"Is the team working late? I wanted to order some late-night pizza for everyone."

"No need, ma'am. Mr. Reed let everyone off early today. The building is empty."

"Everyone? There’s no one left in the office?"

"No one, Ms. Hayes. Did you need me to leave a message for someone?"

"No. Thank you."

I hung up and sat on the edge of the bed in a daze.

Our apartment was close to his office.

A ten-minute drive, tops.

It had been thirty minutes. Wyatt wasn't at work.

Where the hell was he?