Chapter 3The Burner Account: Seven Years of Lust, Zero Years of Lov

Once a seed of doubt is planted, it grows like a weed.

I waited until Wyatt went to take a shower and bypassed his passcode—it was my birthday.

I only had time to find the username:

"FadedStar."

The next morning, I sat in my home office.

I filtered by location and profile picture, scrolling through thousands of "Star" accounts.

An hour later, I found him.

When I clicked on the profile, it felt like opening Pandora’s box.

Thousands of posts. A diary of a sick, twisted obsession that made my blood run cold.

[June 9, 2017. I slept with someone else today. I don’t regret it. You were the one who betrayed me first.]

That was the year Wyatt stumbled into my dorm room smelling of whiskey.

He talked me out of my clothes and stayed with me all night.

[September 1, 2018. I missed the cut for the Ivy League. You think I chose this school for you? You’re wrong.]

That was orientation day. Wyatt had knelt on the grass with a bouquet, telling me he wanted to be responsible for what happened that summer.

He wasn't there for me. He was there because he failed his top choice.

[August 7, 2021. You actually got married? I will never forgive you. I hope you rot in hell.]

That night, Wyatt drank himself into a stupor. He was violent.

He used toys I hated. I cried for hours. The next day, I had a fever and ended up in the ER.

[December 25, 2023. You’re divorced. Will you finally look at me now?]

That day, Wyatt—a man who hated the holidays—put on a Santa hat and posted a happy photo on our public Instagram.

I couldn't look anymore. My hands were shaking as I scrolled to the very end.

The latest post was from a few nights ago—the night Wyatt never came home.

[The thing you can't have in your youth will haunt you for a lifetime.]

The photo was of a girl in a white sundress. Beautiful. Delicate.

I finally recognized her.

Clara Vance. Wyatt’s childhood neighbor.

I sat frozen for a long time.

A cold chill washed over me, and I began to shiver uncontrollably as the truth hit me.

In these seven years of entanglement, his love had never belonged to me for a single second.

The childhood crush. The years of pining.

Their love was a tragic, cinematic masterpiece.

So... what was I?