Chapter 3Tears for Content

I opened my phone to check if Ethan had posted anything from the wedding, only to be met with a cascade of hostile notifications.

What kind of moron lists her degree as a master's on her author page with an IQ like that?

Someone had dug up my old university thesis, circling my name in red. Someone run a plagiarism check on this.

Within minutes, they’d found my academic email address.

Panic spiked through my chest. I started typing frantic replies, but nobody was listening. Half an hour later, my advisor’s assistant forwarded a screenshot of a formal grievance filed with the dean’s office, followed by a direct call from the professor himself.

"Sarah, you need to get back to the department immediately to clear this up. An academic integrity flag is career-ending. We need to investigate this now."

"I understand, I'll be right there—"

I hung up, my palms slick with cold sweat.

When I stepped out of the dressing room, Ethan and Zoe were still huddled over a tablet, laughing as they watched the footage of me apologizing table-to-table.

I shoved the phone screen into Ethan’s line of sight. "Delete it! Someone reported me for academic fraud because of your video!"

Ethan glanced down, barely breaking stride. "Are people out of their minds? I watched you write every word of that thesis."

A hot knot formed in my throat. I spent months in the sterile chill of the lab, running regressions and compiling data until my eyes bled. "Then help me clear my name. Tell them it's mine."

He reached for his phone, but Zoe’s hand slapped down over his wrist.

"Are you insane? This video is tied to an exclusive brand sponsorship. If we take it down now, we owe an eighty-thousand-dollar kill fee."

Mom chimed in immediately, her finger jabbing in my direction. "Why are you always making things so difficult? What’s a few research papers compared to real money? Just let the school check it out; why make Ethan take the hit?"

I stared at Ethan. He had already dropped his hand back to his side, his screen dark.

"Why don't you head down to the campus and see what they need?" he said mildly. "I can drive you."

My phone buzzed again—another urgent ping from the department chair asking for an ETA. I couldn't wait for a polite exit; I grabbed Ethan’s arm and pulled him toward the exit.

As we hit the glass doors, Zoe sprinted after us. "The brand rep wants us at the studio now. If we close this contract, next quarter’s partnership is worth a hundred grand!"

"My department head is waiting for me," I said, my voice shaking.

Ethan looked out at the heavy gray rain sheeting across the parking lot, pulling a large umbrella from the rack and handing it to me. "Take a cab, Sarah. I’ll come get you as soon as I wrap this up."

I stood on the curb, watching him usher my mother and Zoe into the dry, warm interior of his SUV, making sure Zoe’s dress didn't catch in the door frame.

The video he filmed of me had netted him a six-figure contract—yet when my entire future was being burned to the ground, he didn't have twenty minutes to spare.

I couldn't wait. I stepped out into the downpour, fumbling with my phone to hail a ride.

My phone rang. Ethan’s face flashed on the screen.

"Are you in the car yet?"

"Not yet—"

A pair of high beams blared out of the wet blur, blinding me. A sedan hydroplaned around the corner, its tires screaming as it fishtailed toward the curb, clipping me against the concrete barrier before accelerating into the gray mist.

My lower stomach slammed into the metal railing. Pain tore through my body, blinding white and absolute, dropping me to my knees.

I hit the pavement, curling into a tight ball, every breath feeling like swallowing broken glass. My phone lay beside my cheek, the line still open.

"Sarah?"

"I… car accident… side gate… call an ambulance…"

"Don't move. I’m right around the corner."

Warm blood bubbled up the back of my throat.

Then Zoe’s voice drifted through the speaker, high and dismissive. "Oh, come on, sis. Couldn't find an Uber so you're staging an emergency?"

"Sarah, our brand deal is worth a million," she crowed. "Stop playing games."

My mother’s voice joined in. "If she’s talking on the phone, she’s fine. Tell her to catch a bus."

Ethan was silent for a beat. Then he let out an exhausted, long-suffering sigh.

"Sarah, I’m trying to build a life for us. Stop acting like this."

The line clicked dead.

I tried to drag myself toward the phone, toward the emergency services app, but my limbs wouldn't obey. The wet asphalt smelled of oil and rain. The world at the edge of my vision began to flake away into absolute black.