VIVIAN
My phone won't stop buzzing.
I've been in my apartment for six hours, curtains drawn, ignoring the world. Sienna's in the hospital for observation. The graduation ceremony made national news. And I can't stop seeing Chase's face when he kissed her, that cold victory in his eyes.
Another buzz. I grab my phone to silence it and freeze.
The headline blazes across my screen: "STERLING HEIR CRASHES GRADUATION: Fortune's Secret Son Revealed"
I click the link with shaking hands.
Chase Sterling, 24, was revealed today to be the sole heir to Sterling Industries, a global empire worth an estimated $47 billion. The young heir, who has been living under an alias for the past four years, made headlines when he interrupted his ex-girlfriend's valedictorian speech in what witnesses are calling "the most dramatic breakup of the decade."
The article includes photos. Chase in a tuxedo at some charity gala. Chase shaking hands with world leaders. Chase standing next to an older man identified as Dominic Sterling, his grandfather, the patriarch who built the empire.
My chest goes tight.
Sources close to the family confirm that Sterling heirs are required to live anonymously until graduation, a tradition dating back three generations. Chase Sterling attended state university under the name Chase Ryder, working service jobs and maintaining complete secrecy about his identity.
I scroll faster, heart pounding.
The dramatic revelation comes on the heels of Sterling's public rejection by valedictorian Vivian Ashford, 23, who was unaware of his true identity. Witnesses report that Ashford rejected Sterling's proposal just hours before the graduation ceremony, calling him "a nobody" she "couldn't tie herself to."
No. No, no, no.
My hands are shaking so hard I nearly drop the phone. I rejected him. I called him a nobody. I said I couldn't drag my future down by tying myself to someone who worked at a restaurant.
And he's worth forty-seven billion dollars.
The phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I answer anyway.
"Vivian Ashford?" A woman's voice, crisp and professional. "This is Dana Morrison from Elite Daily. We'd love to get a comment on your relationship with Chase Sterling. Is it true you rejected his proposal because you thought he was poor?"
I hang up.
The phone rings again immediately. Different number.
"Miss Ashford, this is Jeremy Cross from Celebrity Insider. Can you confirm that you're now pursuing Chase Sterling for his money after learning about his—"
I hang up again.
A text from Madison, my former roommate: Girl. GIRL. You rejected a BILLIONAIRE. What the actual fuck???
Another from someone I barely know from class: Gold digger much? Or just really stupid?
My mother calls. I let it go to voicemail. She calls again. And again.
I throw the phone across the room.
There's a knock at my door. "Vivian?" It's Aaron, one of our mutual friends from the philosophy seminar. "Can we talk?"
I open the door a crack. Aaron looks uncomfortable, shuffling his feet. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about what happened. That was brutal."
"Thanks." My voice comes out flat.
"But, uh." He clears his throat. "I'm going to Chase's thing tonight. At the Cosmopolitan. He's having a party, and I know it's weird, but he invited the whole class, and—"
"You're choosing his side."
"It's not about sides." Aaron won't meet my eyes. "It's just, he's Chase Sterling. Do you know what kind of connections he has? What he could do for my career? I can't afford to—"
I close the door in his face.
Within the hour, three more friends text with variations of the same message. Sorry, but I'm going to Chase's party. Hope you understand. No hard feelings?
By nightfall, my social media is a wasteland. Half my followers have turned on me. The other half are watching, waiting to see what I'll do next.
My phone rings again. This time it's a number I recognize. My agent.
"Vivian. Have you seen the news?"
"All of it." I sink onto my couch, head in my hands.
"Good. Because you need to see this too." She texts me a link.
It's a video. Chase Sterling on some late-night talk show, looking immaculate in a charcoal suit. The host leans forward, grinning.
"So, Chase, we have to ask. This proposal. This rejection. The whole internet is going crazy."
Chase smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "It was a learning experience."
"A learning experience? That's one way to put it. Were you in love with her?"
"I thought I was." Chase's voice is smooth, controlled. "But looking back, I realize I was naive. I wanted to believe that what we had was real. That she cared about me, not what I could give her."
My blood runs cold.
"Are you saying she was a gold digger?" the host asks, practically salivating.
"I'm saying that when someone rejects you for being 'a nobody,' and then tries to contact you the moment they learn you're worth billions, it tells you everything you need to know about their character."
The audience gasps. The host's eyes go wide. "She's trying to contact you now?"
"Multiple attempts." Chase's smile turns razor-sharp. "But I don't revisit mistakes."
The screen cuts to commercial.
I'm shaking. Vibrating with rage so pure it feels like it might crack my ribs from the inside.
I haven't tried to contact him. Not once. But no one will believe that now. They'll all think I'm crawling back, desperate for his money, exactly the gold digger he just painted me as on national television.
My phone buzzes with a new text. Unknown number: Karma's a bitch, huh? Enjoy being poor.
Then another: You fumbled the bag so hard.
And another: Chase Sterling could have anyone. Why would he want trash like you?
I turn my phone off. Throw it in a drawer. Stare at the wall.
This is it. This is my life now. The girl who rejected a billionaire. The gold digger who got what she deserved. The cautionary tale for every woman who dares to have ambition.
Unless.
The thought hits me like lightning.
Unless I prove them all wrong.
I pull out my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. My agent mentioned a callback for a pilot filming in Los Angeles. Small role, but it's something. A foot in the door.
I compose an email. Accept the callback. Then I open another tab and search for apartments in LA.
Chase Sterling thinks he's won. Thinks he's destroyed me. Thinks I'll crumble under the weight of public opinion and beg for his forgiveness.
He doesn't know me at all.
I book a one-way flight to Los Angeles. Two weeks from now. Enough time to pack my life into boxes and leave this city, this humiliation, this version of myself behind.
My phone is still off when I finally crawl into bed. Let them talk. Let them speculate. Let Chase give all the smug interviews he wants.
I'm going to LA. I'm going to become someone so successful, so powerful, so undeniably brilliant that no one will ever call me a gold digger again.
I'm going to make Chase Sterling regret every word he said.
And someday, when I'm standing on a red carpet with my name in lights, when I've built an empire that rivals his, I'll look him dead in the eye and remind him exactly who he lost.
The girl who didn't need him then.
Who sure as hell doesn't need him now.