Chapter 2
Sophia
The Miami Arts District sunlight felt entirely different from the luxury beach areas. After leaving the hospital yesterday, I'd spent the night in a daze, staring at those messages on Camden's secret phone until sunrise. When morning came, there was only one person I could think of calling—the one who'd warned me years ago.
Raven's recording studio occupied the second floor of a converted warehouse, its exterior walls painted with abstract musical notes and faces. As I pushed open the door, my heart raced—ten years had passed, and though I'd barely changed my appearance in that time, I was no longer the Sophia she once knew.
The studio's interior was more organized than I'd expected—vinyl records and guitars of various shapes hung on the walls, recording equipment neatly arranged, corners stacked with papers covered in handwritten lyrics. It stood in stark contrast to the cold minimalism of the apartment I now called home.
Raven was adjusting equipment with her back to the door. When she heard me enter, she turned, her eyes widening instantly. I noticed immediately how much thinner she looked than in her recent social media posts—the ones I'd scrolled through nervously before calling her yesterday.
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck did Camden turn you into?" She looked me up and down. "You look like you stepped out of a goddamn Vogue magazine."
I awkwardly adjusted my carefully styled short hair, suddenly aware of how out of place my Chanel suit was in this space.
"Long time no see, Rav."
An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. Ten years ago, I'd chosen Camden over our friendship, and our last conversation had been her warning that Camden would only transform me into "another acquisition in his display case."
"Are you okay?" she asked, the distance in her tone unmistakable.
In that moment, every pretense crumbled. Tears spilled uncontrollably down my face as my legs gave out, sliding me to the floor. Camden's meticulously designed perfect mask shattered.
"Ten years... I gave him ten years... while he was shopping for my replacement." My hands shook as I pulled out the hospital diagnosis from my purse. "And I only have six months left."
Raven crouched down, taking the papers. Her expression shifted from wariness to shock, but not exactly surprise. She examined them quietly before settling into a strange calmness.
"I had a feeling something was seriously wrong when you called," she said softly. She hesitated, then reached for a drawer nearby. "I wasn't going to bring this up right away, but..." She pulled out a similar medical report. "Leukemia, late stage. I've probably got a few months more than you, but who the fuck's counting?"
I looked up at her in shock—now her thinness, the paleness beneath her olive complexion made perfect sense.
"So," she sat down on the floor, meeting my eyes, "you finally decided to leave that controlling asshole?"
"How did you know—"
"Come on, Soph. The entire Miami arts scene knows how Camden Hayes transformed that talented Gulf Coast girl into his perfect accessory." She shook her head. "I just never thought you'd wait until you were dying to see it."
Side by side at Raven's computer screen, we scrolled through social media. She opened a folder containing side-by-side comparisons of me over the past decade.
"After your call yesterday, I stayed up half the night pulling these together," she explained. "I've been watching your transformation from afar all these years—from that natural-haired art student with a guitar to Camden's carefully crafted nightclub queen."
Then she pointed to a hashtag: #BreakupCountdown.
"He even made a fucking hashtag for it?" I said, bile rising in my throat. The text messages I'd found on his secret phone were bad enough, but this public display was beyond cruel.
"You should see the actual content," Raven said, clicking on it. A series of videos and photos loaded. "When you mentioned Camden on the phone, I had my suspicions. A DJ friend at one of his clubs confirmed what you'd found—Camden's been flaunting her around."
My stomach twisted as the evidence appeared on screen—Camden's face, mostly in profile or from behind, but unmistakably him. And beside him, that young woman with my smile and hairstyle from ten years ago. Seeing actual photos of Melody—not just her name in text messages—made everything more viscerally real.
"Melody Porter, art student, 22 years old," Raven said. "Camden's 'fresh blood.'"
We browsed through their "countdown" activities: photos of surfing lessons in Miami, videos of hot air balloon rides, selfies exploring the Arts District. Each activity was something I had longed to do but Camden had never accompanied me on.
"He even took her to the Keys," I murmured. "I begged him for three years to take me to see the sunset there..."
Then I saw the latest post—ten-day countdown. The caption read: "Ending old relationships, starting new life! #TenYearsIsTooLong #NewChapter #Freedom"
"That motherfucker," I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. The text messages had told me his plan, but seeing it broadcast on social media made the betrayal public, humiliating.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through me, radiating from my stomach throughout my body. I doubled over, cold sweat sliding down my face.
Raven immediately opened a drawer and pulled out several pill bottles. "This helps with the pain," she said with practiced efficiency, dispensing pills and handing me a glass of water. "Trust me, I know the feeling all too well."
I swallowed the pills, looking at her gratefully. "How do you deal with all this?"
"One day at a time," she shrugged. "But I'm not wasting my final days on meaningless social obligations."
As the sun set, city lights began to illuminate the skyline. We moved to the recording booth.
Raven walked to the recording equipment and inserted a flash drive. Music began to flow—my music, from ten years ago, full of passion and hope.
"Do you remember how it felt to create this?" she asked. "I saved everything you ever recorded here."
Memories flooded back—that girl with endless possibilities, who believed in love and art. Camden had taken that girl away, and I had let him.
"We're both not going to last long," Raven sat beside me. "Why not live out our time on our own terms?"
Outside, Miami's lights sparkled, yachts of the wealthy drifting across the bay. This city had once consumed me, but now it seemed so distant.
"Camden shaped who I was these past ten years," I said. "But he won't control my final days."
Raven smiled, her eyes flashing with that rebellious light we'd shared in our youth. "So, what's the plan? Complete your countdown before his ends?"
We began planning—withdrawing money from joint accounts, canceling the anniversary party, reclaiming my lost music, maybe even taking a real road trip.
"Key West sunset," I said softly. "I want to see the sunset there."
"Then we'll go," Raven said simply.
My phone vibrated, Camden's text illuminating the screen: "Don't forget tomorrow's wine tasting. Wear the dress I picked out for you."
I looked at the phone and smiled. "Sure, Camden."
I looked up at Raven. "Let my countdown begin."
