Chapter 1

The next morning, I went to Toby's Estate. This was Williamsburg's most popular coffee shop among artists, a place I'd been coming to almost daily for the past three years. I needed normalcy, needed familiar surroundings to prove the world hadn't completely collapsed.

But from the moment I pushed through the door, I knew everything had changed.

The artists who usually greeted me warmly were now deliberately avoiding eye contact. James sat hunched over his phone in the corner, and Sarah turned away to talk to someone else the instant I walked in. The entire coffee shop atmosphere suddenly felt awkward and oppressive.

I forced myself to walk toward the counter, pretending not to notice the strange vibes around me. But as I passed a table of artists, their whispered conversation reached my ears crystal clear:

"I heard her relationship with Felix wasn't real—she was just trying to use his connections."

My steps faltered.

"Scarlett said she doesn't have any real talent, just knows how to play victim and act pitiful."

"No wonder Felix had to clarify. Who'd want someone clinging to them like that?"

"Pitiful is pitiful, but those tactics are really despicable."

Each word pierced my heart like needles. I wanted to turn around and argue, but my feet felt nailed to the floor.

When I reached the counter, Marco, usually all smiles, looked noticeably cold when he saw me.

"One americano, please." I kept my voice steady.

Marco nodded but didn't chat with me like usual.

I couldn't help but ask, "Marco, we've known each other for three years. Do you believe those rumors too?"

Marco avoided my gaze, continuing to steam milk. "Luna, I don't judge anyone, but business is business. A lot of customers are talking now..."

He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear. My presence was starting to affect his business.

I put down twenty dollars, grabbed my coffee, and left. Behind me, more whispers followed, each word like a judgment on my character.

I'd barely walked out of the coffee shop when I saw Felix standing on York Street outside my studio. October sunlight hit his face, making him look as handsome and successful as ever. But now, all I could see in that face was fakeness.

When he saw me, his expression shifted to a carefully rehearsed "guilt"—the kind of perfect emotional control only actors possessed.

"Luna, you have to understand what happened last night. I had to consider the gallery's reputation and investor relationships."

His voice carried a condescending patience, like he was placating a petulant child.

"Reputation?" My voice trembled—not from fear, but from rage. "What about my feelings? What about our three-year relationship?"

"We're still friends," Felix said quickly. "I'll continue supporting your art career, but Scarlett is sensitive, and I hope you won't..."

"Won't what?" I cut him off. "Won't cause trouble for Scarlett? Won't question your perfect love story?"

"Luna, don't be like this." Felix's patience was wearing thin. "You know how realistic the art world is. I gave you opportunities, and I'm not withdrawing my support now, but you need to..."

"What do you want me to do?" My voice grew louder, and passersby on the street started staring. "Thank you for your 'charity'? Thank you for treating me like some pathetic emerging artist?"

"Luna, what are you talking about? I never..."

"Never what? Never humiliated me in front of everyone last night? Never made me look like some desperate failure?"

I gripped my coffee cup tighter, my knuckles white with fury. Three years of grievances, humiliation, and betrayal exploded in that moment.

"Felix, you know what disgusts me most? It's not that you chose Scarlett—it's what you said about me. 'Professional suicide'? 'Her level'? What did you turn our three-year relationship into?"

Felix's expression grew impatient. "Luna, you need to calm down. That's just how realistic the art world is. I can't destroy my career for personal feelings..."

"Career?" I completely lost control. "What about me? What about my career? What about my three years?"

With that, I threw my coffee directly at Felix's face.

Hot coffee splashed across his white shirt, leaving brown stains. Felix staggered back in shock, wiping coffee from his face as his expression shifted from guilt to fury.

"Are you insane, Luna!"

Three years of suppression finally found an outlet. That cup of coffee carried all my anger and despair.

Just then, something flashing caught my peripheral vision. I turned to see a man in a baseball cap across the street pointing a telephoto lens at us, the camera shutter clicking audibly even over the busy street noise.

Our eyes met for a second, then he quickly packed up his camera and disappeared into the crowd.

A chill ran down my spine. Someone was watching me, photographing my "excessive" behavior. This wasn't coincidental.

Felix was still cursing and straightening his clothes, completely oblivious to what had just been captured. But I knew that scene had been recorded. Soon, the entire art world would see photos of Luna Moreno throwing coffee at her ex-boyfriend—perfect evidence to prove I was "emotionally unstable" and "unprofessional."