Chapter 3
I forced myself to bury my head in work, mixing blood plasma colors over and over again, trying to numb my brain with busyness.
But in the dead of night, those words would still jump out to torment me.
I got back to my apartment at eleven PM. I showered, lay in bed, told myself to sleep, to forget.
But the more I tried to forget, the more my heart ached.
At 3 AM, the vibration of an Instagram notification was like a knife, instantly jolting me awake from my chaotic thoughts.
I groggily reached for my phone. The moment the screen lit up, a trending headline hit me like lightning: #LiamAnastasia Divine Couple.
What?
I was instantly wide awake, my fingers trembling as I tapped on the topic. A flood of photos burst into view—work shots of Liam with international supermodel Anastasia, their perfect chemistry in front of the camera, her shy smile, his focused gaze...
"Damn it." I couldn't help but curse.
The first photo: In the studio, Anastasia wore a pure white gown while Liam knelt on one knee adjusting his camera angle. Their proximity was intimately close.
The second: During a break, Anastasia leaned against Liam's shoulder while reviewing photos on the camera, her hand naturally resting on his chest.
The third: At the wrap party dinner, the two raised their glasses, gazing at each other with smiles, their eye contact radiating an indescribable intimacy.
The comments section had gone insane:
"AHHH! Have the divine couple finally made it official?!"
"Liam's gaze is so tender—only true love creates that kind of look!"
"Perfect match of talent and beauty! Please get married right now!"
"Perfect match..."
I let out a bitter laugh. Yes, genius photographer paired with perfect supermodel—that was true compatibility. And me? What was I?
I kept scrolling, each swipe piercing my heart deeper. Fans had dug up Anastasia's interview from yesterday. I clicked play, volume turned to minimum.
"How does it feel working with Liam?" the reporter asked.
Anastasia lowered her head shyly, then looked up at the camera with a smile so perfect it belonged in a textbook: "He always captures my most beautiful angles. I think... that's destiny."
"There are rumors that you two are close privately?"
"He's a very special person." Her face flushed. "When I'm with him, I feel like I'm glowing. Maybe some people are meant to meet at the right time."
My heart felt like someone was squeezing it mercilessly.
This was the woman by his side now? That flawless face, elegant speech, supermodel figure... I looked at her, then thought of my scarred reflection in the mirror.
Just moments ago I was remembering him calling me beautiful, and now I was seeing him with an actual goddess... How pathetic I was.
I continued scrolling through comments, each one like a needle to my heart:
"Anastasia is a real-life goddess! Liam has amazing taste!"
"Genius photographer with perfect supermodel—now that's a proper match!"
"Did you see Anastasia's interview? That 'certain genius photographer' she mentioned must be Liam!"
"Predicting proposal timeline! I'm ready to be a bridesmaid!"
Some bloggers had even created "relationship timeline" videos, analyzing the "couple details" from their first collaboration to now:
"Liam broke protocol to personally adjust Anastasia's pose during their first shoot"
"The two chatted privately for over thirty minutes during breaks"
"Anastasia's Instagram story featured the same coffee cup as Liam's"
"Liam pulled out her chair at yesterday's dinner"
I found a post from a mega-influencer with millions of followers:
"As a veteran fashion industry observer, I can say with certainty that photographers at Liam's level rarely interact with models beyond work. But Anastasia is clearly the exception. Look at their eye contact, that natural intimacy—this is definitely not just a professional relationship. Predicting official announcement within three months, engagement within six!"
30,000 likes, 5,000 comments of pure congratulations.
My tears fell despite my efforts to hold them back.
Looking at her flawless face, then at myself... The "girl" from Chapter One's magazine must be her. Those words he said, those insights about "real beauty"—they were all because of her.
How ridiculously presumptuous I'd been.
A scarred girl from a crappy East LA apartment thinking an internationally renowned photographer would remember her?
Dawn was breaking. The cheap curtains let in sunlight so harsh it made me want to cry.
I took a deep breath and opened Liam's Instagram profile. The follow button sat there, blue and glaring.
My finger hovered over "Unfollow" for a long time.
What did this mean? It meant severing the last thread connecting us. It meant admitting we were forever from two different worlds.
But I had to do it.
I clicked on Twitter. Unfollowed.
Facebook. Unfollowed.
Instagram. Unfollowed.
Each click was like slashing my heart.
Only LinkedIn remained. I paused.
"I'll keep this one," I told myself. "After all, it's just a professional networking platform."
This was the last bit of dignity I'd allow myself—we could still be colleagues. Just colleagues.
I walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. The woman in the mirror looked wretched—eyes swollen from crying, scars more striking after my tears.
I traced the scars on my face, imagining Anastasia's perfect features.
"Scarlett, you need to wake up," I said to my reflection.
"You've always been just a poor girl from downstairs, and you still are."
"And him... he belongs to that perfect world, belongs with goddesses like Anastasia."
"Let this crush end here."
I turned away from the bathroom, opened my computer, and began deleting the last folder about Liam. It contained links to all his work—every piece I'd viewed countless times.
The moment I hit delete, my heart felt hollowed out.
Then I opened my work email and started searching for new special effects makeup jobs. Film production companies, advertising agencies, independent studios... any work that could keep me busy.
Finally, I even sent my agent Amy a message: "If there are any job opportunities, please contact me immediately. I need to stay busy."
After hitting send, I collapsed in my chair.
Deleted all follows, sent job inquiry emails—I told myself: "From today on, I'll live more practically."
But when I lay back in bed and pulled the covers over my head, my mind uncontrollably drifted to those memories...
"The scar looks like the shadow of angel wings from this angle."
"You deserve a bigger world more than anyone."
I forced myself to close my eyes. Maybe after some sleep, this pain would lessen. Maybe busy work could leave me no time for wild thoughts.
Maybe, maybe I could really learn to forget.
The sky outside had fully brightened. I dozed off in exhaustion and heartbreak.
Even if my heart still ached, even if I clicked delete as fast as possible, I couldn't erase those beautiful memories buried deep in my heart.
But I had to try to forget.
Because some dreams are destined to remain just dreams.