Chapter 4: No More Pawns

That night, the house was silent except for the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of old floorboards. Outside, a distant siren wailed—a lullaby for the city’s broken hearts.

I called Brandon. He picked up almost immediately. His name flashed on the screen, and for a second, I wondered if I should hang up. But I didn’t.

“What is it?” His tone was lazy. He sounded like he’d just woken up from a nap, or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Stop paying for trending topics,” I said quietly. I kept my voice low, even. I wouldn’t beg.

He paused, then sounded lighter. “Why so down? Are you really that sad?” His words dripped with mock concern, but I caught a thread of uncertainty beneath it.

“What exactly do you want?” I couldn’t hold it in, my voice breaking. I gripped the phone so tight my hand ached. The silence that followed felt endless.

He didn’t answer. I waited, heart pounding, until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I choked out, “Watching me get exposed, called a homewrecker, Foster Corp’s stock price falling—are you happy? Satisfied?” The words spilled out before I could stop them. Raw, real, desperate.

As I spoke, I trembled all over. My knees buckled, and I sank down onto the edge of my bed, clutching the comforter.

How could anyone be so cruel? The thought kept circling my mind, a question with no answer.

After a while, Brandon spoke slowly: “Don’t cry, babe. Want to see me? I can come over now.” He sounded almost gentle. It made me want to scream.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My voice caught in my throat. I stared out at the city, lights twinkling like distant stars.

I stood on the balcony, the night wind chilling my tears. The cold air felt bracing, almost painful. It reminded me I was still alive.

I felt like a complete joke. I hugged myself, wishing I could disappear into the darkness. In the end, I could only force out two dry words: “No.”

My voice was barely a whisper, but it carried across the phone line. Brandon repeated, uncertain: “No?” He sounded thrown off, maybe for the first time ever.

“What do you mean, Rachel?” His voice turned cold. His words snapped like a whip, defensive, wounded.

“I don’t want to see you.” Using the last of my strength, I hung up. I let the phone fall to the floor. The silence that followed was deafening.

I lay in bed, dazed, unable to sleep for a long time. The city noises drifted in through my cracked window—honking horns, distant laughter. They felt like echoes from another life.

The trending topic was still high on the charts. Every refresh brought more hateful comments, more evidence that my pain was just a show for strangers.

My relatives kept tagging me in the family group chat, all blaming me. Even the older ones, usually silent, joined the chorus. Their judgment was swift, merciless.

Until a younger cousin sent: *If you can’t lock down Brandon, why are you even bothering? You’re just embarrassing the family.* The words stung, but I couldn’t bring myself to reply. What was there to say?

Once someone started, the others joined in. A male cousin sent a facepalm emoji: *So embarrassing, getting trampled by a side chick. If I were you, I’d be too ashamed to go out.*

*Brandon spends all his money on that influencer—has he ever spent anything on you, cousin?*

*How about just swapping the engagement? Anyway, Brandon doesn’t like you, cousin.*

The group chat pinged with likes and laugh emojis, as if my heartbreak were some kind of joke. With that last message, the chat fell silent. For once, I was grateful for the quiet.

I let out a bitter laugh. It came out rough, scraping my throat. I swiped a tear from my cheek, angry that I couldn’t even hold it together in my own room.

If only I could swap people that easily. If only I could swap my life, my last name, my father, too.

But Foster Corp is still my father’s, and I’m his only daughter. The golden child, the pawn. That’s all I’d ever been. He won’t let go of the chance to curry favor with the Foster family. He’d sell me off for a seat at the table, no matter how much I begged.

I muted the group chat and scrolled through my Facebook feed. My thumb hovered over the app, hesitation making my stomach twist. But curiosity won.

The first post was a group photo from a trust fund kid. It was one of those rooftop parties—the kind with ice sculptures and Champagne fountains. Everyone was dressed like an ad for Vogue.

In the center… Were Brandon and Maddie. He had his hand on her waist, holding her like she belonged to him. She looked up at him, her smile wide and victorious.

Brandon had his arm around Maddie’s waist, raising his eyebrows at the camera. He looked straight at the lens, almost daring me to react. The cocky tilt of his head made my blood boil. His friends toasted on either side, all smiles.

Everyone was laughing, glasses raised, celebrating their own untouchable lives. For them, drama was just another party game.

What did it look like? It looked like I’d already been replaced. An official couple photo. Nothing left to interpretation. The message was clear.

My thumb hovered over the like button. Petty, maybe, but it was the only control I had left. I gave it a like and turned off my phone. I pressed the button hard, as if that could block out the pain. For a second, I let myself imagine I didn’t care.

The comments surged like a tide:

*Girl, don’t be sad. The CEO’s son is just pretending. We all know he loves you most.*

*Yeah, after his buddy posted that, he kept checking to see if you liked it.*

*He really wants to see you. You refused him tonight—he’s so sad.*

*Girl, call him. Tell him you’re jealous. He’ll come find you right away, haha!*

I could almost picture the peanut gallery, popcorn in hand, cheering for their favorite ship. I wanted to scream.

I closed my eyes numbly, pushing all the comments out of my mind. I pressed my palms to my eyelids, desperate for the darkness to swallow everything.

I don’t know how long I lay there before I got up, shivering, and messaged my lawyer: “Send me the breakup agreement first. I’ll find a chance to give it to Brandon.”

I forced myself upright, shoulders squared, refusing to be crushed by any of them. I needed a day to transfer assets—couldn’t let anyone notice or interfere. I’d spent years planning for this, making sure no one could touch what was mine.

After the gala, I’d take a red-eye flight out of the country. I’d disappear before anyone could stop me. For once, I’d choose my own fate.

By then, there would be two copies of the breakup agreement, sent to my father and Brandon respectively. I pictured the papers sliding across their desks, final and unyielding. My escape plan was almost ready.

If I stayed here, even if I refused to marry Brandon, there’d be no peace. My father would just marry me off to someone else sooner or later. It was always about leverage, never about love. I was done being a pawn.