Part 1Funding My Ex Boyfriends Hot Rival

I couldn't help myself. Watching the live stream, I tapped the screen and sent fifty virtual supercars—a five-thousand-dollar flex in a matter of seconds.

I expected a thank you, or at least a smile. Instead, Preston blew up. He sent me a scathing text, threatening to end things—again.

As I sat there, reeling from the confusion, glowing lines of text suddenly began to drift across my vision like a digital hallucination—a live commentary on my own life.

[Is this bitch for real? Does she think having a trust fund and paying for the lead’s tuition gives her the right to own him? Dropping those cars was a total power move to humiliate him. Such a desperate, territorial move.]

[No wonder he’s pissed. Our sweet Daisy finally worked up the courage to send him her first ‘Rose’—a literal symbol of her pure love—and this rich girl just had to swoop in and drown it out with her tacky display of wealth.]

[Old money, new money, it doesn't matter. Women like her will never understand. A single rose might only cost a dime, but to him, it’s worth infinitely more than a dozen Ferraris bought with daddy’s credit card.]

[When is Preston finally going to make enough from his streaming group to dump this nightmare socialite? I’m dying for him and Daisy to finally start their ‘struggling artists in love’ arc! Ugh!]

I froze.

The truth hit me with the force of a physical blow. I wasn't the leading lady in this story. I was the obstacle. The "Other Woman." The villainous ex-girlfriend standing in the way of a fated romance.

Every gift, every cent I’d spent on him, wasn't a gesture of love. In his eyes—and the eyes of the "audience"—it was an insult.

Fine.

I nodded to the empty room, a cold clarity settling over me. I accepted the breakup. I turned my back on the man I’d spent three years bankrolling and set my sights on his teammate instead.

Later, I didn't even blink when I dropped five hundred "Universe" gifts on his rival’s stream.

Preston, watching from the sidelines, completely lost it. In front of his entire following, with his eyes bloodshot and voice cracking, he begged me for a second chance.

* * *

It took me a long time to process what was happening.

In the narrative of this world, Preston was the "Hero." Daisy, my roommate, was the "Heroine."

And me? I was the "Rich Girl Villain"—the one who had been foolishly pouring her heart and bank account into a man who secretly despised her.

As I sat there dazed, the floating comments continued to flicker with indignation.

[God, poor Daisy. She skipped dinner for three nights just to save up enough for that digital rose. I’m literally crying for her.]

[The villain is so toxic. Preston told her a thousand times not to be so flashy, but she just has to show off. She made poor Daisy feel so small she probably cried herself to sleep.]

[They’re both kids from the same small town, chasing the American Dream together. Only they can truly save each other.]

[The villain might have helped him win the streaming battle, but look at his face. He’s not smiling. He’s just thinking about how much Daisy is hurting.]

[The script was supposed to be: They share a secret glance of love amidst the crowd. This bitch ruined their first real moment!]

I closed my eyes, trying to clear the static from my brain. This "plot" was absurd, but the reality was undeniable.

If this was the truth of his heart, I was done playing the role of the benevolent benefactor.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Trying to ignore me again?" Preston’s voice barked through the phone, pulling me back to the present. "Daisy has a lot of pride. She’s probably hiding somewhere crying right now. If you want to keep this relationship, you go to her and apologize. Once she forgives you, then maybe we can talk."

I didn't hesitate. "Okay," I said.

Thinking he might misunderstand, I added firmly, "I agree. Let's break up."

"Then get over there and apologize! Be sincere for once—" Preston started, his voice overlapping mine. He stopped mid-sentence as my words finally registered. "Wait, what? Blair, what is this? Another one of your little tantrums?"

I cut him off, my voice steady. "I said, you wanted a breakup. You’ve got it. We’re done."

The silence on the other end lasted three full seconds. Then, he let out a sharp, condescending laugh.

"Fine. Great. Have it your way. Keep acting out, Blair. But don't come crawling back when you realize I’m actually serious this time. I’m done with your drama."

I didn't want to argue. I just gave a muffled "Mm-hmm" and moved to hang up.

Before I could, his voice came through the receiver, a low, venomous threat. "Think carefully, Blair. Don't call me crying tomorrow begging for another chance!"