Shadowed By Her, Now Free

Shadowed By Her, Now Free

Gavin

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For seven years, I lived in Chloe Adams' s shadow, the architect of her fame, ghostwriting her witty captions and composing jingles, content to be the loyal friend. Then, at her engagement party, Chloe announced her new brand deal, her arm linked with reality TV star Brody Hayes. "It' s time for you to find your own spotlight, you know? Away from me." Her casual dismissal, meant to be a gentle nudge, landed like a physical blow, firing me from her life. Everyone in the room watched, waiting for me to nod, to accept my role as Chloe' s devoted groupie. But something inside me snapped. "No," I said, the word cutting through the celebratory hum like glass. Chloe' s perfect smile faltered. "I' m just done. Done writing your posts, done composing your jingles, done being your shadow." Her face blotched red, the gracious influencer replaced by a furious toddler. "You can' t be 'done' !" she hissed. "I' m not done with you!" I thought I was finally free, but her fury escalated. She shoved me, then roared, "Your parents gave me a key years ago, remember? What' s yours is mine." I rushed home to find my sanctuary invaded, my studio defiled. A stranger strummed my grandfather' s prized vintage Martin guitar, another giggled, scrolling through my private files. Rage burned through me. As I called 911, Brody snatched my phone and smashed it. "He thinks he' s so much better than us just because his parents have money," Brody declared, manipulating the crowd. Chloe' s eyes blazed. I felt a sharp sting as she slapped me, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Helpless, I watched as she grabbed a bottle of sticky red liqueur and upended it over my head. Laughter and jeers erupted, phones flashing, recording my humiliation. Then, I saw it: Brody wore my mother' s hand-carved wooden bird necklace, a sacred link to her memory. "Chloe gave it to me. Said it was just some trinket she found lying around. A good luck charm." "It' s a cheap piece of wood. Stop making a scene over nothing. You' re embarrassing yourself." My mother' s last gift, the most precious thing I owned, dismissed as "nothing." A raw, desperate cry escaped me. "That was my mother' s. It was a gift from my dead mother!" Her face went dead white. "You shut your mouth!" she shrieked, striking my head. Brody whispered to Chloe, eyes on my open laptop. "His laptop is still on. The application portal is still open." My college applications. My future. "NO!" I screamed, struggling against the men holding me. "Don' t you touch that!" But I was forced to watch as Chloe, with a cruel smile, clicked, erasing my Yale application, my entire dream. "This is Yale," she snarled, holding up my laptop before letting it smash to the floor. A piece of the broken screen sliced my cheek, the warm trickle of blood a final punctuation. "The application deadline is in fifteen minutes," Brody chimed. "Tough luck, man." Hope died. "Lock him in the basement until morning." The basement. My deepest, primal fear. "Chloe, no. Please. Not the basement. Do anything else. Please!" I begged, dignity gone. But Brody' s whisper sealed my fate: "He' ll ruin everything." Chloe' s eyes hardened to stone. "Do it." They dragged me, struggling, pleading, towards the yawning black maw. I tumbled down the creaking stairs, landing on the cold, damp concrete. The door slammed shut above me. The click of the lock echoed in the suffocating darkness. I woke in a hospital bed, Maria, our housekeeper, explaining she' d found me. My parents burst in, back from Paris. "I' m so sorry we let this happen. We brought a monster into our home. Into your life." "It' s okay, Dad. She didn' t ruin anything." "I got my acceptance letter from Juilliard two months ago. A full scholarship." The only thing Chloe destroyed last night was the last bit of affection I had for her. Thousands of miles away, Chloe' s card was declined. She tried to call me. Voicemail. She tried again. Voicemail. She swore I was playing games. Meanwhile, at Juilliard, I stood on stage. "You are the protagonist of your own life. Don' t ever let anyone else hold the pen." Chloe Adams, abandoned and broke, would keep waiting for me to come crawling back.

Introduction

For seven years, I lived in Chloe Adams' s shadow, the architect of her fame, ghostwriting her witty captions and composing jingles, content to be the loyal friend.

Then, at her engagement party, Chloe announced her new brand deal, her arm linked with reality TV star Brody Hayes.

"It' s time for you to find your own spotlight, you know? Away from me."

Her casual dismissal, meant to be a gentle nudge, landed like a physical blow, firing me from her life.

Everyone in the room watched, waiting for me to nod, to accept my role as Chloe' s devoted groupie.

But something inside me snapped.

"No," I said, the word cutting through the celebratory hum like glass.

Chloe' s perfect smile faltered.

"I' m just done. Done writing your posts, done composing your jingles, done being your shadow."

Her face blotched red, the gracious influencer replaced by a furious toddler.

"You can' t be 'done' !" she hissed. "I' m not done with you!"

I thought I was finally free, but her fury escalated. She shoved me, then roared, "Your parents gave me a key years ago, remember? What' s yours is mine."

I rushed home to find my sanctuary invaded, my studio defiled.

A stranger strummed my grandfather' s prized vintage Martin guitar, another giggled, scrolling through my private files.

Rage burned through me. As I called 911, Brody snatched my phone and smashed it.

"He thinks he' s so much better than us just because his parents have money," Brody declared, manipulating the crowd.

Chloe' s eyes blazed. I felt a sharp sting as she slapped me, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

Helpless, I watched as she grabbed a bottle of sticky red liqueur and upended it over my head.

Laughter and jeers erupted, phones flashing, recording my humiliation.

Then, I saw it: Brody wore my mother' s hand-carved wooden bird necklace, a sacred link to her memory.

"Chloe gave it to me. Said it was just some trinket she found lying around. A good luck charm."

"It' s a cheap piece of wood. Stop making a scene over nothing. You' re embarrassing yourself."

My mother' s last gift, the most precious thing I owned, dismissed as "nothing."

A raw, desperate cry escaped me. "That was my mother' s. It was a gift from my dead mother!"

Her face went dead white. "You shut your mouth!" she shrieked, striking my head.

Brody whispered to Chloe, eyes on my open laptop. "His laptop is still on. The application portal is still open."

My college applications. My future.

"NO!" I screamed, struggling against the men holding me. "Don' t you touch that!"

But I was forced to watch as Chloe, with a cruel smile, clicked, erasing my Yale application, my entire dream.

"This is Yale," she snarled, holding up my laptop before letting it smash to the floor.

A piece of the broken screen sliced my cheek, the warm trickle of blood a final punctuation.

"The application deadline is in fifteen minutes," Brody chimed. "Tough luck, man."

Hope died.

"Lock him in the basement until morning."

The basement. My deepest, primal fear.

"Chloe, no. Please. Not the basement. Do anything else. Please!" I begged, dignity gone.

But Brody' s whisper sealed my fate: "He' ll ruin everything."

Chloe' s eyes hardened to stone. "Do it."

They dragged me, struggling, pleading, towards the yawning black maw.

I tumbled down the creaking stairs, landing on the cold, damp concrete.

The door slammed shut above me.

The click of the lock echoed in the suffocating darkness.

I woke in a hospital bed, Maria, our housekeeper, explaining she' d found me. My parents burst in, back from Paris.

"I' m so sorry we let this happen. We brought a monster into our home. Into your life."

"It' s okay, Dad. She didn' t ruin anything."

"I got my acceptance letter from Juilliard two months ago. A full scholarship."

The only thing Chloe destroyed last night was the last bit of affection I had for her.

Thousands of miles away, Chloe' s card was declined. She tried to call me. Voicemail. She tried again. Voicemail.

She swore I was playing games.

Meanwhile, at Juilliard, I stood on stage. "You are the protagonist of your own life. Don' t ever let anyone else hold the pen."

Chloe Adams, abandoned and broke, would keep waiting for me to come crawling back.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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