The Toxic Love That Almost Destroyed Me

ful CEO boyfriend, Brennan, was my anchor. Our love felt i

ling musician he claimed sa

nal so she could turn my pain into a hit song, making me a national laugh

ed an emergency helicopter, he diverted it. He sent h

er died

ken me, but he had just started a war. He didn't know the separation papers he'd alre

pte

l of glittering success and a life seemingly stolen from a fairytale. I was the critically

ding ovations, the endless bouquets of r

firm, a man whose name commanded respect and fear in equal measure. For five years, he was my

way. I'd just finished my debut as Elphaba, my face still green, my heart pounding with a

side, nestled on white silk, was a vintage diamond pendant, a family heirl

very opening night, his presence a silent promise of unwavering support. He' d send flowers every week,

it was his belief that propelled me forward. "You were born for this, Garnet," he' d said, ho

us, in the kind of love that defied the spotlight and the relentless demands of our careers. We were

elieved we were invincible, that nothing coul

first. Her name was Aimee Wells, a struggling indie musician. She arrived in our lives like

k swerved into his lane, and he' d lost control. Aimee, a stranger, pulled him

and consuming. He started calling her his "guardian angel," his "savio

orite rooftop restaurant, a place with a view of the city skyline that always made us feel like w

own, Garnet," he said, his voice flat, devoid of the usual warmth he sav

e disappointment, the humiliation, but it tasted like ash. I stood in

instrument I' d been coveting for years. Brennan had promised it to me for my ne

ing to be presented to me, but propped carelessly against Aimee' s cheap

h wide, innocent eyes. "Brennan said it was a gift

I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. It was a punch to the gut, a theft

anding, a lapse in judgment. But the crack

ess Ming vase in our entryway. The shards scattered across the mar

sually had a temper when it came to damage, rushed past m

baby?" he asked, his voice laced with concern, his eyes scanning her

ted. "Brennan, that was my grandmothe

net," he said, dismissive, as if I was being ch

o toe. I stood there, amidst the glittering fragm

ate. You, on the other hand, are strong. You handle anything." He used my resilience against me, a weapon he kn

ate thoughts, my deepest fears, my rawest emotions. It was my sanctuary, my secret keeper. I poured my heart onto its page

orning, it

a cold dread coiling in my stomach. It wasn

. It wasn't a whisper

raw, and achingly familiar. The lyrics were my lyrics, my pain, my words-stolen directly from my

ing me a hypocrite, a fraud. "Broadway's Golden Girl, or a heartbroken mess?" the headlin

s confirming my worst fears. Brennan had gi

d me. The world judged me, mocked me, tore me apart, all because

his power towering over Manhattan. His assistant, a

voice was barely a whisper, but it

ker of something unreadable in his eyes. "G

. My private, intimate words. On every radio station, in

eeded inspiration. She's a struggling artist. And

a rare form of cancer, relying on an experimental treatment funde

erous growl. "Your mother's treatment. It's expensive. Specia

He was using my dying mother as a leash. The ai

d. "You chose this life with me. You chose to be part of my

pped. Trapped by love, by betrayal, and now, by a desperate,

her had suffered a critical complication. Her condition was deteriorating rapidly. They needed a sp

hite, my world tilting. I screamed

re on his phone, a frantic call coming in. "Aimee?

my mother! She needs the h

agile." He made a call, his voice urgent, overriding any plea I could make. The helicopte

ise of my lover, leaving me alone in the sile

cause the man I loved chose to

mother's last breath, taken without me, sealed my fate. The man I had

y coffee cup, when my phone buzzed. It was an email, an old offer I'd dismissed years ago. Elias Keller, the famous Hollywood direct

cept" button. It was a lifeline, a chance to disap

left to lose. My old life had been

single bag, arrange for my mother's cremation, and sever every last tie th

war. And I, the broken Broadway star, was about to b