She Didn’t Fix Her Reputation. She Threw It Away. Chapter 03

She Didn’t Fix Her Reputation. She Threw It Away. Chapter 03

My Yale graduation photo sat on the mantelpiece.

The girl in the picture wore her cap and gown, her smile bright with the certainty of a well-planned future.

She thought her life would unfold exactly as designed: beautiful, respectable, flawless.

Now, that smiling face felt like a mockery.

The damage to my reputation was a sharp, public sting.

But it was nothing compared to the gaping wound in my chest.

I curled up on the sofa, the silence of the apartment pressing in on me.

Memories flooded the quiet.

I remembered the day on the Yale quad when a football came flying toward me. Beckett had stepped in front, taking the hit with his back. He’d turned and grinned. “Don’t worry. I’m here.”

I remembered his first run for student council president. He was so nervous he kept flubbing his lines. I’d spent three nights in the library with him, rewriting his speech, coaching his every gesture. The night he won, amid the roar of the crowd, I was the first person he hugged.

He’d whispered in my ear, “We won.”

We.

I used to love that word.

On the day of our engagement, surrounded by both our families, he knelt on one knee.

He held up the sapphire ring and announced, “Daphne, with this marriage, Wells and Blake will become the most powerful names in New York.”

He paused, then his gaze found mine and he lowered his voice.

“You’ll stand beside me, and we’ll take on the world together.”

I had actually believed him.

I thought we were partners, destined to build an empire side-by-side. I had even let myself believe he loved me.

It was all a fantasy.

In his eyes, I was just a beautiful accessory. A political asset to secure his position.

When he needed respectability, he chose me.

When he wanted to prove his roguish charm to someone new, he chose me again.

Only the second time, I was the sacrifice.

I finally understood.

I was never going to be his partner in conquering the future.

I was just a bargaining chip he could cash in whenever he pleased.

A voice from the television shattered the silence.

Not TMZ this time.

Something worse: Fox News.

My mother’s political opponent sat across from the anchor, his expression one of deep regret. “If a person can’t even manage her own daughter,” he said, “how can she be trusted to manage an entire state?”

I clicked the TV off.

But his words hung in the air.

A moment later, a New York Post headline flashed on my phone.

“Wells Family Scandal: Heiress’s Antics May Derail Senator’s Campaign.”

See?

I wasn’t even Daphne anymore.

I was an “affecting factor,” a “family problem.”

Every article, every share, was a fresh wave of humiliation.

Then a text came through from an encrypted number. It was a screenshot.

From Beckett’s Close Friends story on Instagram.

A circle I was once at the center of, now one I couldn’t even see.

In the picture, Beckett and Anya were tangled up together at another party, neon lights striping their faces. She was draped over him like a trophy. He looked wild, triumphant.

The caption read:

“Some storms are worth chasing.”

He’d tagged Anya.

She’d replied with a single, coy comment.

“You caught me~”

The comments from his friends were a victory lap.

“Now that’s the Beckett we know!”

“Beckett, you’re a legend!”

“For a girl like that, any price is worth paying!”

My thumb hovered over the screen for a long, frozen moment.

While I was drowning, they were celebrating the ripples I made.

I turned off my phone.

The black screen reflected my own face.

The pain was already starting to fade.

There was only numbness left.