Chapter 4

During our cold war, I wrote a song for myself and posted it on my Instagram.

My account used to be dedicated entirely to Serena. This sudden personal post shocked everyone.

Especially with my caption: "Turning thirty. Ending an old chapter, stepping into a brighter future."

It was a clear, public announcement that Serena and I were over.

Very quickly, the post went viral.

"What an ungrateful loser. If it weren't for Serena, who would listen to his trash music?"

"Even if our queen doesn't marry Carter, she’s way too good for this simp."

My comment section was flooded with hate. But soon, logical netizens stepped up to defend me.

"Without Ryan’s songwriting, your queen is just a glorified high-end escort."

I glanced at the comments and closed the app.

These words didn't affect me. As long as I had real talent, I had nothing to fear.

The next morning, I woke up coughing from a strong smell of smoke.

In the kitchen, Serena was holding a spatula, frantically trying to make breakfast.

Looking at the messy kitchen I had just cleaned, irritation flared up inside me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Serena looked at me, trying to sound sweet. "I wanted to make you breakfast."

We had been together for eleven years, and I was always the one serving her.

When she was dieting, I spent hours cooking low-carb meals.

When she was sick, I stayed up all night nursing her.

When she was jobless, I went out drinking with producers to get her gigs, even drinking myself to stomach ulcers.

When she was on tour, I would stay awake for days managing her schedule.

But she had never done a single thing for me.

This sudden change was bizarre.

Seeing my cold expression, Serena held out her hand, looking like a scolded child. "I burned my hand."

I gave a cold grunt, turned, and walked away.

Serena chased after me, grabbing my wrist. "Please believe me. I won't ever talk to Carter again."

I shook her hand off, looking at her calmly. "It has nothing to do with me. We broke up."