By Monday morning, my world was a circus. Reporters camped outside my building, shoving microphones toward anyone who entered or left.I sank into the couch, staring at the ceiling. Every headline felt like a punch to the stomach. Had I imagined the way Adrian looked at me at the gala? Was that connection real, or just part of the performance? And Clara—Clara would stop at nothing.A hundred eyes followed my every step, some curious, some cruel. I felt naked under the weight of cameras and tweets alike, a private life shredded into public fodder. Was I strong enough to withstand it? Could I survive the chaos without losing myself entirely?At work, whispers swelled louder—“gold digger,” “liar,” “social climber”—like knives thrown at my back. I tried to ignore them, head down, but the weight pressed until my hands shook over the keyboard.My hands trembled as I typed, deleted, and retyped emails. Every word felt like a betrayal of my own dignity. And yet, I couldn’t stop. Survival dema
Last Updated : 2025-09-24 Read more