Public Confession, But Her Love Wasn’t Me

My world shattered in the instant she turned and walked toward him.

This proposal was meant to be the crown jewel of our company's fourth-quarter PR strategy, the culmination of my ten-year relationship with Veronica Shay.

But here I was, moments before the show, watching her from the shadows of a backstage fire exit. She was in her wedding gown, locked in a passionate kiss with a younger man.

"An explanation?" I laughed, a cold, jagged sound. "You want to explain why you're cheating on me minutes before you're supposed to propose?"

"This is being broadcast live to millions. The entire world is waiting." I tossed the velvet ring box at her feet. "After the final song, you can either walk on that stage and propose, or you can watch your career burn to the ground."

Her fists clenched. She snatched the box from the floor, forcing the word through her teeth. "Fine."

The stage lights hit her, the crowd falling silent as she held up the ring.

But she looked past me, her eyes locking onto the pale-faced man in the VIP section. "Jackson," she said, her voice ringing through the arena, "thank you for making me a star. But tonight, I'm going to follow my moon."

The stadium erupted. And just like that, I became the punchline to my own proposal.

"Mr. Kang," Kevin, my assistant, said, his voice hoarse. He handed me his tablet. "You you should see this."

The screen was a firestorm of headlines about the concert.

This proposal was supposed to be our masterpiece, a triumph for both our business and our love. I had poured a nine-figure sum into it, coordinating with dozens of major brands. All Veronica had to do was propose to me in front of her adoring fans, and the commercial value of our "power couple" brand would have been limitless.

Everything was perfectly in place.

But now, a photo of Veronica kissing that kid, Will, on stage was plastered everywhere, under the glaring headline: POP SUPERSTAR CHOOSES LOVE OVER CORPORATE GREED.

My stunned, retreating back had been screenshotted and turned into a thousand different humiliating memes.

Our companys market cap had plummeted by half a billion dollars overnight.

I scrolled through it all with a calm, detached focus, article by article, post by post, until I landed on Veronicas official statement.

She thanked everyoneher fans, her team, the lighting guybut when it came to me and my company, she referred to us only as "a difficult professional chapter in my past." She declared that she would, at any cost, "seek her artistic freedom."

Freedom.

I stared at the word and a humorless laugh escaped my lips.

"Get PR on the line. Tell them no response, no comment, nothing. Then get legal. I want them to prep the nuclear option in her contract. The breach of contract penalty clauses."

Kevin stared at me, bewildered. "Sir shouldn't we release a statement first? To do some damage control? The narrative online is turning against us."

"Damage control?" I walked over to him and pointed at the photo of Veronica's soulful, earnest face. "You cant control the damage from a liar, Kevin. You can only burn them to the ground."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and collapsed onto the sofa, the last five years flashing before my eyes.

Five years ago, she was just a girl with a beat-up acoustic guitar, singing an unheard-of indie folk song in a dive bar. There were maybe five people in the audience, but I heard something in her voice, a spark of raw talent. I decided to take a chance.

I signed her and started a boutique agency with her as my only client. We had nothing. To save money, we slept on the floor of our tiny thirty-square-meter office, eating cheap instant ramen and talking about our impossible dreams.

"Jackson," she'd said one night, "the second I make it big, I'm going to marry you."

I had laughed. "The second you make it big, you're going to pay back the startup loan."

She called me a killjoy, but her eyes were full of stars.

To fund her debut album, I sold the only thing I had left from my parents: our family home. To get her a slot at a major music festival, I drank with a sleazy investor until I was puking blood into a toilet at 3 AM.

She rushed to the hospital, her eyes red-rimmed. She clutched my hand and whispered, "Jackson, I swear, I will never let you suffer like this for me again."

Looking at her then, I felt like it was all worth it.

I thought we were a team, that we had only each other. I poured every resource, every drop of my soul, into paving her path to stardom. I taught her how to work the cameras, how to handle the press, how to sculpt herself into the perfect idol for her fans.

She was a fast learner. She was a massive success.

So she got more and more famous. We moved into a sleek high-rise in the city center. The boutique agency became Starstream Media.

But somewhere along the way, we changed.

She started complaining about my "control." She said her schedule was too packed, that she had no time to create, that she missed the "purity" of her early days.

That's when Will, her "pure" college friend, showed up. He became the symbol of everything she claimed to have lost.

I tried to talk to her about it, about a month before the concert.

"Veronica, we are business partners, and we are in a relationship. I can't have anything jeopardize the foundation of either," I said, getting straight to the point.

She just stared at her phone, her reply dismissive. "You're overthinking it. Will is just a friend. Someone I can talk to about music."

"I'm the one who produces your music," I reminded her.

Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with a resentment I'd never seen before. "It's not the same! What you do is business! It's a product! Don't you get it? That's all you understand!" she spat. "When I'm with Will, I feel like a real person, not just a commodity you're selling!"

That was the first time I realized she wasn't the same girl who had slept on the floor with me anymore. She was just the successful product I had created.

And now, my product had a mind of its own and wanted to escape its creator.

I chose to let it go. I told myself it was just the pressure of fame getting to her. I thought that once the concert was over, once our relationship was solidified by this grand, public proposal, everything would go back to normal.

I was wrong.

I was wrong to treat her like a pawn on my chessboard, forgetting that the most unpredictable piece in any game is the one that chooses to betray you.

The office door was thrown open without a knock.

Veronica strode in, dressed head-to-toe in black, sunglasses and a hat obscuring her face. Will trailed behind her like a lost puppy.

"Mr. Kang," Kevin said, jumping to his feet and instinctively moving to stand between us.

"Get out," I said, my eyes fixed on Veronica, my voice devoid of any emotion.

Kevin shot me a worried glance before retreating and closing the door behind him. The office was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning.

"What do you want?" I asked.

Veronica took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her expression was eerily calm.

"I'm here to discuss the termination of my contract." She led Will to the sofa opposite my desk and tossed a file onto the polished wood. "I hope we can do this amicably. It's better for the company, and for you, if we just go our separate ways."

"Amicably?" I felt a laugh, sharp and bitter, rise in my throat. "You call last night's meticulously planned public humiliation an 'amicable split'?"

My voice rose, the control I was clinging to starting to fray. "You didn't just ruin a proposal, Veronica. You detonated a nine-figure marketing campaign, the cornerstone of our entire fourth-quarter strategy. You know that better than anyone!"

She scoffed, leaning back into the plush leather, her face a mask of defiance. "Business, business, that's all you ever think about! I'm sick of it! I am not your goddamn cash cow!"

Will decided to play the hero. "Mr. Kang, don't blame Veronica it's all my fault. We're in love"

"Shut up," I said, my gaze cutting to him like a shard of ice. "No one is talking to you."

The color drained from Will's face. He fell silent.

That was what finally broke her. Veronica shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with hatred. "That's enough, Jackson! You and your arrogant, condescending act! Who do you think you are? My savior?"

She was practically shaking with rage. "Let me tell you something. Every single day with you felt like I was suffocating! You sold your house, you drank yourself sickthat wasn't for me! That was for your own ambition! For your investment! I was just the most successful stock in your portfolio!"

Every word was a calculated strike, aimed at my most vulnerable points.

"So the last five years of our lives, that was just an investment, too?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet as I met her furious glare. "Me sleeping on the floor next to you, was that an investment? Me waiting all night in the ER, was that an investment?!"

She faltered for a second, her eyes darting away.

I smiled, a tight, painful stretch of my lips, as tears burned the back of my eyes.

"Veronica, just answer one question," I said, taking a deep breath. "What were the last five years?"

She was silent for a long moment. Then, a look of chilling resolve settled on her face.

"They were me paying you back."

She paused, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, and one more thing."

She wrapped an arm around Will's shoulders, her other hand resting gently on her flat stomach.

"I'm pregnant. I have to do what's right for him. And for our child."

Pregnant. Of course.

The last thread of my sanity snapped.

So thats what this was all about. I wasn't building a future for us. I was funding their love story and paying for their baby.

That afternoon, I sat in my office, watching the live feed of Veronicas press conference on the large screen.

She looked thinner, her face pale and fragile, her eyes red and swollen. Will sat beside her, his head bowed, the very picture of innocent, tormented love.

"First, I want to apologize to everyone who cares about me," Veronica began, her voice raspy, as if she'd been crying for hours.

She wove a tragic tale of her pure love for music, of being swept up in the relentless tide of commercialism, of her profound artistic suffering. She painted Will as a beacon of light who had illuminated her dark, corporate world.

She never mentioned a single thing I had done for her. I was simply "the former record label," the "shackles of capital." I, the man she had been with for five years, the man she was supposed to marry, had been erased.

"I admit, Mr. Kang is a brilliant businessman," she said, her voice turning from sorrowful to accusatory. "He brought me to where I am today, and for that, I am grateful."

"But," she continued, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage, "he controlled my work, my social life, even my thoughts! Who I could see, what I could say, what I could weareverything had to be approved by him! I was just his creation, a puppet with no soul!"

Will, on cue, looked up at the cameras, tears streaming down his face. "It's not Mr. Kang's fault it's all my fault. I never should have come into her life Veronica, I'm so sorry"

The room erupted in a blinding sea of camera flashes.

The live chat comments exploded with fury.

[OMG MY POOR GIRL! WE WILL PROTECT YOU!]

[Im crying, she was living in a prison this whole time!]

[Jackson Kang is a monster! Get him out of the industry!]

[#FreeVeronica! Let her make real music!]

Finally, Veronica announced she was launching her own independent label, severing all ties with my company.

"I'm going to make the music I want to make, on my own terms. It might be difficult, but I have Will. And our baby."

She looked at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. "And that's enough."

The press conference ended. The internet detonated.

I was public enemy number one.

The company's phone lines were jammed. A few of the smaller artists I had personally mentored were already sending feelers through their agents, hinting at wanting to terminate their contracts, afraid of being associated with the "evil corporate tyrant."

The rats were jumping ship.

I looked at the hypocritical, tear-stained face on the screen and felt nothing but a cold, crystallizing hatred.

I wiped a tear I hadnt realized had fallen and buzzed my assistant.

"Get legal, and get every department head. Conference room one. Five minutes."

Kevin looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. "Mr. Kang"

I forced a smile, my voice calm and steady. "Conference room one. Five minutes."

"I'm going to utterly destroy her."