Keep The Ring I Choose Me

When the anonymous diary of a secret, unrequited love from the account User0601 went viral on TikTok, the entire comment section was moved to tears by the tender, excruciatingly detailed perspective of the narrator.

The whole internet was trying to track down the girl whose birthday was on June 1st.

Then, my childhood best friendwhom I hadnt spoken to in yearssuddenly forwarded the video to me. She said she recognized who the original poster was and asked if I wanted to hear the gossip.

Her birthday was June 1st.

When the realization hit me, my first instinct was actually relief for her. I was glad someone out there had loved her so deeply, for so long.

But the smile froze, then completely shattered, when I read her next few texts:

Its Damian. I actually always kind of liked him.

But he confessed to me yesterday that hes getting married. He said that diary was just to put an end to his youth. Said I shouldn't take it seriously.

Ugh, he's so stubborn. He sounded like he was about to cry on the phone

A single tear slipped from my eye, landing with a faint, metallic clink against the diamond engagement ring on my left hand.

I sat there, paralyzed in a state of stupid, numb shock for a long time. Then, the delayed agony tore through my chest.

Half-joking, half-serious, Cassidy sent one last message:

Tell meif I crash his wedding, do you think hed run away with me?

...

I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling, but the tears refused to recede.

Evie? Whyd you go quiet? Cassidys voice crackled through the speaker.

I took a deep, trembling breath, desperately trying to iron out the shake in my voice. Didnt you say you couldn't stand him in high school? You called him a pretentious nerd. Why the sudden change of heart?

Cassidy sighed, her tone dripping with a wistful kind of nostalgia. We were so young back then. My pride was louder than my heart. Thats why we missed out on each other for all these years. Do you remember the high school theater club? He was the head playwright. His scripts were always so dark, so macabre and tragic. But every character I played was always perfectly protected. Because of his soft spot for me, everyone else on stage met a tragic end, but my character always got her happily ever after.

I knew. Of course I knew. Because those were the same three years I had spent secretly, agonizingly in love with Damian Cross.

I had collected every single script he ever wrote, thumbing through the pages until the edges frayed.

It was because of him that I had chased the blinding, brutal lights of Hollywood like a madwoman. I swallowed unimaginable bitterness, clawing my way up until I was an A-list actress standing center stage, bathed in the glow of millions.

It took so much to finally catch up to his shadow.

It took so much for Damian to finally look at me.

It took so much for us to finally get engaged.

So why, out of all the days in a lifetime, did this have to happen now?

I didn't blame Cassidy for reappearing. I blamed Damian. I blamed the man who had slid a ring onto my finger while still carrying the ghost of a girl from his past in his chest.

Was I just not enough?

I hung up the phone as if fleeing a burning building, pulled the covers over my head, and sobbed until I couldn't breathe.

My manager, Roxy, burst into the room upon hearing the noise. She panicked immediately.

Jesus, Evie, no! Stop crying! You have an audition in an hour! She dropped her clipboard. Dont forget, this is the casting for Three Years in August! Youve waited years for this book to be adapted into a film, you cannot go in there with swollen eyes!

She frantically yanked an ice pack from the mini-fridge and pressed it hard against my face.

I violently flinched. The biting, unforgiving cold shocked my system, forcing a harsh clarity back into my brain.

Holding the ice pack to my cheek, I lowered my eyes, sinking into absolute silence.

Three Years in August was the best thing Damian had ever written. It was also his earliest work.

And the female lead in that novel was the only character he had ever publicly admitted was based on a real person.

During the years I spent following in his footsteps, I watched him transition from an indie screenwriter to a bestselling author. His debut novel was a massive cultural phenomenon. His sheer, undeniable talent made his rise to the top impossibly smooth.

Because he had attained everything so easily, he approached life with an infuriatingly detached, indifferent air. He was famous for his aloofness. It was a sharp, fascinating contrast to the fiercely intense emotions woven into his work.

Online, Three Years in August was a beloved masterpiece, and its heroine, August, was an iconic literary figure. She was the sole recipient of the author's blatant favoritism; amidst a sea of tragedies, she was the only character allowed to be happy.

Even Roxy, who was usually incredibly conservative with her predictions, promised me that whoever landed this role was guaranteed an Oscar nomination. It was the kind of role an actress could coast on for the rest of her life.

She knew about my relationship with Damian. Her eyes dropped to the diamond on my left hand, and she smirked.

Youre the inspiration for this character, aren't you? she said, her voice softening. Its your fiancs intellectual property. Weve got this in the bag! Stop crying, Evie. Everything is about to fall perfectly into place.

Before that phone call, both I and my millions of fans were absolutely certain that the character of August was written about me.

Because during the era Damian wrote that book, I was the only girl by his side.

Even I had the utter hubris to believe that if it was ever adapted, the role belonged to me by divine right.

Im sorry, Miss Hamiltion. You are not a right fit for the role of August.

At the audition space, beneath the blinding, clinical glare of the temporary studio lights, the bustling room went dead silent.

Damians words were spoken softly, but they dropped like an anvil.

As the screenwriter and original author, he sat at the center of the table. He held the ultimate casting power.

Everyone in the room had been glancing at the diamond on my finger. They all assumed my audition was just a formalitythat the role of August had been tailor-made for me.

No one expected Damian to humiliate me. To screen me out.

Perhaps the devastation in my eyes was too loud.

Damian frowned slightly. He flipped through the character breakdowns, casually pointed to a nameless, D-list background extra who met a gruesome end, and said, You can play this part.

The silence in me thickened.

He looked annoyed now. Do you absolutely have to play August?

I let out a broken laugh. My eyes stung fiercely, but my voice was pure steel. Yes. It has to be me.

Damian stared at me for a long beat. Then, he smiled. It was a cruel, blinding thing.

He said, Ive said it before in interviews. This character is based on a real person.

And it isn't you.

Someone in the room was already secretly recording on their phone. Once this video leaked, my social media would become a bloodbath.

The relentless mockery of the internet would tear into me and my loyal fans like shrapnel. Look at the desperate A-lister, rejected by her own fianc.

My career would take a massive hit. Instead of reaping the glory of the role, Id be branded a pathetic punchline for the rest of my life.

Driven by a sickening sense of defiance, I asked, Then who exactly do you plan to cast?! Who could possibly play her?!

Damians expression softened. The tense, suffocating atmosphere seemed to dissipate around him as he thought of someone. He smiled, his eyes crinkling.

The girl she was based on, of course.

That was the moment the last, pathetic ember of hope in me died.

Roxy, looking pale and panicked, practically dragged me out of the studio.

She cursed him the entire ride back. What the hell is wrong with him?! You two are practically married! What the fuck does 'based on' even mean? This role is yours!

Don't let it get to your head, Evie. These pretentious literary types always love to create unnecessary drama!

But what stressed her out more was the impending PR nightmare. Damians words were brutal. Once it hit the internet, it would be a media massacre.

Ultimately, she and the agency's crisis PR team made a desperate, unified decision:

We needed to fast-track the official announcement of my engagement to Damian.

By doing so, the narrative would shift. Damian wouldn't be the cruel boyfriend rejecting his lover; he would be the brilliant, uncompromising artist who refused to mix business with pleasure, prioritizing the integrity of his film above all else.

Roxy asked me for a cute, intimate photo of us to post with the announcement.

I instinctively opened my camera roll. My thumb hovered over the screen. I froze.

Nothing.

There was not a single picture.

Seven years together. I scoured the depths of my phone, and the only tangible proof of our intimacy was the ring on my finger.

It was absurd. It was pathetic.

Roxy frowned deeply, but we were racing against the clock. We had to beat the leaks.

She grabbed a male production assistant, told him to hold my hand so our fingers intertwined, making sure the diamond caught the light, and snapped a picture.

We rushed the post out. We beat the leaked audition video by exactly one second.

The internet exploded.

The brilliant, brooding author and the stunning A-list actress. The internet had been quietly shipping us for years, and the confirmation sent them into a frenzy.

My team watched the analytics skyrocket and let out a collective sigh of relief. Someone happily chimed in that a massive luxury brand endorsement was now locked in.

Suddenly, the head of PR swore loudly. Her face drained of color as she marched over to me and shoved her tablet into my hands.

Look at this.

Damian, who hadn't posted on X in three years, had just tweeted a single sentence:

That is not my hand.

It felt exactly like a physical slap across the face.

Roxy and the rest of the team were shaking with rage. Is he out of his fucking mind?! Hes deliberately trying to ruin you, Evie!

Evie, you and I have worked together for years. Look me in the eye and give it to me straightdid he actually propose to you? Roxy demanded. Or did you stage this whole thing?

I offered a hollow, bitter smile, my hands trembling violently by my sides.

Right on cue, my phone lit up. It was Damian.

Why would you announce our relationship without discussing it with me first? he demanded, his tone laced with irritation.

I was dumbfounded. A laugh escaped my throat, harsh and dry. Our relationship? Am I your underground mistress? Am I your enemy? Is our engagement something shameful that needs to be hidden in the dark?

Damian scoffed coldly, his words dripping with condescension. Youre just doing this to force me to give you the role of August, aren't you?

Did you really think backing me into a corner publicly would make me hand it over?

In all our years together, we had never fought like this. He was always so mild, so detached. I had never seen him so fiercely agitated.

The only explanation was the role of August. In his heart, that characterand the girl she representedwas infinitely more important than the woman wearing his ring.

In that singular moment, the humiliation lodged in my throat like shards of glass. His mocking words were repeated slaps to my dignity.

Desperate to salvage the last agonizing shreds of my pride, I screamed a lie:

Yes!

I want the role of August. If you dont give it to me, we are done!

The moment the word 'done' left my lips, the tears I had been fighting back broke free, sliding rapidly down my cheeks.

I had a million questions festering inside me, and today, I was going to carve them all out. A heart has to be emptied completely before it can walk away light.

Damian, would you ever write a book for me?

Do you look at me and feel inspired?

Where does all your creative passion and desire actually go? Toward whom?

Finally, my voice cracking with a sob, I asked the fatal question:

Is the inspiration for Three Years in August Cassidy Blake? The anonymous account, User0601... that was you, wasn't it?

For a long time, the only sound on the line was the static hum of his breathing and the frantic beating of my own heart.

He said nothing.

His silence was his confession.

Heartbreak. Devastation. Total, humiliating defeat. That was all I was in that moment.

So you set the wedding date for June 1st because of her birthday, right?

Damian finally spoke. His voice was hoarse. Youre overthinking this. I told you I would marry you, and I am a man of my word.

As for that account, I already explained it to Cassidy. It was just a moment of nostalgia. A regret from my youth. It doesn't mean anything now.

Im just angry that you used someone elses hand to announce us. Ill explain it to the fans later so it doesn't hurt your career.

I found it almost hysterically funny. Why did I have to use a fake hand? Because you never allowed us to leave a single photographic trace of our intimacy.

He hated documenting his life. So my ten years of loving him left no footprints. My devotion existed only in the void.

We fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Neither of us said another word before the call disconnected.

I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling until my eyes burned and my vision blurred into a gray haze.

The PR director watched my face carefully, choosing her words like walking on a minefield. Evie, Damian just posted a follow-up tweet. He confirmed the engagement. The internet is eating it up. Its trending number one.

But those brand deals just called. They said they need to 'evaluate the situation.' We're on pause.

I nodded weakly. I pulled up X on my own phone.

When I refreshed Damians profile, a new casting announcement had just gone live.

It was the official casting for August. A complete unknown.

He had publicly confirmed that she was the real-life inspiration for the character.

Cassidy Blake.

The timestamp showed it was posted exactly thirty seconds after his post confirming our engagement.

He was so terrified that I would use my new status as his official fiance to aggressively steal the role, that he rushed to lock Cassidy in publicly.

I sat on the edge of the bed, mindlessly twisting the diamond ring on my finger. Taking it off, putting it back on. In my blurred vision, the ring seemed to expand, turning into a massive steel trap, daring me to stick my neck inside and lock myself in a cage.

I shivered violently.

At midnight, after wrapping up a grueling day of damage control, I sat alone in the back of my SUV.

A DM popped up on Instagram.

I warned you, Evie.

Its only because we used to be best friends that I tried to let you down gently. I really, really didn't want to hurt you.

I didn't reply to Cassidy.

Instead, I went back to work. I smiled for the cameras. I hit my marks.

With only three days left until June 1st, Damian finally remembered that our wedding had zero actual preparations.

He rubbed his exhausted eyes as he walked into the house we shared.

Why don't we just hire a luxury planning agency to handle it? he asked. Have them do an all-inclusive package. If we try to do it ourselves, three days isn't enough.

I didn't argue. I just let him do it.

So, three days before the wedding, Damian outsourced the entire event to an agency.

He didn't even bother putting together a guest list.

When the wedding planners chased him down on set, he was too busy directing. He waved them off and said he didn't have anyone he particularly wanted to invite.

The planners were baffled. They came to me.

I shook my head. I wasn't inviting anyone either.

Even the most seasoned luxury wedding planners had never seen anything like this. It was as if this wedding was just a corporate errand, a 9-to-5 task to be checked off a list.

The night before the wedding, Damian came home with bloodshot eyes.

He had three pages of script in his hands, covered in red ink, obsessively rewriting a single scene.

I glanced at it. I didn't even have to read the words to know it was Augusts scene.

Damian, who was famously indifferent to everything in life, was treating her character with an agonizing, meticulous reverence.

Still clutching his pen, he collapsed onto the bed and passed out.

Right before he went under, he mumbled, Wake me up tomorrow. We have to get married.

It was so casual it bordered on the surreal.

The next morning, I woke up on time. I had my makeup done. I was as coldly professional as if I were stepping onto the set of a low-budget indie film to play a bride.

As for Damian, I didn't wake him.

The ceremony was set for noon.

The grand, dreamlike ballroom was practically empty, save for a few confused venue staff looking around for a groom.

Roxy stood at the edge of the stage, her eyes red with unshed tears of fury. I gave her a helpless look, and she turned her head away, grinding her teeth.

The soft, romantic string quartet began to play right on schedule. Wearing a flawless white gown, I walked slowly down the aisle toward an empty altar.

My professional instincts kicked in. I found the cameras. I thought, at the very least, I can get some editorial-quality photos out of this to feed my fans.

I didn't need this marriage, but my career desperately needed this wedding.

Losing the role of August hadn't just cost me an Oscar; it had planted a time bomb of public humiliation that threatened to taint my entire legacy.

I needed this wedding to reclaim my narrative.

The flashbulbs went off in rapid succession.

I calmly directed the photographer: Pan a little to the left. Leave some negative space on the right so its easier to Photoshop the groom in later.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom were violently shoved open.

Cassidy Blake, wearing a flowing white sundress, burst in, panting heavily. She shot me a look, then smiled radiantly and shouted toward the empty room:

Damian!

Im here to stop the wedding!

The romantic string music echoed awkwardly in the cavernous room.

Cassidys face flushed red. She glared at me. Evie! Where did you hide him?!

Roxy let out a primal noise of rage and lunged forward to throw her out. But before she could lay a finger on Cassidy, a hand shoved Roxy hard.

It was Damian. He had just woken up and rushed over, his hair disheveled.

He roared at Roxy, What the hell do you think youre doing?!

I stepped down from the altar. I pulled the diamond ring off my finger, grabbed Roxy, and pulled her behind me.

With everything I had, I hurled the ring directly at Damians face.

Get the hell out, I said, my voice ice-cold.

Behind me, Roxy whispered in my ear, The boss just landed from New York. He knows whats going on, and he is livid. Hes on his way right now. Lets just clear out these losers.

A jolt of panic hit my chest. I pointed at the doors, telling them to leave.

Damian rubbed his face, his expression twisting into a sneer. You want me to leave? What, are you going to hire a body double to stand at the altar with you?

He was mocking me over the hand-model photo.

Weren't you the one who threatened to leave if I didn't marry you? Are you throwing this tantrum now to blackmail me into giving you the role of August? he scoffed. Or are you just going to Photoshop me in? Aren't you exhausted from faking everything?

Before I could open my mouth, the ballroom doors were kicked open with earth-shattering force.

A man in a bespoke Tom Ford suit stood in the doorway, radiating a terrifying, arrogant energy.

Evelyn Hamiltion!

Donovan Pierces voice boomed through the hall, dripping with furious disbelief. I go to Wall Street to ring the Nasdaq bell for two days, and you decide to throw your life away on a wedding?!

As the most powerful producer in Hollywood and the man who owned my management agency, Donovan was notorious for his ruthless, imperial attitude.

I poured millions into making you a star. What kind of garbage indie IP is worth you begging on your knees? I put top-tier, Academy-level scripts on your desk for you to pick from, and youre here playing the tragic martyr?

He slowly turned his lethal gaze toward Cassidy in her white dress.

Oh? Are you in the business too? Donovan smirked, a cruel, mocking curve of his lips. You here to crash the wedding? Move over, sweetheart. Let me join the party.