The Fake Golden Girl

[My girlfriend got a terminal diagnosis, and all I can think is, thank god it wasn't her.]

That was the comment my boyfriend of five years left under a TikTok.

The video was titled:

[The absolute chokehold a first love has on a man.]

The cold blue glow of my phone screen washed over my face. I slammed the crumpled terminal diagnosis into the trash can, stared at his comment, and let out a dark, mocking laugh.

Chapter 1

The first thing I did after leaving the hospital was pack my bags. I shoved a few designer clothes into the suitcase, letting out a cold laugh without looking up. "Somewhere I don't have to look at your face. And then, I'm going to drop dead."

Tristan didn't laugh. The crease between his eyebrows just deepened.

I knew he only liked it when I offered a soft, compliant smile. He liked his women quiet and docile.

But I was dying now.

The only person I needed to please was myself.

Right on cue, his phone rang. The room was so dead silent I could hear his buddy's loud voice bleeding through the speaker.

"Tristan! Vivienne is back in the States! You coming to the airport or what?"

Tristan's grip on his phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. He gave a quick, breathless "Yeah," and hung up. His annoyance evaporated, immediately replaced by a fake, indulgent guilt.

"Baby" he started.

I cut him off with a bright smile. "If you're busy, go! Don't worry about me."

Tristan was in such a rush he didn't even process the packed suitcase sitting right there. He gave my head a hurried pat, grabbed his jacket, and walked out the door.

The second the door clicked shut, I dragged my suitcase to the nearest salon and chopped off the long hair I'd grown out for five years. One snip. Five years, dead and gone.

Tristan had barely arrived at the airport for his long-awaited reunion with his golden girl before I rolled up right behind him.

I hid behind my sunglasses, holding up a compact mirror. I looked at the girl standing next to him, then back at my own reflection. A wild urge to demand a DNA test hit me.

Tristan spotted me. His brow furrowed so hard it could crush a rock. "Rowan? What are you doing here?"

Look at that. Right in front of his first love, he was suddenly using my full name.

I pulled off my sunglasses and strolled right up to them. "What a coincidence."

The girl blinked in surprise at the sight of me, but quickly recovered, offering a practiced, elegant smile as she looked to Tristan for an explanation.

Tristan's visible tension melted slightly under her smile. He made a stiff introduction. "This is Vivienne, we grew up together. And this is Rowan my friend."

He rushed the word "friend," practically swallowing it, making sure not to attach the word "girl" anywhere near it. They stood there, a perfectly matched set. How touching.

I stared straight into her eyes and held out my hand. "Rowan. To your childhood bestie here, I'm basically an on-call ghost. Or maybe just a cheap, temporary distraction."

"Nice to meet you." Vivienne shook my hand. Every micro-expression, every shift of her lips screamed of the effortless confidence of a woman who knew she was the favorite.

Tristan shifted his weight, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable. He turned to her, his voice dripping with gentle concern. "Vivienne, you need to beat the jet lag. Let me drive you back. Rowan, you"

I cut him off again with a breezy smile. "Like I said, if you're busy, go! Don't worry about me."

That finally snapped him out of his trance. It was like he just noticed the chopped hair and the suitcase by my feet. A flicker of panic entered his voice. "Why did you cut your hair? Where are you going with that bag?"

I let out a genuine laugh. "You're hilarious, Tristan. I'm at the airport with a suitcase. Where else would I be going besides a vacation?"

Tristan's pupils contracted. "You're leaving me?"

"Oh, look at the time, my flight's boarding." I tapped my watch and waved at the two of them. "Vivienne, I'll leave my 'friend' in your capable hands. See you never."

I spun on my heel to walk away.

Tristan's hand shot out, his fingers locking around my wrist like a vice. "Rowan, what the hell is your problem?!"

Chapter 2

The force of his yell sent a tremor straight through my shoulders. I kept the smile plastered on my face, even as the hot sting of tears spilled over my lashes. "Yeah, Tristan. I do have a problem. I'm dying."

My peripheral vision was full of Vivienne. Flawless, radiant Vivienne, standing there like the sun itself had specifically chosen to spotlight her.

"Let me guess," I said, my voice dropping to a dead calm. "You're standing there thinking how lucky it is that I'm the one rotting from the inside out, and not her."

I ripped my arm away and headed for the security gates. He lunged after me. The resulting screaming match caused enough of a public spectacle that airport security dragged all three of us down to the local precinct for a little chat.

The second we stepped out of the station, the sting of my wasted plane ticket was still fresh when Tristan's fingers clamped around my wrist again. He tried to physically drag me toward his SUV.

I yanked my arm free, backing up until my heels hit the curb. "That is not my home."

"Are you done throwing this tantrum?" Tristan snapped, his patience officially evaporating. He stepped closer, towering over me. "Our engagement party is the day after tomorrow. The invitations are already out. Who exactly is this little performance for?"

"Engagement party?" I let out a dry, rattling laugh like I'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. "Tristan, you can take your invitations and your childhood sweetheart straight to hell. I'm officially opting out of this circus."

At the words "engagement party," Vivienne's head snapped up. Her eyes locked onto Tristan, a perfectly calculated shadow of heartbreak crossing her delicate features. "Tristan, you congratulations."

Tristan's breath visibly hitched. His jaw slackened, and he stared at her like someone had just ripped his heart straight out of his chest.

People say the current girlfriend loses the second the first love sheds a tear. Vivienne hadn't even squeezed out a single drop, and I was already entirely erased from his orbit. Fine. I was done playing this rigged game.

I flagged down a passing cab, climbed into the back, and slammed the door shut. "Drive," I told the driver.

Through the dirty rear window, I saw Tristan take a half-step toward the street. Then his jaw clenched, he spun around, and opened the passenger door for Vivienne. My suitcase sat abandoned on the curb. Trash left out for collection.

A sharp, burning acidity shot up my nasal cavity.

"Lover's quarrel?" The driver eyed me in the rearview mirror, way too nosy for his own good. "Men will be men, honey. They've got wandering eyes, but as long as you have his heart, that's what counts. Don't push him too hard or you'll drive him away. Just stroke his ego a little."

I cut him off, my voice dead flat. "Buddy, just drive the car. I'm in a rush to buy a chainsaw, and if you say one more word, I'm going to test it out on you first."

The driver's mouth snapped shut. Blessed silence finally filled the cab.

We hit the downtown shopping district, and I abruptly told him to pull over. He muttered a curse under his breath the second my boots hit the pavement and peeled away into traffic.

I tilted my head back, sucking in a lungful of city exhaust, ready to max out every credit card to my name. But the second the automatic doors slid open, the blinding fluorescent lights and manicured displays just made my stomach churn. I sank onto a leather bench by the fountain, staring blankly at the water.

When my vision finally focused, I was staring dead into Tristan's dark eyes.

He wasn't looking for me, obviously. He was carrying shopping bags for Vivienne. Flanking Vivienne was a middle-aged, immaculately dressed couple. The four of them were laughing, radiating the kind of sickeningly perfect, upper-crust family warmth you only saw in life insurance commercials.

A warmth I had never tasted a single day in my miserable life.

Tristan spotted me, his facial muscles instantly contracting into a scowl that screamed, "Why are you stalking us?"

But before he could bite out a single accusation, the elegant woman beside Vivienne suddenly lunged forward, her pristine composure shattering entirely. "Rowan? Ro?"

Tears instantly spilled down the woman's perfectly contoured cheeks. She practically threw herself at me, her manicured hands shaking. "Is it you? Rowan? Oh my god, my little Rowan!"

"It's her. It's really her" The husband stared, his stoic facade gone, the edges of his eyes turning a stark, raw red.

Vivienne froze dead in her tracks. Her eyes darted frantically between her parents and me, her chest heaving as she choked out a single word. "S-sister?"

Tristan went rigid.

I just sat there, nailed to the bench.

Chapter 3

What kind of sick joke was this?

I took a sharp step back, dodging Vivienne's mother's outstretched hands. "Sorry, ma'am, you have the wrong person. I know Vivienne and I look alike, but I grew up in the foster system"

My voice faltered. My throat seized up.

"My poor Rowan" The woman's knees gave out. She collapsed against her husband, whose silver-streaked hair seemed to age a decade right in front of me.

"Do you remember the summer carnival?" Vivienne swiped at her wet cheeks. "Mom took us, and we threw a massive tantrum, so she bought us each a"

"A little hamster in a red plastic carrier." The words spilled out of my mouth the exact same second they left Vivienne's.

Her mother let out a guttural sob, her hand clawing at the fabric over her chest like she was suffocating.

A dam broke inside my skull. Memories I'd locked away for over a decade flooded back, blurring the edges of my vision.

"I remember the plastic door popped open. I let go of someone's hand to chase it into the crowd. Then a man grabbed me. I remember sleeping moving around a lot and then waking up in the group home."

I stared at the polished marble floor of the mall, feeling detached from my own body. "You're you're actually my blood?"

Vivienne grabbed my hands, nodding so hard she couldn't even formulate a sentence. The polished, untouchable heiress was gone, replaced by a trembling mess.

I slowly pulled my hands back. Something cold hit my collarbone. I reached up and realized my cheeks were completely drenched.

My gaze shifted to Tristan, then to Vivienne, and finally settled on the weeping couple in front of me. A twisted, broken smile stretched across my face.

"Why did it take you this long to find me? Do you have any idea" I let out a harsh breath. "I'm about to die."

As far back as I could remember, the foster system was my entire worlda suffocating cage of gray walls and cheap, stale food. A halfway decent middle school teacher had been my only lifeline, pulling me out of the gutter and teaching me how to weaponize humor to survive. I learned to laugh loud, to throw out sarcasm like a shield.

Then, I met Tristan.

It was the freshman orientation gala. Tristan was the upperclassman host, standing at the podium in a tailored navy suit. He looked like something carved out of expensive marble. He had me hooked the second I laid eyes on him.

Obviously, half the freshman class was practically foaming at the mouth over him. But off-stage, Tristan was an iceberg. Cold, inaccessible, and mean. So, when an iceberg like that suddenly decides to melt specifically for you, it's easy to lose your grip on reality.

He shot down every girl who asked for his number, walked straight through the crowded auditorium right up to me, and asked for my phone.

My brain practically short-circuited.

Back then, I thought I had hit the absolute jackpot. Now, the mere thought of it made me want to throw up.

He only walked up to me because I was wearing the exact same face as the woman he couldn't have. Tristan, that sick bastard, had packaged his twisted hoarding complex as deep, profound love. And I had wasted five years playing the lead in his cheap, pathetic doppelg?nger fantasy.

Chapter 4

The day I dropped my death sentence in the middle of that mall, Vivienne's mother hit the marble floor in a dead faint. Her father, the stoic patriarch, stood there with tears actively streaming down his weathered face. Vivienne's knees gave out entirely.

And Tristan his eyes were locked on me with a look I hadn't seen in five years. Shock? Panic? Terror? Heartbreak? No single English word could cover the absolute wreck of his pupils.

"Late love is cheaper than dirt." Vivienne gripped my hand, her eyes swollen shut like bruised peaches. For the last forty-eight hours, she had been stuck to my side like velcro, looking wrecked.

"Late love is cheaper than dirt, Ro," she repeated, her voice thick. "Don't look back. He's garbage."

I let out a dry laugh. "Could've fooled me. Outside the airport, you looked pretty crushed when he mentioned the engagement."

"I'm sorry, Ro. I'm so sorry" The tears spilled over again. "I know I acted like a total bitch. I don't even like Tristan like that. But he's spent years chasing me, and suddenly he was marrying someone else."

"It just felt like someone was stealing my property. I just wanted to string him along a little bit to piss you off I swear to God, I had no idea it was you!"

"I thought you looked familiar, but I just figured Tristan went out and found himself a doppelg?nger. It made sense that you looked like me. I actually thought it was pathetic how hard he was trying to play the devoted lover, finding someone who matched my face."

"I literally felt superior to you. I I was so wrong. I'm so sorry!" Her words dissolved into hysterical sobbing. Her fingers dug into my skin, terrified I'd rip my hand away again.

I actually got it. It was like a spoiled house cat knocking a water glass off a table just to prove it still owned the humans in the room. Because she didn't know I was her flesh and blood, she felt fully entitled to bask in his favoritism, effortlessly flexing her superiority as the untouchable first love. But the second she realized exactly who I was, that superiority turned into suffocating guilt.

The sheer hypocrisy of human nature.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. The phone on the nightstand vibrated against the wood.

I swiped the screen. A massive wall of texts from Tristan.

He had already booked the top oncologist in the country. My condition was entirely treatable. He wasn't going to break up with me. He was still going to marry me.

The notifications just kept rolling in. Vivienne watched my face like a hawk, terrified I was going to cave.

Honestly? I just found it fascinating. Who knew Tristan was even capable of double-texting? For the last five years, I would send a dozen paragraphs just to get a single "k" in response.

And I'd screenshot every pathetic crumb he gave me, grinning at my phone screen like an absolute idiot.

Truth be told, I never planned on telling him I was terminal this early. The original plan was to pack my bags, disappear, and drop dead in peace. Whenever Tristan finally noticed I was actually gone, he'd track me down only to find a granite headstone engraved with: Surprise! She's already dead!

The look on his perfectly sculpted face would have been absolute cinematic gold.

Bzz. Bzz. The screen lit up with an incoming call.

I slid the phone across the mattress toward Vivienne. She slammed her thumb onto the speaker button without a second thought.

"Hello."

The line went dead silent for a fraction of a second as Tristan processed the voice. "Vivienne. Give the phone back to Roto your sister. I need to talk to her."

Vivienne ignored him, her voice dripping with ice. "Tristan, do you like me? Do you want to be with me?"

Dead air on the other end of the line.

Chapter 5

The living golden girl or the dying knock-off. Must be a real nightmare of a decision for him.

"Stop messing around, Vivienne." Tristan's voice bled through the speaker, indulgent and devoid of any real bite. He sounded like a tired parent humoring a spoiled toddler. "Now isn't the time for this