I sat in the driver's seat of the luxury car, the engine still humming softly beneath me like a secret I never asked for. A gift from Denzel. A goodbye from Denzel.
The same man who had held me like I was everything. Kissed me like he was drowning. Touched me like I was air.
And then whispered the cruelest thing between my skin and his lips—This is the end.
I rested my hands on the leather steering wheel, blinking away the sting behind my eyes. This was the car I'd dreamed about when I was little. Back when life was about silly things like shiny things, not broken hearts and goodbye sex. I used to imagine myself behind a wheel like this, windows down, music loud, laughing at the wind.
But right now? All I wanted was him.
Not this car. Not this lifestyle. Just Denzel.
Tears finally escaped, silent and soft, rolling down my cheeks as I pulled into my mom's driveway. The place I had always run to when my world felt too heavy to hold.
I barely made it inside the door before my mom was there, arms out, eyes full of concern.
"Star?"
I dropped my keys on the counter and walked into her arms like a little girl again.
"He ended it," I whispered, my voice cracking. "He bought me a car and ended it."
She held me tighter, running her hand down my back. "Oh, baby girl…"
I cried harder. The sobs came fast and ugly, shaking my chest as I buried my face into her shoulder. She didn't ask questions. She didn't judge. She just held me, the way only a mother could. The way no one else ever had.
I don't know how long we stood like that, the room quiet except for my broken breathing and her soft, comforting hums. At some point, she guided me to the couch and brought me tissues and tea, her warm hand resting on my leg while I tried to pull myself together.
"I thought…" I said hoarsely. "I thought maybe I meant something to him. The way he looked at me. The things he said. The way he touched me…"
"Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, brushing my hair back. "Sometimes the ones who feel the most just don't know how to say it. Or they're too scared to."
I shook my head. "He was scared. I could feel it. But it doesn't make this hurt any less."
She kissed my forehead. "Let it hurt. Then let yourself heal. You don't have to do it alone."
And she was right.
I didn't have to do it alone.
So I reached for my phone, hands still trembling, and sent a message to the only people who could understand this mess outside of blood.
Star:Can you guys come over? Please.
Thirty minutes later, the front door opened and I heard them before I saw them.
"Where is she?" Zoey's voice rang through the hallway. "Where's my girl?"
"In here," I called, my voice dry.
Zoey and Tyler burst into the living room, both in sweatpants, no makeup, hair messy, eyes wide with worry. Tyler was carrying snacks and Zoey had a bottle of wine under her arm like a soldier bringing weapons to battle.
"You look like you've been run over," Zoey said gently, sitting beside me. "And somehow you're still stunning. How is that even fair?"
I laughed through my tears. "I feel like trash."
Tyler handed me a chocolate bar and pulled me into a side hug. "Denzel's a dumbass. No offense."
"None taken," I sniffled. "He bought me a car and then… he ended the contract."
Zoey's eyes widened. "Wait—he bought you a car? Girl, you got broken up with in style."
I half-laughed, half-sobbed. "I don't care about the car. I care about him."
Tyler leaned in, her voice soft. "Did you love him?"
I paused. Then nodded.
They didn't say anything for a while. Just held my hands. Let me cry. Let me feel.
And then, as the mood began to settle, Tyler's eyes lit up.
"I have an idea," she said slowly, a mischievous glint forming. "Let's go out."
"What?" I blinked. "I just got dumped. I don't want to go anywhere."
"Exactly," she said, standing up dramatically. "That's why we go out. We dress up, we look hot, we get drunk, and we remind the world—and ourselves—that you are a catch, Star. A whole damn star."
Zoey grinned. "I'm in. I have a mini dress that's been begging to be worn."
"I don't know…"
"Too late," Tyler said, dragging me off the couch. "You cried. We listened. Now it's time for step two: party until you forget his name."
I groaned. "You guys are the worst."
"Correction," Zoey said. "We're the best. Now go shower and get into your baddest outfit. It's healing hour, baby."
We ended up at one of the hottest lounges in the city. The lights were low, the bass deep, the drinks strong. I wore a red dress I'd forgotten I owned, the kind that clung to curves and whispered sin with every step.
Tyler ordered us a round of shots before we even sat down.
"To new beginnings," she said.
"To surviving billionaire breakups," Zoey added.
"To finding ourselves again," I whispered, raising my glass.
We drank. We danced. We screamed-laughed and sang along to songs we didn't know the words to. We let the music drown out the pain. Let the alcohol loosen our heartbreak.
At one point, I caught a guy staring at me from the bar. He smiled, charming and cocky. I smiled back—just because I could.
Tyler leaned in, tipsy and giddy. "You're glowing, Star. Like, dangerous-level glowing."
Zoey nodded. "Denzel who?"
And for the first time since that morning, I actually smiled and meant it.
Maybe I was heartbroken. Maybe I wasn't okay yet.
But I had my girls. I had a car. I had memories that were beautiful even if they ended.
And tonight?
Tonight, I was choosing to live again.