Introduction

Walking through the frigid evening, I sought refuge in a nearby convenience store, craving the warmth of a cup of coffee. As I made my way to the checkout, my eyes caught sight of a stack of magazines. One in particular stood out—an alluring male model with striking eye makeup that made his blonde eyes pop. With a tug, I pulled my hoodie further down to obscure my face.

The old lady behind the counter handed me my cup of coffee as I swiped my card for payment. In the background, a TV blared some news segment. "Jackson Smith to wed model Martha Blaine in 5 days..." the news anchor's voice filled the store. Anger surged within me at the mention of Jackson's upcoming wedding. Just a few months ago, he was in my bed, whispering sweet lies about his love for me. And now, he was marrying a cheap imitation of myself? The thought was infuriating. After all, I practically built that man from the ground up.

Leaving the convenience store with a clenched jaw, I was met with a biting blast of cold air that cooled the heat of my anger. I resisted the urge to cry, refusing to give Jackson the satisfaction of my tears.

With each step, my boots crunched against the snow-covered ground, following a somewhat familiar path. "Ivan!" a voice called out, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to see a short, vibrant lady with blue and purple hair—my manager, Emily.

A smile crept across my face as I walked towards her. "What are you doing out here in the cold?" she scolded, interlocking her arm with mine and guiding me towards her home.

As we walked, Emily chattered away, her worries mingling with updates about work. Despite my swirling emotions, her presence brought a sense of comfort, a respite from the storm of thoughts raging in my mind.

*

Seated at the dinner table, I watched as Rose, Emily's wife, served up dinner with a warm smile. Emily was engrossed in playful banter with their 4-year-old son, Ray, his giggles filling the room. The sight before me was beautiful yet bittersweet, tugging at my heartstrings and bringing tears to my eyes, which I hastily blinked away.

I loved Emily with all my being. We had met 14 years ago when I was just 19, working as a waiter in my conservative European hometown. After being kicked out by my uncle and aunt for being gay, life felt like an endless abyss until Emily entered the picture. With her ball of then-pink hair and adventurous spirit, she offered me a chance at a new life in the US. It was a decision that changed everything. I packed my meager belongings—a couple of shirts and one pair of jeans—and embarked on a journey with the pink haired American tourist.

Those early days were rough; there were nights when hunger gnawed at our stomachs. But slowly, we found our footing. Eventually, luck smiled upon us, and I found success as an internationally renowned model.

As I observed Rose planting a tender kiss on Emily's forehead, a wave of jealousy washed over me. I couldn't help but envy their picturesque, happy family life—the one I had yearned for but is now seemingly unachievable. The idyllic scene before me was a stark reminder of the life I had dreamed of, with a partner by my side, creating a home and family together. Yet here I was, on the outside looking in, feeling a pang of longing for something I feared might always be out of reach.

I despised Jackson, yet the depth of my love for him was even more unsettling. It was a chilly evening when our paths first crossed.

I was 20, a young man with dreams and ambitions, but struggling to find my footing in the US modeling industry. Emily and I had arrived a year earlier, full of hope for a brighter future. She had seen something in me, in my appearance, that prompted her to whisk me away from my conservative European hometown.

But reality hit hard.

Despite my striking looks—what had caught Emily's eye and prompted her to whisk me away—breaking into the cutthroat entertainment industry proved more challenging than I anticipated. Countless agencies, endless auditions—it was a grueling cycle of rejection and disappointment.

To escape the frustration and the gnawing emptiness within me, I often found myself drowning my sorrows in alcohol on weekends, throwing caution to the wind at clubs. Having never truly been able to express my sexuality openly, these nights of reckless abandon were both liberating and hollow. The discrimination I faced was a bitter reality. The so-called land of the free was not always accepting, especially in the less-than-stellar neighborhood where Emily and I lived. To combat the slurs and bullying, I took up self-defense lessons. Each time someone thought they could push me around, they were in for a surprise.

I think back to the night I met Jackson sadly, it was a fond memory a few months ago;

Friday nights at the bar were the worst. Male students from the university flooded in, and the combination of alcohol and a pretty man in eyeliner seemed to bring out the worst in some—violent or predatory tendencies lurking beneath their facade of joviality. As I scrubbed the counter, dreading the night ahead, a group of rowdy 20-year-olds entered, signaling it would indeed be a long night.

Taking a much-needed break out back for a smoke, I was interrupted by a nervous voice. "Hey," it said, and I turned to see a skinny guy in glasses and an oversized black hoodie.

"On break. Inside. Door front," I responded, my English still not perfect.

"I know. I wanted to talk to you," the guy said, sounding jittery.

"What?" I replied, turning to face him.

"Don't mind what those jerks said. I think you're pretty, and the makeup makes your eyes stand out," he blurted out in a rush. All I heard was "pretty," and seeing the nervous wreck before me brought a smile to my face.

That day marked the beginning of my relationship with Jackson. He came from a conservative Catholic family, but he had dreams bigger than the family ranch they wanted him to inherit. Leaving for the big city on a scholarship and a hope, he was determined to forge his own path.

I sacrificed sleep and took on another part-time job to make ends meet for both Jackson and myself. My modeling gigs were slowly picking up, but it wasn't enough. Determined to support him in pursuing his dreams, I saved every penny I could. One of the first big purchases I made for him was his own laptop. Until then, he had relied on library and school computers to work on his projects.

When his grades started slipping, I didn't hesitate to dip into my savings to pay his tuition fees. I took on the burden of his rent and living expenses, juggling multiple jobs to keep us afloat. Despite the exhaustion, I was fueled by the hope of our future together.

Three years into our friendship, he surprised me with a proposal. I was overjoyed, thinking that my feelings had been one-sided all this time. The promise of forever with Jackson was a dream come true, or so I thought.

As his app idea took shape, I found myself diving headfirst into helping him secure the capital and investments he needed. I put myself in compromising situations, pulling strings and using questionable methods to land brand deals and investments. It was all for him, for us, for the future we were building together.

.

The pressure mounted as we neared the critical moment—the need for a $3 million investment for his app. I worked tirelessly, neglecting my own well-being, all to secure the future he promised. It was a whirlwind of late nights, endless gigs, shows and constant stress, but I endured it all for love.

But as his success grew, so did the rift between us. I proudly spoke about my partner in interviews, but Jackson refused to come out, citing conservative business interests. "Let me get this stable," he'd say, "and we'll buy our house, start our family." I clung to those promises like a lifeline.

Three months ago, it all came crashing down. "I love you, Ivan, but I want a child," Jackson said, pushing a check across the table. "I can't get that from you. My parents are expecting a grandchild soon, and I can't do this to them."

I was stunned, unable to comprehend how over a decade of our lives together could be dismissed with a check. "You can't be serious, Jack. This has to be a joke," I pleaded.

But he was resolute. "Don't make this harder than it already is," he said, leaving me standing there, alone and shattered.

Emily found me in that state and brought me to her hometown for a vacation, hoping to mend my broken heart. Yet, three months later, I was still a mess, unable to come to terms with how easily Jackson had discarded our love and history together. The pain was a constant ache, a shadow that followed me everywhere, reminding me of the beautiful illusion we had built together, now shattered beyond repair.