Dropping the Influencer Ex

Ethan and I built his influencer career together from the ground up. Behind the camera, I shaped him into the internet’s favorite modern gentleman—supportive, respectful, and empowering toward women. We made a deal: the moment his account hit five million followers, we’d go public with our relationship and get married. Yet the second he hit that milestone, he stripped me of all my responsibilities. All so he could propose to a stunning beauty creator in front of a hundred thousand viewers on a live stream. I watched the lavish, spectacle-filled proposal unfold on my phone. My heart didn't even stir. Instead, I tapped the screen and reported his account. Reason: Promoting toxic and misleading content. The very first thing Ethan said to me after hitting five million followers was: "You're just an assistant. Without you, I'd still be right where I am today. Don't flatter yourself." With a single sentence, he tossed five years of blood, sweat, and tears straight into the trash. When we started out, we had nothing. Just the two of us, a shared apartment, and a single smartphone. Now, we had an agency with over a hundred employees. And in his eyes, I was merely an "adequate assistant." Ethan was nothing if not efficient. When I walked into the office the next morning, my desk was completely cleared off. Everything I owned had been dumped into a single black trash bag. I had spent five years building this brand with Ethan, holding the second-largest equity stake in the company. Yet my desk had always been shoved into a cramped, dusty corner behind the reception desk, making me look like a temp. Ethan had insisted that my behind-the-scenes work didn't require a dedicated office. And I had accepted that corner for five whole years. I lifted the feather-light trash bag, my throat tightening. So this was the reward for giving someone my everything. I pushed open Ethan’s office door and dropped the bag onto his sleek mahogany desk. "Mr. Vance, mind explaining what this means?" In professional settings, he never let me call him Ethan. If I slipped up even once, he’d give me the cold shoulder for three days. I had always backed down, playing along until, to the outside world, I really was nothing more than his errand girl. Ethan barely glanced up, casually nudging the bag to the edge. "I had Chloe pack it for you. Your performance has been slipping lately, and you look exhausted. Take some time off and stay home. I’ve handed your tasks to an intern." I swallowed the bitter lump rising in my throat. Ethan’s very first viral video had been built on a single line he spoke to a struggling teenage girl in an underprivileged youth center: “Spread your wings, kid. The mountain is waiting for you to conquer it.” That line? I had held up the cue card for him behind the lens, reading off a script I had spent weeks perfecting. That single video had launched his persona as the internet's wholesome, inspirational king. And now, one casual label—assistant—erased every ounce of credit I deserved. Seeing my eyes redden, Ethan softened his tone just a fraction. "Look, if you get bored sitting at home, you can always write some scripts for Chloe." Chloe was our newest signed creator. When she first interviewed, I had rejected her because her superficial, dramatic style clashed with our brand identity. Yet the second Ethan laid eyes on her, his demeanor changed completely. He overruled me, opened a new account for her, and poured company funds into promoting her. Behind closed doors, the staff had already begun whispering that Chloe was the "boss's real girl." She was constantly slipping in and out of his office. Their flirtatious laughter echoed down the hallway daily. Chloe could openly tease and lounge around Ethan in the middle of the office, while I, his partner of five years, lived like a dirty secret hidden in the shadows. I forced myself to speak. "You want me to write scripts for Chloe?" Ethan shrugged. "Yeah. If you really don't want to stay home, you can be her personal assistant. Assisting her or assisting me—it's all the same, isn't it? It's all for the business." "Actually, she has an outdoor shoot tomorrow. Go hold the umbrella for her and carry her wardrobe." Ethan knew my pride. He was intentionally trying to humiliate me, backing me into a corner until I quit on my own. Meanwhile, he gave Chloe whatever she asked for on a silver platter. Love and indifference couldn't be more distinct. When a man stops loving you, every calculating scheme and cruel tactic is unleashed without hesitation, forcing you to see who he truly is. He wanted me to be Chloe’s assistant? Fine. Challenge accepted.During the outdoor shoot, I trailed behind Chloe under the blazing sun, holding up a massive sun umbrella. My arms were weighed down with wardrobe bags and prop cases. Sweat stung my eyes, blurring my vision. Meanwhile, Ethan hovered over Chloe with wet wipes and a portable electric fan, dabbing her forehead and cooling her off. To any bystander, he was the picture-perfect, doting boyfriend. Chloe turned around and glanced at my disheveled, sweat-soaked frame. She pulled out a wipe and aggressively rubbed it across my face, smudging my foundation and leaving streaks. "Oh, poor thing, you're sweating so much!" A flash of anger sparked in my chest. Seeing the tension, Ethan glanced my way with visible distaste. "Go stand over by the shade. Once we wrap this take, come back and hold the umbrella." Chloe offered me an innocent, saccharine smile. A chilling numbness settled deep into my bones. To Chloe, I was just someone Ethan looked down upon—someone she could walk all over without consequence. With Ethan guarding her back, she had nothing to fear. Ethan spent the next hour snapping hundreds of photos of Chloe on his phone. A few weeks ago, I had accidentally glimpsed his photo album. It was overflowing with candid, flattering shots of Chloe from every angle. I couldn't find a single picture of myself. Hurt, I had confronted him: "Why do you have so many photos of Chloe saved on your phone? Honestly, anyone looking at this would think she’s your girlfriend." Ethan had ripped the phone out of my hands, his tone sharp and defensive. "Can you please separate business from personal life? These are behind-the-scenes assets. Raw material for the editing team." Ever since that day, he had changed his passcode. Standing in the shade, I detached myself from the pain, quietly watching their intimate banter while snapping photo after photo of them with my own phone. During the lunch break, my phone buzzed with a text from Ethan: Chloe isn't a fan of this script. Rewrite the entire concept right now. While the crew enjoyed their catered lunch, I sat on a cooler, typing away on my laptop to overhaul her script. Chloe walked over and handed me a hot dog. "Rough morning, Olivia. Here, grab a bite." Surprised, I took it and managed a polite nod. Ethan hadn't spared a single thought for how exhausted I was, yet Chloe was playing the considerate one. I stood up and moved toward an empty corridor to finish writing in peace. That was when their voices drifted out from behind the equipment tent. "Olivia really is so easy to play," Chloe’s voice purred. Ethan let out a dismissive scoff. "That’s all she’s good for. If you don't like the new script either, just tell her to redo it again. Don't force yourself to shoot something you hate." Chloe giggled sweetly. "Ethan, you're spoiling me way too much." "Who said you could call me boss in private?" "Haha, fine... Ethan, are you coming over to my place tonight?" "Where else would I go? You really think I want to go back to that dried-up nag’s apartment?" A sudden wave of nausea rushed over me, leaving my limbs ice-cold. The man I had spent five years loving suddenly made me want to vomit. Through the gap in the canvas, I saw Chloe leaning comfortably against Ethan’s shoulder. Whenever Ethan and I had gone out for shoots in the past, he had acted colder toward me than he did with casual acquaintances. Turns out, behind my back, their affair had been rotting in secret for god knows how long. When a man finds a shiny new toy, he stops wasting his breath soothing the old one. I scrolled through the photos I had just captured on my phone. Every picture showed Ethan and Chloe locked in tender, undeniable intimacy. I looked down at the screen and whispered to myself: Wake up, Olivia. This man is filthy to the core. Stop holding onto illusions. I pulled up Ethan's chat on WhatsApp and sent: I'm leaving. Ethan replied instantly: 1. A simple, dismissive acknowledgment. I stared at that single digit and let out a dry, hollow laugh. I scrolled back through our message history. When had it started? Every answer he gave me had been reduced to an unbothered, indifferent 1 or K. No one reading our chat would ever guess we were a couple who had shared five years of life together. I packed my laptop and turned to leave, but an enthusiastic production assistant grabbed my arm."Olivia! Come jump in the team photo! We're putting it on the company wall of fame!" She playfully pushed me toward the center, right next to Ethan. Caught off guard, my heel caught on a cable, and I stumbled. Before I hit the pavement, Ethan’s large hand caught my waist, pulling me steady. Genuine concern flashed across his face. "Are you okay? Did you twist your ankle?" He bent down instinctively to check my foot. It was one of the few silent understandings we had forged over five years. I was notoriously clumsy on uneven terrain, and whenever he was beside me, he always watched my footing. Before our hands could fully part, a sudden force shoved me to the side. "I want to stand in the middle!" Chloe chirped playfully, wedging herself directly between us. Ethan’s face softened instantly into a fond grin. "Of course. The prettiest girl gets center stage." A junior editor teased from behind the camera, "Well, yeah, the boss's lady always belongs in the middle!" Chloe blushed prettily, and Ethan merely smiled along, making zero effort to correct the assumption. A few senior employees who knew about my relationship with Ethan cast sympathetic, pitying glances my way. As soon as the shutter clicked, I hoisted my bag and walked away without looking back. Later, on the company WhatsApp group, Chloe posted the final group photo. Every single person had been smoothed and brightened with a heavy beauty filter—except for me. In the corner, my skin looked dull, my dark circles prominent, and my expression utterly drained. Shortly after I left, a close friend from HR sent me a direct message on Snapchat. Olivia, Ethan is going live in two days to propose to Chloe. He told us it’s a publicity stunt to launch her career and drive traffic. He’s already got the events team booking out a venue. My fingers trembled over the screen as I read the words. My chest felt submerged in arctic water, completely numb. All that calculated cruelty, the demotion, the public humiliation—it was all designed to run me out of the office so I wouldn't be there to disrupt his live-streamed proposal. Chloe hadn't been able to gain traction on her own, so Ethan was throwing himself into the arena to build her clout. And what about the public wedding he had promised me once we hit five million followers? Was my entire five-year wait just a massive, pathetic joke? The night of the broadcast arrived. The studio was transformed into a fairytale set, overflowing with yellow roses, glowing fairy lights, and scented candles. The staff lined up on both sides, waving sparklers and confetti poppers. It was grand, cinematic, and breathtakingly romantic. It was the exact proposal concept I had once described to Ethan in our tiny starter apartment. Now, the set had come to life, but the leading lady had been replaced. I never knew Ethan had such romantic flair in him. He had certainly never wasted a drop of it on me. Over a hundred thousand concurrent viewers flooded the stream to witness the five-million-follower creator pop the question to a rising starlet. The comment section went wild. “Omg, this is literally a real-life romance novel!” “Where do I find an Ethan Vance? She’s the luckiest girl alive!” “I’m crying, I believe in true love again!” Suddenly, a long-time follower dropped a jarring comment: “Wait, who is this girl? Wasn't that girl who used to appear in his early vlogs his actual girlfriend?” Back when we first launched the channel, I occasionally stepped in front of the lens. Naturally, old fans still remembered my face. Within seconds, the chat latched onto the breadcrumb, shifting the tide: “Hold up. Does Ethan have a girlfriend? Why is he proposing to someone else?” “Wait, so who was the girl behind the scenes? Did she get dumped?” “Is this a live stream of a cheater proposing to his side piece??” Watching the chat unravel, I calmly tapped my screen and sent a top-tier gift—a Galaxy animation that pinned my profile at the top of the viewer list. The comment section exploded further. Chloe’s rehearsed smile began to fracture. Panic flashed in her eyes as she looked at Ethan for help. Ethan immediately stepped up to the mic, exuding calm authority. "Everyone, let's clear up the confusion. The girl from the early videos was just an assistant. Please don't misinterpret things." The chat spiraled into vicious speculation. “Wait, an assistant was acting that cozy with him on camera? Was she trying to be a homewrecker?” “No wonder Ethan did a public proposal! He needed to give his real girlfriend security against the sneaky assistant! What a man!” “Ew, so the old assistant was a clout-chasing side chick the whole time?” Before long, hundreds of comments branded me as a desperate homewrecker. I stared unblinkingly at the screen, my breath catching in my throat. Would Ethan say a single word to defend me? On screen, Ethan glanced down at the toxic comments, offered zero clarification, and simply tightened his grip around Chloe’s hand. To the internet, silence was a loud confession. In the end, I didn't even get to keep the title of ex-girlfriend. The numbness in my chest settled so deep that the pain stopped registering altogether. Chloe looked at the camera, wearing an expression of delicate, patronizing grace. "Guys, let's not attack other women, okay?" she purred, weaponizing faux-feminism. "Everyone deserves kindness." Her calculated magnanimity won over thousands of new followers on the spot. Overnight, I went from Ethan’s loyal partner of five years to a despised, scheming side chick. They stepped on my reputation to climb to the top of the algorithmic ladder. They bathed in applause and floral tributes, while burying me beneath an avalanche of internet vitriol. In my dark apartment, with the lights off, I lay on the couch until my tears finally ran dry. Ethan, I originally intended to walk away quietly and let you go. Not anymore. Since I had the power to lift you onto that pedestal, I have the power to drag you down into the mud.