---- Chapter 12 | found a rhythm in the quiet upstate town. My job at Rosie' s was undemanding. Pouring coffee, wiping tables, the clatter of plates a soothing backdrop to my thoughts. The anonymity was a balm. Here, | was just Mia, the new waitress. Not Ethan Cole' s discarded plaything. | thought I' d found peace. Then, one afternoon, a group of teenagers came into the diner, giggling over a phone. One of them looked up, saw me, and her eyes widened. She elbowed her friend, pointing. "Look! It' s her! The girl from that gossip site!" My blood ran cold. Gossip site? | tried to ignore them, my hands shaking as | refilled their water glasses. But their whispers followed me. "Yeah, the one who tried to steal that rich guy!" "Total homewrecker." ---- "She looks so... ordinary." | fled to the kitchen, my face burning. The malicious words, the pointing fingers, it was the gala all over again, just on a smaller, more intimate scale. Later that evening, huddled in my small room, | found it. The local gossip blog Noah had dealt with before. Anew post. This time, it wasn't just a story. It was pictures. The humiliating photos from the gala. Me, tear-streaked. Me, looking awkward and lost. Splashed across the screen, under a lurid headline: "NYC Society Reject Hides in Our Town!" The comments underneath were brutal. "She looks like a mess." "Probably deserved whatever she got." "Keep trash like her out of our town." Tears streamed down my face. It was Isabella. It had to be. She wouldn' t let me go. She would hunt me down, ruin any chance of happiness | might find. ---- The pain was a physical thing, a tightening in my chest that made it hard to breathe. | felt exposed, violated, like a bug pinned to a board for everyone to mock. My phone, the new prepaid one |' d bought, started buzzing with unknown numbers. Blocked calls. Vicious texts. "Whore." "Gold-digger." "You should be ashamed to show your face." They were coming from local numbers. The story, the pictures, had spread like wildfire. | threw the phone against the wall, shattering it. | curled up on my bed, pulling the thin blanket over my head, wishing | could disappear. A knock on the door. | ignored it. Another knock, more insistent. "Mia? It' s Noah. Are you in there?" | didn' t answer. ---- The lock clicked. He must have gotten a key from Sarah at the bakery. He found me huddled on the bed, shaking. He saw the shattered phone, the laptop open to the hateful blog post. His face was grim. "Mia," he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "| am so sorry." He gently pulled the blanket away from my face. "| came as soon as | heard. Sarah called me." He held out a new phone, still in its box. "Here. Let' s get you a new number. And |' II deal with this." He gestured to the laptop. "Why?" | whispered, my voice hoarse. "Why are you helping me?" After everything. After the town had turned on me. He looked at me, his expression earnest. "Because it' s the right thing to do, Mia. Because no one deserves this." His simple, principled words broke through my despair. A sob escaped me, then another. The tears |' d been holding ---- back flooded out. He didn' t try to stop me. He just sat there, a quiet, patient presence, until the storm passed. My mother found out, of course. Someone sent her the link. She called, her voice breaking. "Oh, Mia, my baby. What have they done to you?" The shame felt was immense, not for myself, but for the pain it was causing her. "It wasn' t my fault, Mom," | whispered, the words |' d never been able to say to Ethan or Isabella. "I didn' t do anything wrong." "| know, baby, | know," she said, her voice fierce with protective love. "We' Il fight this. We won' t let them win." But how do you fight whispers? How do you fight a powerful, vindictive enemy who has all the resources in the world? "It's nouse, Mom," | said, my voice flat with resignation. "They' re too powerful. We can' t win." "Then we' Il leave," she said, her voice suddenly firm. "We' Il sell the house. We' II go somewhere else. Somewhere they can' t find you. Just you and me, Mia. We' II start over." Her willingness to abandon everything for me, her unwavering support, it was a lifeline. ---- | looked at my reflection in the darkened window. A pale, haunted face. | couldn' t keep running. | couldn' t let my mother sacrifice her life for me. For her sake, for my own, | had to find a way to stand up. The public scrutiny continued. Cold shoulders at the diner. Whispers in the grocery store. But Noah was a constant. He helped me file police reports for harassment, though we both knew it was a long shot. He walked with me through town, a silent dare to anyone who might want to cause trouble. One evening, as we were leaving the diner, a car swerved towards us, its engine revving. Noah yanked me back onto the sidewalk just in time. The car sped off into the darkness. My heart hammered against my ribs. "That was deliberate," Noah said, his voice tight with anger. The threats weren't just online anymore. The next day, Noah came to me with a proposal. ---- "A friend of mine, an architect | know from college, has a firm in Portland, Oregon. They' re looking for someone with your skills. Community-focused design. It' s a good firm, Mia. A fresh start. | can give you a strong recommendation." Portland. A continent away. Achance to rebuild, far from Isabella' s reach. "I Il take it," | said, a new resolve hardening within me. | wouldn' t run, not exactly. | would move towards something better. The farewell with my mother was tearful but full of hope. "You go build your life, Mia," she said, holding me tight. "And you show them. You show them all." | would. | promised myself | would.