NO LONGER HIS PLAYTHING：I'm the Heroine of My Own Story novel Chapter 18

Zephyr and Katherine broke up the following week.

A new thread appeared on the school Discord almost immediately.

It didn't name names, but the implications were crystal clear:

I was painted as the obsessive ex who couldn't let go, who deliberately sabotaged his relationship with Katherine, who used my body to manipulate him back into my life.

Though everyone was referred to by initials, it was painfully obvious who was being discussed.

The post included eerily specific details about past interactions with Zephyr.

Katherine's digital fingerprints were all over it.

I read the entire thread during lunch and felt... nothing.

Turns out, letting go of someone becomes surprisingly easy once you actually decide to do it.

When you finally peel someone else's name off your heart, you discover your own voice had been there all along.

I'd reclaimed myself, and that was worth more than any relationship.

During AP Calc, a girl I barely knew passed me a note asking if it was true I'd "stolen Z back from K."

Fed up with the high school drama, I made a public post that evening:

Phoebe: [Going offline to focus on finals and college prep. Stop tagging me. If you can solve this problem, maybe then we can discuss my personal life]

I attached the hardest differential equation from last year's national competition.

The comments filled with people posting "?" and calling me everything from "ice cold" to "academic queen."

Only Sid replied with a complete, elegant solution.

Adding: [Does your desk partner pass the test?]

I responded: [You've definitely seen this before. Doesn't count]

Sid: [Give me your hardest problem then. I'll earn it]

Me: [...]

Zephyr commented too: [See you at UC Davis @Phoebe]

UC Davis—the school I had once rearranged my entire future around.

My friends told me, "Guys always realize what they had once it's gone. Classic."

That Zephyr was experiencing this storybook redemption arc.

But I didn't need that storyline anymore—I was writing my own.

After graduation, I handled one final piece of unfinished business.

When Zephyr arrived at my house that June evening, UC Davis acceptance letter in hand, proudly knocking on our front door—

All he found was an empty house with a SOLD sign in the yard and a sealed wooden box on the porch.

Inside were all the artifacts from our shared history I'd methodically collected.

On top was the little dog plushie he'd made for me so many years ago.

A simple note attached to its worn ear read:

Goodbye, Zephyr.

I'm choosing a different story.