Page 2 of Never Date a Celebrity

Chelsea kept smiling at the phone. “Sometimes two people love each other but outgrow each other.”

“Chelsea.” Imogen’s voice came out thin. She swallowed. “Would you mind…um, would you turn that off?”

Chelsea lifted one finger to silence her. “I’ve changed so much these last few years,” she told her audience. “I’ve worked hard, built a career, become more confident. But not everyone wants to see you grow.”

Imogen felt the blood drain from her face. “Please stop filming. Let’s talk. If I’ve done something to upset you then we can talk about it. Just us.”

Chelsea ignored her. “Sometimes the people closest to you keep you small because it makes them feel better.”

Imogen recoiled. “What are you doing?”

“Being honest.”

“Honest? Where is the honesty here?” Imogen would never make Chelsea feel that way. She was her biggest cheerleader.

Chelsea’s eyes flashed, but her smile never slipped. “See? This is exactly what I mean. Negativity. Constant negativity.”

Imogen could barely speak. “I have done nothing but support you.”

“Support? You call that support? You tolerated me, at best,” Chelsea snapped. “There’s a difference. You’ve never liked what I do. My passion. My people.”

“That’s not true. I’ve always just wanted to protect you.”

“From what?” Chelsea laughed lightly to the camera. “Success?”

“From people being vile to you. From running yourself into the ground. From strangers knowing where you lived.”

“Oh my God.” Chelsea rolled her eyes. “You always made everything a drama.”

Imogen stared at her. This woman had sobbed in her arms over hate comments. Had begged Imogen to read through messages first when trolls got cruel. Had once made Imogen drive across the city at midnight because someone online called her the most horrible of things.

And now she was acting like Imogen had imagined it all. Like she hadn’t held Chelsea tight, and comforted her, and reminded her of how incredible she was.

Chelsea turned back to the camera, eyes suddenly glossy. “I need someone who believes in me. Someone excited by my future, not embarrassed by it.”

Imogen’s heart cracked clean through. “I have never been embarrassed about you.”

Chelsea looked at her then—really looked. Cold. Impatient. “I’m live here, Imogen. Your lies and excuses aren’t going to work. My followers will keep me strong.” She turned back. “Won’t you, guys?”

Imogen’s eyes filled instantly. She hated that the camera could probably see. Hated that strangers would watch this moment and discuss whether she deserved it. Share it so more people could see. She stood. “Please turn it off.”

Chelsea scoffed. “God, Imogen, not everything is about you.”

Not everything. As if Chelsea hadn’t summoned her there under false pretences. As if Chelsea hadn’t just caused her unbelievable pain and used it for content. As if she hadn’t engineered every angle of this humiliation. Something inside Imogen gave way. Not loudly. Just finally. Months, maybe even years of apologising when Chelsea had turned from sweet to cruel out of nowhere. Years of walking on eggshells to avoid arguments. Years of waiting for kindness to return. She looked at Chelsea and felt the last of her hope die. “I don’t understand. You asked me to come because you said you were having a bad day.”

Chelsea shrugged. “I needed you here for context. My followers deserve my whole, authentic truth.”

The words hit harder than the breakup itself. Context. Not girlfriend. Not partner. Not person. Imogen was simply a prop.

With one final look at an unrecognisable version of the woman she had mistakenly given her heart to, Imogen turned and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Chelsea asked, her tone full of annoyance.

“Anywhere else.” All Imogen knew was that she needed to get out of there. The torrential rain outside was warmer than Chelsea’s flat.

“Fine. Go. Oh, and, Imogen?” Chelsea called after her. “Leave your key on the table.”

In a daze, Imogen somehow managed to take the key off her bunch and set it beside the Tesco bag before she hurried out the door. She didn’t look back. If she had, she might have shattered. At least she made it to the stairs before the first sob tore out of her.