His Cruel Joke, My Broken Heart

I did everything for Damian, my childhood best friend. His promise-"Get in shape, Lena, and I'll take you to prom"-was the only thing that mattered. I starved myself and ran until I collapsed, all for the future he dangled in front of me.

But on his birthday, clutching the cake I' d baked, I overheard the truth. The promise was a cruel joke. To him and his real girlfriend, Gigi, I was just a "fat pig" whose desperate attempts to impress him were "hilarious to watch."

They didn't stop there. They framed me for bullying, and Damian publicly denied ever caring for me. He then got my Stanford scholarship revoked with a malicious report and stood by as Gigi plastered my most private love letters all over school.

I became a pariah, a "delusional, conniving bitch." The boy I had loved my whole life, the one who was supposed to be my protector, had orchestrated my complete and utter destruction for a laugh.

Yet he still expected me to follow him to college. So when he called on move-in day, buzzing with excitement for our shared future, I let him ramble on about our plans. Then, I calmly cut through his fantasy.

"I'm not here, Damian."

Chapter 1

My body gave out. One moment, my legs churned on the treadmill, the next, the world spun, and I crumpled to the gym floor. Black spots danced before my eyes. This wasn' t how it was supposed to go.

Damian Cameron, my best friend since we were kids, and the boy I secretly loved, had made a promise. "Get in shape, Lena, and I'll take you to senior prom," he' d whispered last summer, his eyes twinkling. "Everyone already thinks we're a thing. Let's make it official."

His words had been a beacon. A promise of a future I desperately wanted. A future where I wasn't just "Elena, the smart girl," but "Elena, Damian's girlfriend."

I knew my weight was an issue. Polycystic Ovary Syndrome made it a constant battle, a silent struggle no one truly understood. Medications, hormonal imbalances, the relentless cravings. It felt like my body was betraying me. But Damian' s promise, that was worth fighting for.

So I fought. I cut down my food to miserable portions. I ran until my lungs burned and my muscles screamed. I denied myself every comfort, every craving. My nutritionist warned me about the rapid weight loss, about the risks, but I ignored her. Damian was worth it. Prom was worth it.

The collapse was just a minor setback, I told myself, pushing away the throbbing in my head. I rested for a few hours, forcing down some juice, then got back to work. Today was Damian' s eighteenth birthday. I couldn' t miss it. I had to show him how much I cared, how much I had changed, for him.

I spent hours in the kitchen, carefully baking his favorite chocolate fudge cake. I used a special recipe, something healthier he