He Called Off Our Forever

Amanda POV: My head pounded, a relentless drum against my skull. My eyes fluttered open to reveal a dimly lit room, stark and unfamiliar. The air was stale, smelling faintly of cheap perfume and cleaning chemicals. My wrists and ankles were bound, not tightly enough to cut off circulation, but enough to prevent any meaningful movement. I was lying on a cot, a thin, scratchy blanket covering me. Panic clawed at my throat. I tried to scream, but my voice was hoarse, a mere croak. I thrashed, pulling against the restraints, but they held fast. Where am I? What happened? The door creaked open, and a figure emerged from the shadows. A tall, impeccably dressed woman with sharp features and an even sharper smile. Her eyes glittered with a predatory amusement. "Awake, finally?" she purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Welcome, Amanda Stevens. Or should I say, Ms. Gold Digger?" My blood ran cold. "Who are you? What do you want?" She chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. She held up a tablet, turning it so I could see the screen. It displayed a contract, filled with legal jargon, but one line stood out in bold, underlined red: "Penalty for Breach of Contract: Immediate Seizure and Forced Compliance." "You signed a contract with my agency, Ms. Stevens," she said, her smile widening into a sneer. "A binding agreement to become our exclusive influencer. You' ve been in breach for weeks. Ignoring our calls, failing to attend scheduled shoots. We had to take… drastic measures." "That' s a lie!" I gasped, my mind reeling. "I never signed anything with an influencer agency!" She scrolled down, zooming in on a signature. My signature. Scrawled in a familiar, elegant script. My heart hammered against my ribs. It was undeniably mine. But how? "Oh, but you did," she said, her voice laced with mock pity. "Or at least, your signature did. We have it all perfectly legal. See? It' s all here. Your image rights, your social media presence, your entire brand. All ours. Now, you will comply. Or face the consequences." "This is a mistake!" I pleaded, fresh panic rising. "I' m a fashion designer, not an influencer! I have a scholarship to Paris! I' m leaving the country!" She laughed, a chilling, dismissive sound. "Paris? Darling, you' re not going anywhere. Not until you' ve fulfilled your contractual obligations." She snapped her fingers, and another woman, equally cold-eyed, entered the room. "Take her to the styling room. She needs a complete makeover. We have a shoot in two hours." The second woman started to untie my restraints, her movements rough. I struggled, tears welling in my eyes. "No! You can' t do this! This is kidnapping!" "Kidnapping?" The agency head raised an perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "It' s a legally binding contract, darling. You just forgot you signed it. Or perhaps, someone else signed it for you." She gave me a knowing look. "It happens all the time in this business. Girls desperate for a break." My mind raced. Someone else signed it for me. Who? Who would do this? And then, a chilling thought pricked at my mind. The "future self" on the rooftop. Her fate, Jenna' s! The fall, the injury, the stalker! It was all meant for Jenna! This, too, was meant for Jenna. This influencer contract. Jenna, the scholarship student, always striving for recognition, for status. Jenna, who plagiarized my phoenix design. Jenna, who was Benjamin' s "soulmate." The truth hit me like a physical blow. Jenna had signed this contract, possibly in my name, or a similar name, to launch her own career. And when Benjamin' s affections had shifted, when he had started protecting her, the "karma" had shifted too. Not just the stalker and the fall, but this too. I was living Jenna' s nightmare. A wave of terror washed over me, colder than any Parisian winter. Jenna. She was doing this. She had orchestrated it all. She wanted my life, and now she was getting me to live her worst parts. The second woman grabbed my arm, yanking me off the cot. My injured arm flared with pain. "Hey! Be gentle with the merchandise!" the agency head snapped, though her eyes held no real concern. They dragged me into a brightly lit room filled with racks of revealing, garish clothes, and a vanity table overflowing with heavy makeup. It was everything I hated about the superficial world of fast fashion and social media. "Take this off," the stylist commanded, shoving a skimpy, sequined top at me. "We need to get you ready." "No!" I cried, resisting. "I won' t wear this! I won' t do any of this!" The agency head walked in, her face devoid of patience. "Listen, sweetie. You play along, or we make your life a living hell. We know where your family lives. We know where you go to school. And we know some rather embarrassing details about your recent breakup with a certain wealthy heir." She smiled, a cruel, knowing curve of her lips. "Benjamin Kane wouldn' t lift a finger for you now, would he? Especially not after you rejected him and ran off to Paris." My heart sank. Benjamin. He wouldn' t. He was too caught up in Jenna, too convinced I was a gold digger. My last shred of hope, that he might realize his mistake, dissolved into dust. But then, a flicker of defiance ignited within me. He wouldn' t help me. But I could help myself. I had to. "Fine," I said, my voice shaking, but firm. "But I need to use the restroom first." The agency head narrowed her eyes, then shrugged. "Make it quick. And don' t try anything funny. This place is locked down." They escorted me to a small, cramped bathroom. As soon as the door clicked shut, I fumbled for my phone, which I had secretly slipped into my pocket before being taken. My hands trembled as I unlocked it. Who could I call? My parents? They' d panic. Professor Davies? Benjamin? Benjamin. My fingers hovered over his contact. He wouldn' t help. He hadn' t helped before. But he was the only one who truly knew the extent of Jenna' s manipulations, even if he didn' t realize it yet. He was the key. He had to know. I dialed his number. It rang once, twice, then connected. "Amanda? Is that really you? Where are you? Are you okay? I' ve been trying to––" His voice was frantic, filled with a sudden, desperate concern. "Benjamin," I choked out, tears streaming down my face. "I… I' ve been kidnapped. It' s Jenna. She signed me up for some influencer agency. They think I' m her. My arm… it hurts. Please, Benjamin, you have to help me!" The words tumbled out, raw and panicked. Before he could respond, a saccharine voice cut in from his end. "Benjamin, darling? Who are you talking to? Is everything alright?" It was Jenna. My blood ran cold. She was with him. At this very moment. "Jenna? What are you doing there?" Benjamin' s voice was filled with confusion. Then, Jenna' s voice, clear and sickeningly sweet, came through the phone, now directed at me. "Oh, Amanda. Still causing trouble, are we? Don' t worry, Benjamin, she' s just… confused. She tends to get a little dramatic when she doesn' t get her way." My heart shattered all over again. He was going to believe her. He always did. "Benjamin, don' t listen to her! She' s lying! She set this up! She' s trying to ruin my life!" I screamed into the phone, my voice cracking. But Jenna' s voice, calm and steady, overrode mine. "Benjamin, tell her to stop. She' s just jealous. She always has been. She probably just wants to make you feel guilty. Don' t fall for it." I heard Benjamin' s conflicted sigh. "Amanda, I… I don' t know what to believe. Jenna says you' re fine. She says you just ran off because you were angry. Is this true?" The receiver was snatched from my hand. The agency head stood over me, her face a mask of fury. "What did I tell you about trying anything funny?!" she snarled, ripping the phone away. With a savage twist, she snapped it in half. My last link to the outside world, to any hope of rescue, was gone. And Benjamin, the man I had loved for seven years, believed her. He believed Jenna.