When My Boyfriend Chose Her Over My Broken Body

Kimora waited until Ashton left his phone on the bathroom counter. It was during one of those lazy Sunday mornings at his penthouse. Coffee brewing. Sunlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He was in the shower, singing off-key to something playing through the speaker.

She picked up his phone. No passcode between them. Never had been. That's what best friends were—total access, total trust.

She opened his photos. Scrolled past the cars, the track days, the group shots from poker nights. Found the folder buried three layers deep. The one labeled with a single initial that wasn't hers.

There it was. The video.

She watched thirty seconds. Just enough to confirm. Then she tapped the share icon and airdropped it to her own phone. The transfer took four seconds. She deleted the sent notification from his phone, cleared the share history, and set the device back exactly where he'd left it.

The shower turned off. Kimora was scrolling through Instagram when Ashton walked out, towel around his waist, steam following him into the bedroom.

"Coffee's ready," she called without looking up.

"You're the best, Kim."

She smiled at her screen.

---

The plan took shape over the next two weeks. Kimora was patient. Methodical. She'd learned a long time ago that the best destruction looked like accident.

The racetrack event was perfect. Ashton's amateur racing league hosted it twice a year—high-profile, exclusive, attended by everyone who mattered in his world. Manufacturers sent reps. Influencers showed up for content. There was always a DJ, always champagne, always massive LED screens broadcasting live feeds from the track.

Kimora volunteered to help coordinate. Ashton didn't question it. She always helped.

She met with the AV tech two days before the event. Told him she had a surprise video tribute for Ashton—something fun to play during the break between heats. The tech was young, eager to please. He loaded the file onto the system without previewing it. Why would he?

Kimora tipped him two hundred dollars and told him to cue it up at exactly 3:15 PM. Right after the second heat. When the crowd would be gathered around the screens, drinks in hand, attention focused.

Then she handled the logistics.

The service road that ran parallel to the main track was rarely used during events. But it was the fastest route from the parking lot to the viewing platform. If someone needed to get to the screens in a hurry—say, to stop something from playing—they'd take that road.

Kimora drove it three times. Noted the blind curve at the halfway point. The spot where the asphalt dipped slightly and the shoulder widened. She bought two boxes of industrial tire spikes online. The kind used for parking enforcement. Sharp enough to shred rubber in seconds.

She scattered them across the service road the night before the event. Wore gloves. Took her time. Made sure they were positioned just past the blind curve, where someone moving fast wouldn't see them until it was too late.

When she was done, she stood at the edge of the road and looked back toward the parking lot. Imagined the trajectory. The panic. The inevitable momentum carrying a small electric scooter directly into the spikes and onto the track.

She didn't feel guilty. She felt efficient.

---

The morning of the event, Kimora woke up early. She laid out her outfit on the bed. White jeans. A fitted black tank top. Understated. The kind of thing that photographs well in a crisis. She practiced her expression in the mirror. Shock. Horror. Helplessness. She needed to look frozen. Vulnerable. The kind of damsel Ashton's instincts would override everything else to protect.

She curled her hair. Applied minimal makeup. Chose small gold earrings that wouldn't distract.

When Ashton picked her up at noon, she was perfect.

---

They spent the afternoon at the track. Ashton prepped his car. Kimora stayed close. Handed him tools. Laughed at his jokes. Let her hand rest on his shoulder when she leaned in to look at the engine.

She checked her phone twice. The AV tech confirmed the file was loaded. 3:15 PM. Locked in.

At 2:00 PM, Averie texted Ashton. Kimora saw the notification light up his phone on the workbench.

*Hope it's going well. Miss you.*

Ashton didn't reply. He was too focused on adjusting the suspension.

Kimora picked up his phone and handed it to him. "Averie's checking in."

He glanced at the screen. Set it back down. "I'll text her later."

Kimora nodded. Kept her face neutral.

---

That evening, Ashton and Kimora sat in his living room. The event was tomorrow. Everything was set. He scrolled through the race lineup on his tablet. She sat beside him on the couch, legs tucked under her, a glass of wine in her hand.

"Is Averie coming tomorrow?" she asked casually.

Ashton shook his head without looking up. "Nah. It's just a guys' thing. Plus you. She'd be bored."

"You sure? She might want to support you."

"She doesn't even like cars, Kim. It's fine."

Kimora sipped her wine. Let the silence settle. Then, softly: "I think she feels left out sometimes."

Ashton finally looked up. Frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Just... I don't know. I feel bad that she's not part of this world. It's such a big part of your life."

Ashton's frown deepened. He looked back at his tablet. "She's fine. She knew what she was getting into."

Kimora nodded. Took another sip. Let it go.

---

The next morning, Averie called Ashton while he was loading gear into the Lamborghini. Kimora stood beside him, holding his helmet.

She watched his face as he answered. Listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Babe, I told you. It's not your kind of event... No, it's just going to be loud and boring... Kim's only here because she helps with logistics..."

A pause. Averie was saying something. Ashton's jaw tightened.

"Averie, I said no. Don't make this a thing... I'll see you tonight, okay? I gotta go."

He hung up. Tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Looked at Kimora and shook his head.

"She wanted to come?"

"Yeah. I don't know why she's being clingy lately."

Kimora handed him the helmet. Gave him a sympathetic smile that didn't reach her eyes. "She probably just misses you."

"She'll be fine."

Kimora nodded. Climbed into the passenger seat. Buckled her seatbelt.

As they pulled out of the garage, she checked her phone one last time. The AV tech had sent a final confirmation.

*All set for 3:15.*

Kimora deleted the message. Looked out the window. Felt the hum of the engine beneath her.

Everything was in place.