Live on Air: Her Public Betrayal Chapter 1

We were on the set of a celebrity talk show, my ex and I.

The host posed a dramatic question to the panel. “If you knew you were about to die and could only leave one letter, what would you write?”

I paused, then wrote down three wishes on the card provided. When it was my turn to share, I read them aloud.

“First, I hope everyone forgets me—”

A sharp, derisive laugh cut me off.

Mario Atkinson’s face was a mask of icy contempt. “Aren’t you full of yourself, Cora?” he sneered. “Who do you think is going to remember you? Who gives a damn if you live or die?”

I managed a patient smile and said nothing.

He didn't know.

This letter wasn't a prop for a game. It was my last will and testament.

* * *

The taping was halfway through, and by now, everyone was used to Mario’s constant digs at me. After his latest barb, the host just laughed it off, smoothing things over with practiced ease.

“Mario, always the comedian, hahaha.” He then turned to me, his voice gentle. “Cora, would you mind sharing the rest of your letter?”

I nodded, my expression carefully neutral. “My second wish is to find a new home for Mochi. And the last is to donate my entire estate to charity.”

Sensing the unspoken question, I quickly added, “Mochi is my calico cat.”

The other guests nodded in understanding.

More accurately, Mochi was our cat. Mario’s and mine. I’d found him on a rainy day, a tiny, shivering thing following my every step. I couldn’t leave him. My work kept me on the road, so when I was away, Mario would look after him.

He claimed to hate pets. He’d pinch his nose while cleaning the litter box, muttering under his breath the whole time. But no one took better care of that cat than he did. He’d spend hours researching the best food and a fortune on toys and treats.

When we fell apart, he left Mochi with me.

As I finished speaking, Mario, right on cue, went in for another kill.

He let out a cold, merciless laugh. “Cora, with a list that detailed, you’d better actually be dying.”

The other guests had given vague, sentimental answers. Mine, by contrast, was unnervingly specific. The atmosphere turned thick with tension. The host froze, unsure how to salvage the moment.

It was Liam, the actor sitting next to me, who broke the silence.

“Mario,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Maybe try to keep it classy. We’re on camera.”

He then smoothly passed me a bottle of water. I took it, my movements slow. Liam and I had just starred in a hit drama together, and the entire internet was “shipping” us. The studio encouraged us to play it up for the publicity, so I didn’t refuse his gesture of support.

Mario’s gaze, however, was fixed on the water bottle in my hand, his eyes burning holes into it. Just as I braced myself for another cutting remark, he lowered his gaze and said something strange.

“I’m thirsty.”

For a beat, I was confused. Then, I offered him the bottle.

He took it, but he didn’t drink. He just toyed with it for a moment before casually tossing it into a nearby trash can. His eyes, full of malice, flicked to Liam.

“Sorry,” he said, the word dripping with venom. “I don’t drink that brand.”

It was the ultimate power play, a move only someone like Mario could get away with. Backed by the immense wealth of the Atkinson family, he was untouchable.

The host, wiping sweat from his brow, cautiously tried to steer the show back on track. “Mario, would you mind showing us what you wrote?”

For the first time all night, Mario smiled, looking surprisingly agreeable. “Of course.”

But when the camera zoomed in on his card, the host’s breath caught. Mario’s bold, aggressive handwriting filled the screen. Everyone stared, stunned into silence.

He had written:

“Before I die, I have to take Cora with me.”

He smirked, reading the words aloud with a swaggering arrogance that filled the studio. The others looked at me with pity.

But my face remained a calm, placid mask.

It was only natural that Mario Atkinson hated me. After all, the way I had broken up with him was unforgivable.