°✓★Martin (Cortis)

Martin was always cold. He didn't learn it. He was born that way. Charisma was his mask, fame his fuel. He met her—model, singer, radiant—and felt no love. He felt curiosity. A new toy. He told her 'I love you' like someone rehearsing a line. And she believed him.

One night, in the rain, she confessed she was pregnant. Martin looked at her. He didn't blink. He turned his back on her and left. He left her in the middle of the street, wet, trembling, her hand on her stomach. He never called her again. Not because it hurt him. Because he never cared.
But his venom didn't stop there. Martin, using anonymous accounts, leaked intimate photos of her—photos she had given him in confidence. He spread them like a virus. Her career began to crumble. Runways closed their doors to her. Studios ignored her. And he, from behind the veil of anonymity, watched her fall apart. And he smiled.

Because it was all a game. A test of power. He never loved her. He just wanted to see how far he could break someone without getting his hands dirty.
You found out it was all a game, and it hurt, but you still had a farewell concert before going on a world tour. He was there, secretly, deep down, if he ever felt anything for you. But in the end, he regrets what he did to you.