Chapter 1When my boyfriend picks me up from work, I practically sprint down the stairs.
Today's our seven-year anniversary. We've had this night planned for weeks.
I yank the passenger door open—nearly launch my bag straight into some girl's lap.
She doesn't even flinch.
Just sits there with this sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face.
"Oh hey, Emma!" she chirps. "Hope you don't mind—I get super carsick, so..."
I cut my eyes to my boyfriend in the driver's seat.
He's got that guilty-puppy look going.
But Little Miss Carsick beats him to it: "You're totally cool with the backseat, right?"
I don't answer.
Slam the door.
March straight to his window instead.
Seven years together. He knows I'm pissed.
He rolls down the window: "Babe, she was heading the same direction, I figured—"
CRACK.
My palm connects with his face.
"If she gets carsick, why the hell did you let her in the car? Want her puking all over your upholstery?"
Dead silence.
Her fake smile crumbles. His jaw drops.
"Emma, wait—she's my coworker, this is Zoe. The restaurant's by her place, I thought—"
I turn my attention back to Little Miss Zoe.
Face gone sheet-white.
"Relax, sweetie." I flash my own saccharine smile. "I'm not gonna hit you. I'd have to sanitize my hands after."
She stutters: "I-I'm really sorry, I just... I really do get carsick..."
Eyes darting to him for backup.
Too bad her knight in shining armor is fumbling with his seatbelt, trying to get out.
I plant my hand on his shoulder. Shove him back down.
"Stay."
Zoe scrambles for her seatbelt, eyes suddenly wet.
"Please don't fight because of me! I can sit in back, I swear—"
She throws open the door, practically tumbles out.
All wounded-bird theatrics.
"Emma, you take the front. Really."
I tilt my head. Voice dripping with fake concern:
"But honey, didn't you say you get carsick? What if you vomit all over the backseat?"
She freezes mid-step.
Caught in her own lie.
Can't sit in front now. Can't sit in back without looking like a liar.
I lean down to the window.
"So what do you think we should do?"
Warning in my voice. He hears it loud and clear.
He clears his throat: "Zoe... maybe you should catch a ride home yourself. There's nowhere else to sit..."
Right.
Four-seater car. Two's company, three's a homewrecker.
Zoe glances around like a taxi might materialize.
My office is in the industrial district—no bus stops, no subway, nothing.
Her eyes finally spill over with tears.
Keeps up the martyr act: "It's fine, I'll walk. I've been sitting all day anyway."
I slide into the passenger seat—my seat.
Slam the door.
He's still watching her in the rearview mirror with that pathetic kicked-puppy expression.
"Drive."
Voice like cut glass.
"Take me home. Anniversary's canceled."
Seven years together. He picks today to pull this shit.
He finally tears his eyes away, voice going all soft and patronizing:
"Babe, she's just a kid fresh out of college. She doesn't know any better. Why are you so worked up over giving her a ride?"
I don't care about him giving coworkers rides.
I'm not some insecure teenager.
But her little boundary-testing games?
Her fake-innocent act?
And him letting her get away with it?
That's the problem.
Chapter 2
I don't answer. Just stare out the window.
He fumbles beside me, pulls out a small gift box and shoves it in my face.
"Today's present—one of them..."
I don't take it.
The light turns red.
He stops the car, cradling the box like it's gonna fix everything.
Rubs his cheek against my arm like a needy puppy.
"You already hit me, okay? I fucked up. But the gift didn't do anything wrong." His voice goes all whiny. "Come on, don't take it out on the present~"
He's not classically handsome—just clean-cut with soft features and puppy-dog eyes that droop when he begs.
Hard not to feel something when he looks like that, especially with his cheek swelling red where I slapped him.
I take the box. Open it.
Inside sits a simple silver bracelet. Nothing fancy—just the kind little girls wear, only bigger.
He's bought me gold jewelry before. Plenty of it. But silver? Never.
My throat tightens. He remembered.
Growing up, my parents wanted sons, not daughters. I clawed my way here alone, and no matter how much money I have now, there's always that one stupid thing missing—the cheap silver bracelet every other girl got as a kid.
He glances over, sees my face soften, and pounces on it immediately.
"Babe, I booked that restaurant a month in advance. Just... give them face? Please?"
I crack a smile despite myself.
Fine. It's a small thing anyway.
"Okay."
But these "small things" keep piling up.
Company dinner. Significant others invited. He was supposed to pick me up—then suddenly calls saying he can't make it.
Background noise: laughter, shouting, clinking glasses.
Something in my gut twists.
I don't realize why until I walk into the restaurant and push through the door—
There's my boyfriend surrounded by his team, getting peer-pressured into shots. And sitting right beside him?
Little Miss Zoe.
She's gazing up at him with doe eyes like he hung the fucking moon. He downs his drink, she slides her juice across the table without a word, and he takes it and chugs it down.
Smooth as silk.
Like they've done this a thousand times.
"Boss man, you can't keep taking drinks for the rookie!" one of his coworkers teases.
My boyfriend puffs up like a protective mother hen.
"Zoe doesn't drink, you all know that! Why do you keep pushing her?"
He slams his hand on the table. "She owes you one drink? Fine—I'll take three!"
My stomach turns.
I'm halfway to leaving—hand already on the door—but I stop.
Fuck that. I'm not walking away from this.
I stride straight over.
He spots me and jumps up to introduce me. "Everyone, this is my girlfriend! We're getting engaged next month."
Chorus of "Hi, future Mrs.!"
I smile sweetly at the table.
"Nice to meet you all. I'm Emma—his girlfriend." I let my eyes slide to Zoe. "You know, the kind who might actually get married. Unlike Zoe here, who's just a female friend who definitely won't."
Dead fucking silence.
Everyone freezes. Eyes darting around the table like they're waiting for someone else to speak first.
My words hang in the air like a grenade.
Most girls would save face in public, keep quiet, deal with it at home. Not me. If I don't sleep tonight, neither does anyone else.
Zoe goes sheet-white. Her eyes brim with tears.
My boyfriend scrambles to cover. "Haha, she's joking! She loves messing around. Sit, sit!"
Everyone nervously laughs along. The tension eases slightly.
I sit down and turn directly to Zoe.
"So I heard you don't drink?"
She shrinks back, voice tiny. "I... I just graduated college, I'm not really—"
I grab the bottle and pour two full glasses—one for me, one for her.
"Want me to teach you?"
She doesn't dare refuse.
"...Okay..."
She picks up her glass with a trembling hand, about to drink—
I snatch it away and hand it to my boyfriend instead.
Then I smile like butter wouldn't melt.
"Sweetie, if you drink yourself to death, I'd be thrilled—but I'd still have to deal with the body." I lean in close. "And honey, your life's not worth the legal fees."
Brutal. Every word lands like a slap.
Zoe's pathetic victim act almost cracks. There's a flash of venom in her eyes, and her fists clench, then unclench, then clench again.
I wait for it.
But my boyfriend snaps first.
He grabs my arm and hauls me out of my chair.
Chapter 3
I don't answer. Just head straight for the bathroom.
He follows, sighing like I'm being unreasonable.
"Babe, seriously—what's gotten into you tonight?"
"Why are you being such a bitch to Zoe? She's like, fresh out of college."
I rip my wrist out of his grip, rubbing the red marks he left.
"She can't drink? Then she shouldn't have come."
"She can't drink? Then let someone else take the heat."
"She can't drink? Then maybe she should fucking learn."
My voice drops, ice-cold. "But no. You had to play hero."
He lets out this patronizing little laugh, voice going all soft like he's talking to a child.
"Oh, so that's what this is about."
"Look, she's my intern. I gotta watch out for her, you know? You're not in sales—you don't get the kind of pressure these kids are under."
He reaches for me again. "If it's bugging you that much, I won't cover for her anymore. Happy?"
Classic move. Doesn't matter if I'm right. Doesn't matter if I'm screaming at him in front of the entire office.
He always apologizes first.
That's why I said yes when he proposed. That's the guy I thought I was marrying.
But right now? I don't recognize him.
"We're getting engaged in four weeks."
"I know!" He pulls me into a hug, all puppy-dog energy. "Do you have any idea how long I had to beg you to say yes? Seven years, babe."
He whips out his phone, shoves the lock screen in my face—my photo with a countdown app underneath.
"I'm literally counting the days."
He nuzzles into my neck like some overgrown golden retriever.
And damn it. It works.
I soften. Just a little.
My brain starts spiraling.
Is this really worth blowing up a seven-year relationship? Canceling a wedding? Over… what? A ride home? Some drinks? A fucking juice box?
I'm exhausted. I can't do this anymore tonight.
"I'm going home."
"Okay, babe. I'll head out once we're done here."
He doesn't come home.
2 AM. My phone lights up.
[Heyyyy! Your boy got SO wasted lol. I don't know where u guys live so I just brought him back to mine~ Don't worry, I'll take care of him ?]
The photo: Her face pressed against his, tits practically spilling out of her dress. He's passed out cold on pink lace sheets, face flushed, mouth hanging open.
And there in the corner—whoops, totally accidental—her bra, tossed casually on the pillow next to his hand.
My blood turns to ice.
Something inside me just… breaks.
I sit by the window, staring out at nothing, brain replaying seven years on loop—late-night study sessions, shitty takeout, his terrible jokes, the ring on my finger.
All of it. Just… gone.
I don't sleep.
Instead, I screenshot the photo.
4 AM. I log into his Slack account.
Open his company channel. His department group. His "Sales Squad ?" thread.
I hit send.
No caption. Just the photo.
Then I silence my phone, lock the bedroom door, and bury myself under the covers.
His phone starts ringing before sunrise.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
He groans, fumbling for it in the dark.
His dad's voice rips through the speaker like a chainsaw.
"RYAN! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
Still half-drunk, he mumbles, "Home… where else…?"
"Then WHO is the woman in your BED?!"
"You're getting MARRIED next month! Do you have any idea what you've done?! Your mother is in tears! You've humiliated this entire family!"
The yelling jolts him awake. He sits up, wincing, rubbing his temples.
"What are you talking about? It's just Emma—"
He turns his head.
The words die in his throat.
Zoe's curled up next to him in last night's dress, head resting on the edge of the mattress like she stayed up all night watching over him.
His face goes white.
