Chapter 1On our wedding day, Zeke was diagnosed with aphasia.
He bailed. Said he didn't want to "hold me back."
I cried, held him tight, swore I'd love him forever—even if he never spoke another word.
Zeke's ego was massive. After that, he barely left the apartment.
So I worked—three jobs, every single day.
I washed dishes on my period, hands frozen in ice water. It didn't matter. I never complained.
Not once.
Until I collapsed from fever and heard him on the phone.
"Five years, Vivian. I kept my promise. Didn’t say a word to her. Hid every damn thing about myself. She hasn’t touched a single cent of my money."
"So we're good, right? Come back. I miss you."
Vivian—his childhood sweetheart.
I didn't say a word. Just booked a flight.
Game over, Zeke.
I wiped my tears and lay back down like nothing happened. Called out to him.
Zeke went dead silent. Rushed over, crouched down. Saw my puffy eyes and frowned, typing fast: "Why the hell are you crying?"
"Had a dream you could talk again."
He shot up. Kicked the chair so hard it slammed into the wall.
Same shit every time. Mention his voice? He loses it.
He typed furiously, shoving the phone in my face: "Harper, you're disgusted by me, aren't you?"
"If I'm such dead weight, then get the fuck out."
Before? I would've clung to him. Begged. Promised I'd never leave.
But right now? I felt nothing. Just this crushing, hollow exhaustion.
I rolled over. "That's not what I meant. I'm exhausted. Goodnight."
Silence. Just that busted AC wheezing in the corner.
Under the blankets, I pulled out my phone. Booked the flight.
Then I typed his name into the search bar.
Zeke Harrington—Heir to Harrington Global.
Tears came hot and silent, soaking into my pillow. I dug my nails into my palms until they bled.
Was he that good at lying? Or was I just that pathetic?
Five years. I'd seen nothing.
Neither of us slept.
He stayed in the living room, chain-smoking, voice low as he murmured sweet nothings.
Every word meant for Vivian.
When we fought? He never said a damn thing. Just watched me break down, then calmly typed: "Harper, I can't talk. Can't make you feel better."
When I had the flu—fever so high I was hallucinating—I dialed 911 myself. Zeke stood there silently. The operator hung up, thought it was a prank call. If our neighbor hadn't knocked, I would've died that winter.
I laughed bitterly.
Turns out my life wasn't worth Vivian's happiness.
Funny thing—I didn't love him as much anymore.
Chapter 2
Zeke woke up early. Made a whole spread for breakfast—first time in forever.
He pulled out an old lunchbox, polished it till it gleamed, even stuck cutesy stickers all over it.
Like yesterday never happened.
He typed: "You're sick. Made you oatmeal with cranberries—your favorite. Eat up. Meeting a friend."
I stirred the spoon slowly. My heart clenched.
I'm allergic to cranberries.
Cranberries were Vivian's thing. And that "friend"? He was picking her up from the airport.
When I didn't move, he ruffled my hair, typing: "What's wrong? Still no appetite?"
I kept my head down. "I'm fine. Go."
Didn't matter anymore.
He smiled, walked past me, grabbed a pair of red gloves from the counter, and tucked them carefully into his bag.
I froze.
Weren't those supposed to be my birthday gift?
His phone lit up on the table. Vivian's name flashed across the screen.
"Don't forget my gloves! It's freezing here. My hands are already wrecked!"
My eyes burned.
Zeke snatched the phone and headed for the door. I stopped him.
"Do you remember what today is?"
He came back, typed quickly: "I know you're upset. Want me to stay."
Another message: "Don't be difficult—I'll be back soon."
Then he left.
Tears dropped into the bowl, one by one. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
Today was my birthday.
Those gloves—I thought they were for me. I'd been sneaking glances at them for days, too scared to even touch them.
I'd imagined the moment he'd give them to me. I'd kiss him. Buy him a warm coat for winter.
All of it—just a fantasy.
I shouldn't have hoped. Five years, and he'd never once remembered my birthday.
I held up my hands—cracked, covered in frostbite scars.
My hands looked like hell. But what choice did I have? If I didn't wash those dishes, do that brutal work, we wouldn't eat. He wouldn't see a doctor.
Turns out Zeke wasn't careless. His care just was never meant for me.
We met by chance, really. Felt like fate at the time.
He and his friends used to eat at the diner where I worked. He said it was love at first sight.
Started chasing me. Back then, he was a radio host—charming, successful. I felt small next to him. Tried to avoid him.
Until a customer harassed me after my shift. Zeke smashed a bottle over the guy's head. Got arrested. Sat in that cell grinning like an idiot.
"As long as you're okay," he said.
I'd been an orphan since I was a kid. No one had ever cared about me like that.
Something inside me broke.
I said yes. We got engaged fast. Planned the wedding.
Then, the day of the ceremony, Zeke got fired from the station. The shock triggered aphasia.
He ran.
For five years, I never blamed him. Thought the trauma had broken him.
But after last night's call? It was all a game. A bet between him and Vivian.
Rich kids playing pretend. And I was the only fool who believed it.
I wondered—what was their deal? What did they promise each other?
My vision blurred.
I was about to dump the oatmeal when I saw it—his medication. In the trash.
I laughed bitterly.
At my own stupidity. At how worthless all my sacrifice had been.
I'm not fighting you for him, Vivian. You win.
Zeke—I'm done loving you.
Chapter 3
The landlord called. "Harper, rent's going up everywhere. I've been cutting you slack because I felt bad for you, but the lease is up tomorrow. So..."
I dumped the oatmeal into the trash. "I'm not renewing."
Hung up. My phone screen lit up with a notification.
Flight tomorrow morning, 9 AM. To Charleston—the place I'd been dreaming about but could never afford.
My paycheck was coming. If I stopped paying for Zeke's "treatments," I'd have enough. More than enough.
5 PM. I left for work like always.
Changed into my uniform. My coworker frowned. "Harper, your boyfriend's here."
"Thought you said he never leaves the house? How's he got so many friends?"
"And aren't you two broke? How's he affording a place like this?"
Her words stabbed into me, sharp and relentless. I couldn't speak.
The manager called out: "Harper! Champagne to Suite 8888."
I grabbed the tray like a lifeline and bolted. Didn't hear my coworker yell after me: "Wait—your boyfriend's in there!"
The door was cracked open. Inside, laughter and music.
A girl in a gorgeous gown and a tiara sat in the center—looked like a princess. Had to be Vivian.
And there was Zeke, eyes locked on her, singing "Happy Birthday" like she was the only person in the world.
Today was Vivian's birthday too.
His voice—so soft. So tender.
If that man wasn't Zeke, I might've thought it was sweet.
When he finished, someone clapped. "Bro, you're insane. Vivian made you chase a waitress to test you—you did it. Made you bail on your wedding—you did it. Made you pretend to be mute and broke for five years—you did it."
"Now she's back. Proof of true love, right? When's the wedding?"
"When are you dumping that girl?"
The deal was worse than I'd imagined. They'd played me like a toy.
I was the idiot who believed it for five years.
He never loved me.
Zeke took a sip of his drink, hesitated. "No rush. She's obsessed with me. Don't want her doing something stupid."
I wiped my tears, laughing quietly.
Used to be, Zeke.
Now? I hate you.
I knocked. Walked in.
The room went silent.
Someone tugged Zeke's sleeve. He glanced over, saw me. His face went pale. Panicked.
I kept my eyes down, set the champagne on the table. "Your drinks. Enjoy. Call if you need anything."
Zeke stepped in front of me. Our eyes met.
He reached up, brushed my cheek. "You've been crying?"
First words he'd spoken to me in five years.
I turned my face away. "I'm fine. Have fun."
I walked out.
Left them all staring at each other.
Zeke didn't follow.
The room stayed quiet for maybe a second. Then the party started up again.
I really didn't matter. Not even enough to be a footnote.
