I merely brought up the wedding decorations, and my fiancé's first love ran out of the room in tears.

Ian Murray slapped me so hard I fell to the ground. His face twisted in fury, teeth clenched with hatred.

"Daphne, are you that desperate to get married? Afraid no one else will want you, so you're clinging to me, forcing me into it? Our wedding next week is postponed!"

I held my face, but not even a ripple stirred in my heart.

This made the eighth time he'd postponed it.

I had been waiting for him since I was twenty-eight. Now, in my early thirties, I was still getting nowhere closer to being married.

So this time, I quietly packed my things and chose to leave.

Maybe this marriage didn't need to happen after all.

I held the side of my face where Ian Murray—my fiancé—had slapped me. It burned like fire. My whole body trembled.

Ian looked at me with utter disgust. He wiped the palm that had just struck me with a tissue, as if my skin had dirtied him.

"Daphne, you knew full well that Jess isn't in good health, and yet you still had to bring up our wedding in front of her. What were you thinking? Yes, I said I'd marry you. So what? That gives you the right to be this impatient? Are you so worried that aside from me, no one else would ever want you? Can't you just wait a little longer?"

His face was clouded with frustration, his eyes full of contempt.

Then, without warning, an old memory drifted to the surface—three years ago, when Ian had looked at me with eyes full of tenderness and asked me to marry him.

"Daphne, I want to marry you as soon as possible," he had said. "That way, we can spend our whole lives together."

Not long after, I had brought up the idea of getting married.

Ian promised me a grand, lavish wedding.

Fast forward to three years later, now, and it still hasn't happened.

The first time, he said it was too soon, that we were still young, there was no rush.

I thought maybe he had cold feet. I tried to comfort him, reassure him that everything would be okay.

The second time, he claimed work was too busy, that he had to go on a business trip with no set return date. Once again, the wedding was postponed.

Again and again, over and over—it'd been eight times now.

Each time, I'd excitedly choose a venue, talk to the host, and prepare small gifts for guests.

And every time, Ian would find a reason to cancel.

Until today. I finally couldn't hold it in anymore.

We weren't young anymore. Our careers were stable. So I gathered all my courage and asked him when we were finally going to have the wedding.

What I didn't expect was for his answer to come in the form of a slap.

A long silence stretched between us.

I pressed my lips tightly together. My ear was ringing, my cheek swollen and numb from the blow.

Ian let out a sigh and turned to leave.

Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed his hand, asking in a low voice, "Where are you going?"

He flinched, yanking his hand away as if shocked, stepping back.

I froze in place, my hand awkwardly suspended in midair. I stared at him, unable to believe it.

"Sorry, Daphne," he muttered quickly, his voice low, tinged with guilt. "I lost control. I'll go buy you some ointment."

He didn't wait for a reply before walking off.

I pressed my lips together and said nothing.

Three years of love.

Suddenly, I wasn't sure if I even knew who he was anymore.

The same man who had just hit me without hesitation could now lower his head and apologize as if nothing had happened?

Ian didn't come back for a long time.

Worried, I went out to look for him.

And then, under the streetlight in front of the hotel, I saw them—two figures wrapped in an embrace.

He leaned in close to her ear, his voice soft.

"Don't worry, Jess. As long as you don't give your consent, I won't marry her. You've done so much for me. No matter what you ask, I'll say yes."

I bit down on my grief, covering my mouth with both hands, trying not to sob aloud.

I wanted to run up and demand an explanation, but my legs felt as if they were filled with lead.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't take a single step forward.

After a long while, Ian finally let go of Jess Taylor, almost reluctantly, before heading in my direction.

Panicked, I turned and ran all the way home.

I hadn't even reached my door when his call came through.

His voice was laced with irritation. "Daphne, didn't I tell you to wait for me at the hotel? Where did you run off to?"

My throat burned with bitterness. Tears stung the corners of my eyes before I realized it.

I had wanted to confront him, ask him everything I'd held back. But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a soft, miserable explanation. "You weren't coming back, so I thought I'd wait for you at home."

There was a pause on the line. Then his tone softened, coaxing and gentle. "My bad. I got stuck in traffic. It took longer than I thought."

Not long after I sank into the couch, he came through the door.

He looked like a man whose date had been ruined and had come home in a foul mood. Without a word, he tossed the ointment onto me.

"Here, I bought the medicine. Put it on yourself."

I clutched the small tube tightly, staring blankly at his back. I bit my lip and forced myself to speak.

"You hit my face. Could you at least help me put it on?"

His eyes flicked toward me, filled with something sharp—disgust, maybe even contempt. He turned his head away.

His voice was cold and dismissive. "You brought it on yourself. Besides, don't you have hands? You're a grown woman. Are you blind or stupid? You can't figure things out on your own? Still waiting for someone to teach you?"

A string of accusations, each sharper than the last, each one stripping me bare. I lowered my head in shame.

But he hadn't always been like this.

I remembered once, while cooking, I'd nicked my finger—barely a scratch. He'd rushed over in a panic, fumbling for a bandage.

I had laughed, teased him for making such a big deal over nothing. Told him if he were a second slower, the wound might've healed on its own.

He'd cupped his hand over my mouth, eyes red with worry, begging me not to joke about it.

Now, I walked to the bathroom with the ointment and stared at myself in the mirror over the sink while I applied it.

From behind the closed door, I could hear him talking on the phone.

His voice was loud. I couldn't help but hear every word—and with each word, I felt my heart turn colder and colder.

"I'm going to the hospital tomorrow to see Grandpa. Jess, do you want to come with me?"

"Would that really be appropriate?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Grandpa's met you before. Besides, if you hadn't saved his life, he wouldn't even be here today. He's already recognized you as his future granddaughter-in-law."

"Don't say that... You're making me blush. You already have a fiancée. I guess I'm just not meant to have that kind of luck in this lifetime."

"I mean it. I'll only marry you. No one else."

The ointment slipped from my fingers and hit the sink with a loud thud.

Ian appeared in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed, phone call ended.

He saw me applying the medicine and, after a short pause, tried to ease into conversation.

"Daphne, I'm going to see Grandpa tomorrow. Do you want to come?"

Even though I already knew the truth, the pain still found a new place to dig in. My heart felt like it was unraveling from the inside out.

I looked at myself in the mirror, half my face bruised and swollen, like something monstrous.

"Do you think I'm in any condition to go see Grandpa like this? And even if I wanted to, would you really let me go?"

All these years together, every time I brought up visiting his grandfather, Ian always had a hundred excuses to shut it down, just like how he always put off the wedding.

To this day, I didn't even know what his grandfather looked like.

All I knew was that his Grandpa raised him, and was the closest family he had.

And yet, he'd already brought Jess to meet him who knows how many times.

Fighting back the ache in my nose, I pressed him again.

"If I said I wanted to go, would you really take me?"

He said nothing.

He took the ointment from my hand and began gently applying it to my face, finally offering me an empty promise.

"It's okay, Daphne. Once you've healed, I'll take you to see Grandpa. With how sweet and lovely you are, he'll like you for sure."

I didn't answer.

But deep inside, I was really confused.

Promises like these—how many had he made over the past three years?

Back then, I believed he meant well. I never pushed him.

But now I see it clearly: those promises were all just smoke.

The reason he never brought me to meet his grandfather was simple.

He never truly saw me as his fiancée.

The next morning, Ian left early.

No surprise there. He was likely on his way to pick up Jess and visit his grandfather.

I washed my face, slipped on a mask, and headed out to find a new place to live. This apartment belonged to Ian, and I was ready to move out.

While on the way to meet the landlord, I couldn't resist the urge to check Jess's Instagram.

There it was—a photo of her, Ian, and an elderly man.

The caption read: [Family Portrait.]

The comments beneath were a sea of congratulations and blessings.

Even though I'd already known about this last night, the moment I saw the photo, a heavy weight settled on my chest. I couldn't breathe.

I stared at the screen blankly until the taxi driver reminded me we'd arrived.

Before closing the app, I gave the post a like and left a comment: [Wishing you all the best.]

The apartment viewing went smoothly. The place was in a good location—right next to a hospital.

Not long ago, I'd passed the nursing certification exam and had just been hired by that very hospital.

Originally, I'd planned to share the good news with Ian today. But now, it seemed unnecessary.

After putting down a deposit, I headed home to start packing.

I hadn't expected to run into Ian and Jess outside the hospital.

They were walking hand in hand, fingers tightly interlocked.

To be more accurate, it was Jess who spotted me first.

Without a trace of hesitation, she tugged Ian along and walked right up to me, her tone laced with mock sweetness.

"Daphne, you're here too? Did you come with Ian? You should go up and say hi to Grandpa!"

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Wait—don't tell me you came without telling Ian?"

A flicker of panic crossed Ian's eyes. He took a half-step forward, subtly shielding their joined hands, then quickly let go.

But Jess's reminder must've touched a nerve. The panic turned to anger as he looked at me, his eyes suddenly sharp.

"What are you doing here? I don't recall telling you where I'd be."

His expression darkened, and then it twisted into something meaner. His eyes locked onto me like I'd committed a crime.

"Daphne, are you following me?"

He stepped closer, forcing me to take a step back. His face was stormy.

Without warning, one hand grabbed my arm, and the other yanked off my mask.

"Look at yourself. You look terrible. Instead of staying home and resting, you're out stalking me? I told you, didn't I? Once your face heals, I'd bring you here. What's the point of sneaking around like this now?"

Every word from his mouth was an accusation. There wasn't even a pause to hear my side of things.

People walking by slowed, their eyes drawn to the bruises on my swollen face. Shame flooded me. I could only raise my right hand to cover part of it and clench my jaw, forcing myself to respond.

"I wasn't following you."

"Oh, really?" he barked. "Then what are you doing here?"

His eyes were blazing. He looked like he wanted to devour me.

"Don't tell me you came to the hospital for that little bruise. Or are you dying of some illness you haven't told me about?"

His words hit like a punch to the chest, a dull, suffocating pain spreading through me.

But I wasn't about to tell him anything.

Not about the new place I just rented.

Not about the job offer from this hospital.

None of it.

I stood there, silent, as he hurled his accusations.

"Nothing to say now? Daphne, you always piss me off. If you'd just said you wanted to see Grandpa, do you think I would've said no? And now you're stalking me? What next? Want me to send you a report every time I leave the house?"

I stood frozen, stunned. My heart was full of things I could no longer find the words to say.

Every time I'd asked to visit his grandfather, he'd come up with a hundred excuses to turn me down, just like he always found excuses to delay our wedding. And now, somehow, I was the villain.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the sting behind my eyes, refusing to let the tears fall.

I stared straight at Ian, my voice steady. "Believe what you want. But I wasn't following you."

Then, without waiting for a response—without caring about the flicker of surprise in his eyes—I flagged down a cab and left.

But the moment I sank into the seat, the tears came. Silent and endless.

'That's it,' I thought. 'Let them have each other.'