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.'

As soon as I stepped through the door, my phone rang. It was Ian.

"Daphne, are you home?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle, just like before—as if none of today's accusations or outbursts had ever happened.

That tone of his, once familiar and comforting, now sounded hollow. A polished mask stretched too tightly over a bruised truth.

I nearly hung up. But no matter how much I wanted to sever things cleanly, there were still threads between us that needed cutting. He was the one who had done wrong, so why was I the one left fleeing?

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I'm at a hotel. I just sent you the location. I think the interior is pretty nice. You should come see if you like it."

I hung up, puzzled. A hotel? Was this about our wedding?

But that didn't sound like Ian. He never took the initiative with things like this. I always had to push him, coax him, remind him. And now, out of nowhere?

Still, I put on some light makeup and went to the hotel he sent me.

The moment I stepped inside, I realized it was completely different from the other eight venues I'd looked at before. In another league altogether.

I turned to him, confused. "Didn't you say you wanted to keep the wedding simple? Why this hotel all of a sudden?"

Before he could answer, Jess descended the stairs, talking animatedly with the hotel manager, pointing here and there like she owned the place.

"Daphne, this place is amazing, right?" she said with a bright smile. "Ian said he's going to throw me a birthday party here."

My confusion turned to stone.

Ian walked toward her, his expression darkening as he glanced at me, something like disdain flickering across his face.

"Don't talk nonsense," he snapped. "I only asked you to come see the hotel. Don't go imagining weddings."

The words hit like a slap. I bit down hard, grinding my back teeth together. My hands curled tight inside my sleeves, trembling from the effort to keep myself together.

"It's nice," I said, slowly. "Very nice."

Jess stepped closer and looped her arm through mine.

"Then you have to come to the party, Daphne. I'd love to see you there."

She leaned in, and just between the two of us, gave me a smirk of unfiltered mockery.

She knew. Knew we'd fought because of the wedding venue. Knew exactly how to twist the knife.

And she did.

The fury boiled over before I could stop it. I shoved her.

She shrieked and tumbled to the ground, crying dramatically, half-sitting as tears welled in her eyes.

"I just invited you to my party," she sniffled. "Even if you don't like me, did you have to push me like that?"

"Are you insane, Daphne?!" Ian rushed to her side, cradling her like she was made of glass, whispering soft reassurances. Then he turned on me, face twisted with anger.

"If you're sick, go get help. Don't act crazy here. Jess saved my grandfather's life—if she gets hurt, even selling you wouldn't be enough to pay it back!"

Something cracked inside me. My chest constricted until I could barely breathe. But I still met his gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You're right," I said, my voice low. "If I'm sick, I'll go get treated. So, I hope you and Jess grow old together. And have lots of kids."

With that, I turned and walked out.

Back home, my makeup was ruined from crying. I didn't bother fixing it. I packed my things and moved out.

I left behind only one thing: the termination agreement for our engagement.

For the next two days, there was complete silence between us.

He didn't come home. I didn't reach out.

I watched from Jess's Instagram as the two of them played their way across the city—every photo framed in affection, every caption a dagger.

[The best birthday gift I've ever received!]

The final image was of them kissing in a fully decorated banquet hall.

I liked the post. Left a comment: [Best wishes.]

Then I closed the app with a bitter smile.

In all our years together, he never had time to travel with me. Said it was boring. Said it wasn't worth the trouble. But he seemed to be having the time of his life now.

The day of Jess's birthday party arrived. It also happened to be my first day on the job at the hospital.

For the first time in two days, Ian sent me a message. [Today is Jess's birthday party. You better show up, or don't blame me for what happens next!]

I didn't respond. I was too busy with work.

Then the emergency bell rang at the nurses' station. We rushed to Bed 18.

An elderly man had slipped into a coma. The monitor was beeping urgently.

The doctor finished his examination and turned to me.

"Call the family. We need surgery right away."

I picked up the station phone and dialed the number.

"Hello, is this the family of George Murray?"

There was a moment of silence. Then I heard a familiar laugh on the other end.

"Daphne, is that you? Hah. Since when did you become a nurse? You really went all out, huh? Did you think calling from a landline would fool me? Do you even realize how disgusting it is—the way you keep clinging to me like this?"

I hadn't expected it to be Ian.

And somehow, he thought I was trying to trick him.