On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year."

I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat.

Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade.

The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you."

For the first time, I didn’t call or argue. I simply packed my things and went back to my hometown.

The first day I vanished, a friend sent me a video. In it, Kian had his arm around Isabel, smiling casually as he said, "Lane's just upset. She’ll come back on her own."

A month later, Kian was searching for me like he’d lost his mind.

"I learned how to make ravioli, I’ll make it for you for the rest of our lives. Just come home and try it, okay?"

He was still oblivious that I had always hated ravioli.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year."

I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat.

Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade.

The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you."

I stared at the screen. In the corner of the photo, part of a hand was visible.

It was Kian’s hand. The watch on his wrist was the one I’d saved up for months to buy him last year.

The table was overflowing with food. Braised short ribs, garlic butter shrimp, and a steaming pot of Tuscan white bean soup. Even through the screen, I could almost feel the warmth oozing from the dishes.

Then I looked down at my own table. The frozen ravioli sat there in its plastic container, frost still clinging to the edges from the grocery store freezer.

I boiled water and dumped them in. The ravioli rolled around in the boiling water for a while before splitting open completely. Ricotta leaked into the pot, turning everything into a starchy mess.

I scooped one into my mouth.

The pasta was still undercooked, and the ricotta inside was cold.

My stomach churned instantly. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. In the end, all that came out was bitter acid.

My phone vibrated again, indicating that Isabel had updated her social media.

It was a short video, fireworks exploding brilliantly overhead. Kian stood beside her with his hands clasped together, eyes closed as he made a wish.

The room around them was packed with people. I recognized them immediately. It was Isabel’s entire extended family.

Someone shouted teasingly, "Kian’s such a catch. You two are seriously perfect together!"

"Exactly! So when’s the wedding?"

Kian turned toward Isabel, smiling so softly it made my chest ache. Then he reached over and gently tucked her windblown hair behind her ear.

The video ended there.

I gripped my phone tightly. So this was what he meant by "working overtime".

When I walked back to the dining table, all the ingredients I’d spent the entire day preparing were still sitting in the kitchen.

The vegetables had already been washed, and the meat prepared. I’d planned to wait for him so we could cook together and spend the holiday at home.

Now the whole thing felt pathetic.

I picked up my phone and took a photo of the ruined pot of ravioli, then another of the untouched ingredients covering the counter.

I posted both online with the caption: "Seven years together feels just like this rotten meal. Beautiful on the surface, spoiled underneath long ago."

After posting it, I dumped the entire pot into the trash—the torn ravioli, the cloudy water, all of it. Even the ingredients I’d prepared went straight into the garbage after that.

If something had already gone bad, there was no point keeping it.

Less than five minutes later, Kian called.

The moment I answered, he started yelling, "Lane Miller, what the hell was that post supposed to mean? It’s New Year’s Eve. Do you seriously have to ruin the mood?

"I’m out here working myself to death for our future, and you’re sitting at home posting passive-aggressive crap online?"

Working himself to death?

Did he mean cooking for Isabel? Or watching fireworks with her?

I said nothing.

Kian must’ve mistaken my silence for guilt because his tone sharpened even further.

"Were you spying on me again? Lane, can you give me some space for once? You’re suffocating me. Take the post down already. Don’t embarrass us in front of our colleagues."

I finally found a gap between his accusations and quietly declared, "I’m going home tomorrow."

He paused briefly before replying coldly, "I’m busy right now. I don’t have time for this."

Then he hung up. The dead tone buzzed in my ear.

I flung the phone onto the sofa.

That crushing weight I had carried in my heart for so long finally gave way. This was the reality of the man I had given seven years of my life to.

I walked into the bedroom and pulled out my large suitcase. I shoved everything inside piece by piece: clothes, shoes, and skincare.

I was packing everything when I suddenly went still. A memory from two weeks ago surged to the front of my mind.

I had just finished work and arrived home when the stench of cigarette smoke hit me in the hallway. I noticed the fire escape door was slightly ajar, and for some inexplicable reason, I decided to peer inside.

Kian had Isabel pinned against the wall, kissing her like he couldn’t get enough.

Isabel's hands were shoved beneath his dress shirt, while Kian's hands gripped her waist tightly. They were both breathing hard, completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing only a few feet away.

What had I done back then?

I’d fled and hidden inside the elevator like a coward.

I told myself I must have seen it wrong. I told myself Kian was only playing along for appearances.

Looking back now, I was so stupid. I should’ve slapped him across the face that day and walked away for good. Dragging this out had done nothing except disgust me even more.

I stuffed the last piece of clothing into the suitcase and snapped it shut, then I looked around the apartment.

Having lived here for five years, my presence was everywhere, from the paintings on the walls to the throw pillows on the couch and the plants on the balcony. Now, those very details felt like a cruel joke.

I wheeled my suitcase toward the living room and paused to look at the calendar.

New Year’s Day was tomorrow.

A fresh start and a brand-new year.

Without hesitation, I reached for my phone and reserved a seat on the first high-speed train heading to Cedar Hollow, my hometown.

Having made the choice to move on, I couldn’t bear to remain there even one more moment.

By the time I finished packing, it was well past midnight.

I slipped the ring off my finger and placed it on the entryway cabinet. Kian gave it to me during his first year of work.

Although it was not expensive, I’d treasured it as if it were priceless. I rarely even took it off to shower.

Now, all I felt when I looked at it was irony.

Back when Kian had nothing, he was burdened by the crushing weight of medical debt from his parents' illnesses. Creditors had shown up at his door almost daily, yelling insults and demanding payment.

I had drained every cent of my savings to help him repay everything. I worked a full-time job by day and ran a street stall by night, once collapsing from sheer exhaustion to sleep right on the curb.

Back then, Kian had held me in his arms and cried. He made a solemn vow. If he ever turned his back on me, he deserved to be struck by lightning.

Now that he’d finally achieved success, the first thing he did was to abandon the very person who stood by him through those years of hardship.

How tragically poetic.

Before heading to the train station the next morning, I instinctively checked my phone.

Kian and Isabel had both updated their socials.

Kian posted a vlog with the caption: "Morning, corporate slaves."

In the vlog, he stood in pajamas, brushing his teeth. In the mirror behind him, there was the reflection of another pink toothbrush holder.

Then the camera cut to a carefully prepared breakfast spread. Two gourmet sandwiches and two hands clasped together across the table.

Isabel’s post was even more shameless. "Going to work with the boss today. Feeling happy!"

The attached selfie showed her sitting in Kian’s passenger seat while he drove beside her, focused on the road.

So he hadn’t gone back to the office or come home last night. He’d spent the night at Isabel’s.

I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. The tiny shred of hope I’d still been clinging to finally disappeared completely.

At first, I’d considered leaving him a note before I left, to provide a dignified conclusion to our relationship.

Now, that would've been a waste of effort.

I headed downstairs, hailed a ride, and directed the driver to Kian's office.

My intention wasn't to beg or cause a public disturbance. I simply needed to witness the full extent of his audacity. I considered it the final punctuation to our seven-year relationship, even if it was stained with his betrayal.

After arriving at Kian's office, I didn’t head up immediately. I stopped at the convenience store nearby and bought a coffee.

A few young women wearing company ID badges stood nearby gossiping together.

"Did you guys see Isabel today? She looked so smug. That hickey on her neck was barely covered."

"Please. Everyone knows exactly how she climbed the ladder. And, of all people, Mr. Newman seriously picked her?"

"Men are all the same once they get rich. I heard Mr. Newman takes Isabel into his office all the time during lunch breaks. Closes the door and everything. Who knows what they’re doing in there?"

"No way. Seriously?"

"Why would I lie? One of the cleaning ladies went in afterward once and said the couch smelled like sex."

My fingers tightened so hard around the coffee cup that they turned white.

So their affair had already become public gossip throughout the company. I was the only idiot still believing all his excuses about overtime and business trips.

I took a deep breath and strode into the elevator.

Upon reaching the floor where Kian's office was located, the hallway was dead silent.

No one sat at the secretary’s desk. They were probably in the restroom.

I walked toward the familiar mahogany office door. The moment my hand touched the handle, laughter drifted out from inside.

"Mr. Newman, you’re awful… You kept me up all night, and now you still want more in broad daylight…" Isabel’s voice sounded sweet and breathless.

"Who told you to start begging so soon last night?" Kian teased lazily. "I wasn’t finished with you yet. Didn’t you just say in the car that you wanted more? So I’m giving it to you."

"Oh my, not here… someone might hear us…"

"What’s there to be scared of? The office door is soundproof. Besides, who’d dare walk in here without knocking?"

Then came the rustle of fabric.

I looked through the narrow crack in the door.

Isabel was sitting on top of Kian’s desk while Kian buried his face against her chest, his hands roaming across her body.

For a second, it felt like my entire skull was about to split open. A violent ringing filled my ears, and my stomach churned in a tight, painful knot.

Was this what he called working?

I reached for my phone, hands shaking, desperate to capture it all on video.

Regardless of how disgusting it was, I needed evidence. I had to have something that would prevent him from ever acting like the loyal fiance again.

However, just as I lifted my phone, my elbow accidentally hit the door.

Thunk.

The dull sound echoed loudly down the silent hallway.

Everything instantly came to a halt.

Kian jerked his head toward the door.

Our eyes met.

Kian reacted fast.

He strode toward me, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me into the office.

The door slammed shut behind us, then he locked it.

By the time he turned back around, the panic on his face had already been replaced with forced composure.

"What are you doing here?" He loosened his tie slightly, avoiding my eyes. "Weren’t you supposed to be heading back to Cedar Hollow?"

I didn't say a word. I only looked at him quietly.

"What you saw just now… it was a misunderstanding."

Just like that, the performance began.

"Isabel still doesn’t understand a lot of things. I was just teaching her client-facing etiquette.

"You know how new hires are. She’s a little clumsy sometimes. She was joking around just now. I’ve already talked to her about being inappropriate."

I watched his terrible acting, and a laugh threatened to escape me.

How had I never noticed before that whenever he lied, his eyes drifted unconsciously toward the lower right?

By now, Isabel had fixed her dress and walked over. She smiled sweetly at me.

"That’s right, Lane. Mr. Newman is always very hands-on when he teaches me.

"I’m kind of slow, so there are a lot of things he has to demonstrate personally before I understand.

"We were just discussing details from last night’s project. Don’t misunderstand."

Kian shot her a warning look, signaling for her to stop talking. Then he turned back toward me cautiously, studying my reaction.

If this had happened before, I probably would’ve rushed forward, slapped Isabel across the face, and started screaming at Kian.

But now, I was just exhausted.

I looked at the two of them and flashed them a smile.

"Oh. I see," I continued, "That does sound exhausting. Work should be taken seriously, after all. I’m not blaming you."

The moment those words left my mouth, Kian froze. All the explanations and excuses they’d prepared seemed to jam in their throats at once.

Kian stared at me in disbelief. "You… you’re not angry?"

"Why would I be?" I adjusted my sleeve calmly. "You were working, not cheating. I trust you."

The panic in Kian’s eyes disappeared instantly. In its place came visible relief… and a trace of smug satisfaction.

He probably thought he’d fooled me again and that I was still the same obedient idiot who revolved around him.

"I knew you’d understand." Kian walked toward me, reaching for my hand.

I stepped aside to avoid him.

Kian didn't seem to be bothered by that. He smiled and said, "Since you didn’t go back to your hometown, why don’t we cook dinner together tonight?"

Seeing I hadn't responded, Isabel's eyes darted toward me and interjected.

"Well, since Lane’s so understanding, why don’t you both come over to my place for dinner tonight? Mr. Newman spent all night teaching me how to cook yesterday. I’m actually pretty good now.

"Lane, you really should come over and try some. Even Mr. Newman said my cooking was delicious."

Kian jumped at the suggestion immediately. "Yeah, Isabel’s actually a pretty good cook. Lane, you shouldn’t stay cooped up at home all the time.

"Isabel just moved into a new place. We can treat it like a housewarming."

Whether he was truly oblivious to the subtext of Isabel’s invitation or simply indifferent didn’t matter. It was clear he believed that as long as I remained composed, he could continue to balance both of us in his life, enjoying the best of both worlds.

I looked at Isabel and said with a nod, "Alright then. Since you’re both inviting me so warmly, I’d love to try it. I’m curious to see how good the student Mr. Newman personally trained really is."

The smile on Isabel’s face stiffened slightly. My compliance had caught her off guard.

Kian, while equally taken aback, seemed largely pleased.

"Great! Then it’s settled! We’ll leave together after work."

I looked at the two people standing in front of me, each hiding their own agenda, and sneered inside.

If they were so intent on this charade, I'll go along with it until the final curtain falls.

After all, I knew this would serve as their final performance.