After three years together, Laurel always kept me at arm's length. She claimed her upbringing was strict and that intimacy would have to wait until marriage. However, at Curtis's art exhibition, I was confronted by dozens of provocative portraits of Laurel in various poses, painted from when she was 18 to 25, immortalized on canvas.

Fury surged through me, and I nearly tore the paintings to shreds. But Laurel stopped me. “Do you even know what these are? They're art. You're such a small-town guy, out of touch with reality.”

I called my mom and canceled the engagement ring I had been planning to use to propose to Laurel. “I agree to the Robertson-Rivera match,” I told her.

As soon as I hung up, Laurel caught up with me. “Jamari, why are you walking so fast? Weren’t you going to take me to meet your parents today?”

That had been the plan, but she had dragged me to Curtis Wagner’s art exhibit instead. Now, I saw no reason to introduce her to my family.

“My parents just told me they're busy today,” I said nonchalantly.

Laurel's face showed her displeasure. “Are you still mad, Jamari? Just because of something so trivial, you’re not taking me to meet them?”

“You know what, never mind. I wasn’t too keen on meeting your middle-class family anyway,” she scoffed. “Besides, I have to accompany Curtis to a charity gala tonight.”

Just as I was about to respond, Curtis joined us. “Is something wrong between you two?”

Laurel gave me a dismissive look. “What could possibly be wrong? Someone’s just overreacting.”

Curtis glanced at me with a barely concealed smirk. “You don’t mind, do you, Jamari? Laurel and I are just friends.”

Friends? I forced a bitter smile. It was laughable. We had been together for three years, yet she avoided intimacy with me while posing nude for countless portraits for someone she called a friend.

Laurel laughed lightly, “Curtis, no need to be so careful. Whatever decision I make, Jamari never questions it.”

I was speechless. My tolerance of Laurel had become second nature. I could never turn down her demands. But now, this tolerance had become indulgence, and there was no place for me in her heart.

With that, the two of them walked off arm in arm, not even giving me a backward glance. Watching them stung, and I couldn’t help but wonder what five years of emotions had amounted to.

My phone buzzed, and I saw a message from my mom with a picture of Catalina Robertson, Hassan Rivera’s daughter. “Catalina is studying abroad,” she wrote. “We’ll have the wedding overseas as a gesture of goodwill, and you can settle there afterward.”

“Alright, I’ll go with your plans,” I replied.

I returned to the house where Laurel and I once lived. The once cozy home now felt as cold and empty as a barren cave. I found myself sitting in the living room, lost in thought, surrounded by the lingering scent of Laurel’s perfume. We had been together for five years, living under the same roof for three. Yet, I had always respected her boundaries.

After graduating college, my parents pressured me into an arranged marriage. I outright refused, my pride never allowing my love life to become a bargaining chip in business dealings. When I didn't comply, my mother cut off my financial support.

I met Laurel while job hunting. During that challenging time, she was a constant source of encouragement. Eventually, we both landed jobs we were happy with, and gradually, we grew closer. I finally managed to save enough money to put down a deposit on a small house, which was under Laurel's name. She moved in with me, citing her family's strict values and her stance against premarital intimacy. I loved and respected her deeply, always honoring her boundaries.

But now, the countless nude portraits of Laurel felt like daggers piercing my heart, mocking my years of commitment and beliefs. Glancing at the pile of gifts in the corner of the room, I let out a bitter laugh. I had carefully selected items I thought my mother would appreciate, hoping to win her approval for Laurel. But when Laurel saw their value, she was displeased.

"How much do you even earn in a month to buy such pricey gifts? Besides, your mom's a homemaker. Would she even understand these luxury items?" she had remarked.

Yet she didn’t hesitate to spend $5,000 on a luxury watch for Curtis Wagner’s birthday. I questioned the need for such an expensive gift, but she dismissed my concerns.

"I can't give him anything cheap. Curtis, being a renowned artist, deserves a watch that matches his status," she had insisted.

In hindsight, it seems my family and I simply didn’t make the cut.

I loaded the gifts into my car and drove back to the family estate. As soon as I walked in, my mother, Julianna, greeted me excitedly.

"Jamari, come quick! I've got several wedding plans lined up for you. See which one you like best."

I briefly scanned through them and then looked down. "Mom, you choose. I'm fine with anything."

She nodded, satisfied. "Alright, I'll handle it then."

As I was heading to my room, she stopped me with a concerned tone. "So, it’s definitely over between you and Laurel?"

A sigh escaped me, deep and weary. "Yes, it’s over."

"I knew a girl like her wasn't right for you. You've dodged a bullet."

There was a time I would have argued back, but now I was too drained to contest her words. The person I once defied the world for was now by someone else's side.

Back in my room, I picked up my phone. Curtis Wagner’s latest post appeared on my screen.

"Tonight's gala was truly a gathering of the greats. Thank you to my muse for staying by my side," the caption read. Accompanying it was a photograph of Curtis kissing Laurel's hand, her face radiant with a shy smile, happiness shining in her eyes. The comments beneath the post were constantly updating.

"Wow, what a legendary gathering. Truly a sight for sore eyes."

"The young artist and his muse of inspiration—how can you not think they’re a perfect match?"

"My ship has to be real. They're sweeter than any relationship I've been in."

Curtis had left a comment: "Thanks, everyone. Laurel and I are just friends, don’t misunderstand."

A thinly veiled denial if ever there was one.

I liked the post out of habit and then exited his feed. Just then, a friend request popped up on my phone.

I opened the message from Catalina.

"I agreed," I replied.

"Jamari, is it true what your mom said? I thought I was dreaming," she texted back.

"It's true. See you abroad."

Catalina sent a cheerful emoji: "Can't wait to see you!"

I dug out my passport, suddenly realizing I hadn't gathered all my visa documents, so I drove back home.

As soon as I walked in, I saw Laurel sitting on the sofa, clearly upset.

"Jamari, I've had enough of this. You're so focused on the art exhibition that you're ignoring me completely."

"Really, what can you even do right? You just make things worse."

Ever since Curtis returned from abroad, Laurel's criticisms of me had grown relentless.

I tried to smile, wanted to say something reassuring, but the words wouldn't come.

I turned away and headed to the bedroom to pack my bags, quickly gathering my things.

Aside from a few clothes and work essentials, there wasn't much there that felt like mine anymore.

As I dragged the suitcase out, Laurel looked shocked.

"Jamari, where are you going?"

I replied casually, "My mom's not feeling well today, so I'm going to stay with her."

Sensing my mood, Laurel softened, "You don't need a suitcase just to visit your mom."

"Jamari, are you still upset about Curtis and me? I've told you a million times, we're just friends..."

"Yeah, I get it," I interrupted.

Not wanting to hear more excuses, I grabbed the suitcase and headed for the door.

But Laurel clung to me, her face a mix of hurt and pleading.

In the past, I probably would have comforted her.

But now, seeing that supposedly innocent face, all I could picture was her flirting with Curtis, and it made me sick.

"Jamari, your birthday's in a few days. I have a gift for you. Hang on."

She pulled out a piece of clothing from an old box.

"Look at this. It's the latest style. I spent ages picking it out."

Laurel always knew how to keep me tied up in her games.

But I'd had enough.

I glanced at the bizarre jacket, with its strange cut-outs on the chest, and couldn't help but laugh, "Laurel, do you really think this is my style?"

She held it against me, "How would you know if you don’t try it on?"

I snatched the jacket, tossed it to the floor, and checked Curtis's social media.

I found a post from last year, and there he was, wearing the same jacket, posing oddly for the camera.

I showed the phone to Laurel, mocking her, "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Giving me Curtis's hand-me-downs as a birthday gift—did you think that would make you clever?"

Laurel, about to retort, saw the post and avoided my eyes, mumbling weak explanations.

She thought I was naive, oblivious to it all.

But I'd grown up with my mom taking me to all the high-end boutiques. Just because I didn't like those things didn't mean I couldn't recognize them.

I shook off Laurel's hand and walked out.

Behind me, I heard Laurel's frustrated shout: "Jamari, if you leave, don't come back! Curtis only wore that jacket once. How dare you call it second-hand?"

Leaving that house felt like shaking off an obsession that had trapped me for years.