After Nicolas replied to a message on WhatsApp, he looked up at me:

"I just got a message from work. I have to stay late tomorrow. How about we go out another time?"

I studied his expression, searching for any sign of reluctance or regret. But after saying that, he went back to his messages, a slight affectionate smile on his face.

It wasn't until a few moments later that Nicolas noticed I hadn't responded. He set his phone down and wrapped his arms around me, his voice gentle.

"Why so quiet? Why not hang out with Violet tomorrow instead? I'll pick up the tab for you both."

I closed my eyes, replying calmly, "No need. You focus on your work."

Nicolas seemed to think my silence was because I was upset about missing our pasta night and teased me lightly:

"Lilah's temper flares up these days. I promise I'll take you out next time, okay? I know a great spot."

Hearing this, I clenched my fists tightly beneath my sleeves. Before I could respond, he continued, "Lincoln and the guys invited me for some late-night snacks. You should get some sleep!"

With that, Nicolas headed to the bedroom, threw on a jacket, and kissed the corner of my mouth, murmuring "Goodnight" before heading out.

He wasn't gone long before sending me a location update, letting me know he'd arrived safely. It was a habit we developed over time—whenever one of us went out alone at night, we'd share our whereabouts.

Looking at the location Nicolas sent, I decided for the first time to follow it to the street-side diner he frequented.

Circling the diner, I soon found the private room they used. Through a crack in the door, I saw Nicolas lounging lazily in his chair, smoking. Because of my allergies, he never smoked around me, and his friends were also banned from doing so when I was there.

"Nico, won't Amoura blow up if she finds out you're seeing someone else?" someone inside taunted.

Nicolas chuckled dismissively. "She's easy to fool. She won't find out."

"And even if she does, so what? She can't leave me. After all these years, who else would want a sales director like her but me?"

Someone else joked, "And what if Amoura proposes to you?"

Nicolas smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "If she's that clueless, I'll just find someone new."

Standing at the door, those words left me frozen, my hands trembling uncontrollably. A wave of nausea rose within me.

That night, when Nicolas returned home, I was still awake. He looked at me in surprise, "Lilah, why are you still up?"

I stared right into his eyes, seeing genuine concern there. Yet this was the same person who had been out with another woman today. I couldn't comprehend his mindset.

Seeing my silence, Nicolas walked over to embrace me but stopped short, sneezing.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Lincoln was feeling down, so I smoked a few cigarettes with him. I'll take a shower."

Listening to his easy lies, disgust for this man erupted within me for the first time. Watching him close the bathroom door, I couldn't help myself—I picked up his phone again.

Opening the chat with the other woman, I found they had exchanged more messages in one night than Nicolas and I did in a week. He was telling her which dishes were delicious, which weren't, venting about his friends’ antics. Even when he saw a stray dog on the way home, he took a photo and sent it to her.

She mentioned owning a dog herself, and he joked about being its "dad."

I read through their conversation repeatedly, feeling like a thief peeking into someone else's happiness.

Before Nicolas came out of the shower, I placed the phone back where it was.

That night, he kept asking me if anything was bothering me. Nicolas kept asking, but I was too cowardly to voice it. I could only keep questioning him silently in my heart—why?

When I spotted Nicolas Reed across a few potted plants at the Italian restaurant, it was the first time I truly realized how small this city could feel. Throughout the meal, my gaze kept drifting toward him. Watching Nicolas prepare slices of meat and mix sauce for that girl made bitterness well up inside me. It seemed his gentleness wasn't just for me.

Unable to resist, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. I watched as he glanced at his phone before silencing it. A moment later, I received a text from Nicolas: “In a meeting, be good.” I stared blankly at the man not far from me, his face wearing a gentle, warm smile, and felt tears gathering in my eyes.

Violet Salazar, my long-time friend, looked at me with a mixture of frustration and concern. “Why don’t you just talk to him properly? Torturing yourself like this is pointless.”

We’ve been friends for eighteen years, and she knows me inside out. She can read my emotions through every little gesture, even the way I breathe.

“If you can’t let go, just be honest with him. Five years together isn’t nothing. Consider giving both of you another chance.”

I closed my eyes, knowing she was right. I couldn’t let go of Nicolas or the years we had shared. Despite the pain, I had to swallow my pride and give us both a chance. I lowered my head and sent Nicolas a message: “Come back early tonight, I want to talk.”

I was willing to give our five-year relationship another shot. If he was ready to come back after we talked, I would endure the heartache to stay with him. However, I waited at home all night, prepared, and Nicolas never returned.

Desolation filled me as I repeatedly dialed his number but received no answer. I sat on the sofa, waiting until dawn, without a single word from him. It was then that Instagram pushed a trending topic to my feed, labeled as someone I might know. With a slip of my finger, I clicked it, and a familiar cat profile picture appeared.

The most recent post, updated just half an hour ago, read: “Who says true love can’t be found on a blind date?” Accompanying it were photos of the sunrise by the coast, and one of them in a passionate kiss. I stared at the intimate picture of the two, unable to react.

Nicolas returned not long after, bringing with him a bouquet of sunflowers and some pastries from a downtown bakery. I recognized the logo on the packaging, realizing he had taken that girl to the place where we watched our first sunrise together. Before I could ask, Nicolas apologized first: “There were so many things to handle at work, I didn’t check my phone. You called all night; was there something you wanted to talk about?”

As I looked him over, I noticed a vibrant red mark on his neck and hesitantly asked, “Nicolas, do you still love me?”

He chuckled softly, as if I’d asked something amusing. “Don’t you know whether I love you? I was genuinely overwhelmed with work last night; don’t overthink it.”

“Then when are we getting married?” I asked.

Nicolas hesitated, then tousled my hair playfully, saying, “What kind of girl asks so directly? Once I earn enough, we’ll get married, okay?”

Hearing lie after lie, my heart was filled with reluctance, yet I forced a smile. “Okay.”

I decided to take a gamble. If I won, he would come back; if I lost, I would leave.