After two years of dating, I discovered that my boyfriend had been engaged the entire time.

On the night before their wedding, a friend of his questioned if he was afraid I’d make a scene since he hadn’t been honest with me. Zavier nonchalantly replied, “The thing I love most about Helen is her naivety. She believes everything I say.”

“When she asked if I was single, I just nodded, and she actually believed it. I never bothered to explain, and she never questioned me.”

“Besides, her situation is quite complicated, making a scene wouldn't benefit her.”

He was sure I couldn’t leave him, convinced that even if I uncovered his lies, he’d still maintain control.

But he was the one who warned me not to regret my decisions, and in the end, it was he who regretted first.

---

Two weeks into my silent standoff with Zavier, I found out I was pregnant.

I truly loved Zavier and had always dreamed of starting a family with him. But when Dr. Patterson asked if I wanted to keep the baby, I hesitated.

My heart felt like it was drifting, searching for a place to anchor, yet there was something missing in our relationship.

Reflecting on the cause of this cold war, it wasn’t anything monumental—it started when I saw a classmate’s post on Facebook flaunting their marriage certificate. I casually asked Zavier when he planned to marry me.

What did Zavier say back then? Oh.

He said, “Is getting married really that crucial?”

Isn't it important? It’s so significant to me. To me, marriage signifies a confirmation of love after the dating phase—a formal promise, a tangible commitment.

But Zavier saw a marriage certificate as just a meaningless piece of paper, without any real value. He thought that as long as our love was strong, there was no need for marriage to prove anything.

I told him I felt insecure; he said it was just my lack of faith in him. We parted ways, leaving things strained.

Yet now, holding the test results, the desire to build a home with him surged once more. I didn’t want to let go.

I decided to make one last effort to fight for us.

Through Waylon Austin's Instagram update, I found out they were meeting at the usual spot today.

When I arrived, Zavier's assistant, Megan Silva, was lounging on a deck chair at the entrance of the vacation house, cigarette in hand.

She seemed a bit surprised to see me but gave a slight nod before motioning toward the second-to-last room. She was efficient but not particularly warm, something I had grown accustomed to. I smiled and headed inside.

The door to the room was wide open, and the thick smell of smoke and alcohol made me hesitate for a moment. Just then, I heard someone mention my name.

"Zavier, you're about to get married. Aren't you planning to come clean with Helen? Aren't you worried she'll make a scene when she finds out the truth?"

"She won't find out," Zavier said confidently. "What attracts me most to Helen is her innocence. She takes my word for everything."

"When she asked if I was single, I just nodded, not thinking she'd take it literally. I couldn't be bothered to explain, and she's never questioned it."

"Ha! So you're with her because she's easy to fool?"

"Not exactly. She chased me for over two months, and I felt a bit guilty. Plus, she's definitely my type, so I went along with it."

"I figured we'd date for a month or two and call it quits if it didn't work out. But, surprise, surprise, it's been almost two years."

As he said this, he squinted slightly, exhaling smoke rings, seemingly reminiscing yet boasting a bit.

His friends chuckled, "Zavier sure knows how to play both sides."

"When you get married, why not give Helen a box of chocolates too? Just say it's from a friend's wedding, let her enjoy some good vibes, maybe even hear her say congrats."

"No way, she hates the idea of marriage. Just the other day, she blew up because I wasn't ready to get hitched. I haven't bothered to smooth things over yet."

"In the future, keep topics like that away from her. And remember to block the right people on social media to keep me out of trouble."

He shot a warning glance at the friend who had suggested the idea, the cigarette's glow flickering against the colorful party lights in the hallway, blurring my view of his true nature. A chill crept up from my feet, cold enough to make my whole body shiver.

I stumbled slightly, kicking an empty wine bottle by the door, the sound of breaking glass interrupting the laughter inside.

Someone called out, "Megan Silva?"

"Yes, it's me."

A pair of hands steadied me, and Megan moved to stand at the door, conveniently shielding half of my silhouette from view.

I don't quite remember how I left the inn. The cool evening breeze slipping down my collar brought me back to reality.

Megan stood beside me, her expression uncertain, as if she was on the brink of confessing something. After a long pause, she whispered, "I'm sorry."

I forced a smile. "You all knew, didn’t you? Was it fun playing me for a fool?"

Most of the people in that room were familiar to me. Whenever we met, they'd greet me with a friendly "sister-in-law," their words and actions full of respect and approval. But behind closed doors, they revealed another side.

They say if you want to know if someone truly cares about you, observe how their friends treat you. I never imagined they’d be so unified, unified enough to stage a charade right in front of me.

My heart felt leaden, as if every ounce of energy and spirit had been drained, leaving everything else feeling empty and unnecessary.

"...Don't let them know I was here."

I signaled for a taxi without giving Megan another look. As I struggled to piece together my next steps, unbidden memories of Zavier surfaced in my mind.

When we first met, I had just arrived in Chicago and was unfamiliar with the city. My car got rear-ended, and the other driver and his family, seeing I was alone, acted arrogantly, threatening me against calling the police and offering me a hundred bucks to settle.

I was completely stunned.

Zavier happened to pass by at that moment. He was the only one who came forward to help me.

Before I could thank him, he had disappeared, leaving me with a lingering sense of regret.

A month later, during a company meeting on a bid, I saw him again. His startup, founded with some friends, was one of the bidders.

After the meeting, he managed to secure a partnership, and I ended up being one of the coordinators, which led to more frequent interactions.

Perhaps it was the confidence in his voice when he spoke, or maybe the casual "Good morning" he would toss my way, or even the faint, indescribable scent he carried... At some point, I found myself drawn to him, inexplicably.

Then I asked, "Are you single?"

He paused, then smiled and nodded, "Why? Are you planning to chase me?"

I said yes.

He laughed again, "I'm not easy to catch. If you fail, no crying, okay?"

I assured him I wasn't that fragile.

Little did I know, two years later, I would look back on these moments and find myself crying, unable to see the road ahead or the way back.

As I stepped out of the cab, Robin, the driver, offered me some advice, "Miss, no matter how rough things get, it’ll pass. You're still young. Even if you hit a dead end, you can always turn around."

Yes, it's time to turn around. I'm not a sore loser. I just need a bit of time.