But the next part of their conversation drew me in completely.

"I just don’t get it. Why does your wife trust you so much?"

Ethan replied with a string of smug emojis.

"Women are emotional creatures. They only believe what they want to believe. All I have to do is convince her I’m madly in love with her."

He had attached a photo of himself standing outside my rented apartment, holding a strawberry shortcake and a bouquet of flowers.

That image was seared into my memory.

It was when I had just started working, while Ethan had gotten into a graduate program in Chicago. That was the beginning of our three-year long-distance relationship, separated by thousands of miles.

Back then, stepping into society for the first time had hit me harder than I expected. What I’d learned at school and what was required at work felt worlds apart.

It was Valentine’s Day. My roommates all went out with their boyfriends, while I was stuck working overtime, revising proposals.

Loneliness, longing, and frustration overwhelmed me. I called Ethan, sobbing into the phone.

"Ethan, I’m not asking for anything. I just feel so miserable that you’re not here. School and work are so different, and I miss you so much. I know it sounds childish, but I can’t help it."

On the other end, Ethan soothed me, his voice full of concern. I thought it would be enough just to vent. But the very next morning, he appeared in person—cake in one hand, flowers in the other.

I couldn’t even speak through the flood of tears. He simply opened his arms, and I ran straight into them.

"Why are you here?" I choked out.

He stroked my hair and smiled.

"Silly girl, I couldn’t leave you like that."

That moment left a permanent mark on my heart.

Every fight afterward, I would back down because of that memory.

But now, in the chat, Ethan had said:

"See? It’s because I traveled cross-country overnight to see her that she fell hopelessly in love with me. Whenever we argue, I can always remind her of that night, and she has no defense. Women are easy to sway—as long as you make them feel touched."

"Brilliant, man. Absolutely brilliant!"

My hands shook around the phone.

So this was the truth. What I thought was love was actually leverage he held over me.

When had it started? When had he changed?

We had been together seven years—through college, long-distance, and now, on the verge of marriage.

When did his love turn into manipulation?

I placed the phone back as if nothing had happened, though the stabbing pain in my chest told me everything had changed.

That boy who once bought me breakfast, who faked being sick so we could quarantine together in the library during the pandemic—perhaps he had died long ago, and I was only realizing it now.

By the time Ethan came out of the shower, I was pretending to be asleep.

Ethan tiptoed into bed, careful not to wake me.

Later that night, I listened to his steady breathing, then slipped quietly out of bed.

In his briefcase, I found another phone. I didn’t know the password, but I carefully used his finger to unlock it with the fingerprint sensor.

When the screen lit up, my heartbeat quickened.

I locked myself in the bathroom and began scrolling. The more I saw, the more I realized I had loved a monster all these years.

The phone was full of filth—group chats of scantily clad women, explicit photos, and lewd banter with other men.

"This girl is hot."

"That’s nothing. I’ve seen wilder ones."

Ethan chimed in: "Hook me up!"

My stomach churned. So he had been unfaithful as early as graduate school.

I had always been conservative, wanting to wait until marriage. When I asked Ethan if he thought I was old-fashioned, he had said:

"Baby, how could you think that? If you’re not ready, I’ll respect your choice. You’ll be mine sooner or later."

But that wasn’t respect. He already had countless other options.

I opened a chat labeled “ChloeBaby.”

The girl was Chloe Adams, our wedding photographer.

There were photos and videos of them together in bed. Ethan even praised her beauty.

The worst part was realizing they had hooked up just three days after meeting—right after our first photo session.

He had reduced our seven years to nothing.

So when he said he was reviewing wedding photos, he was really going to see her.

How laughable. What I saw as a sacred step toward marriage had become evidence of my humiliation.

And why her, of all people—the photographer we’d both met together?

Just three days, and he was already in her bed. Then what did our seven years mean?

I struggled to breathe, gasping for air.

I copied the photos and videos, then put his phone back exactly where I found it.

The next morning, Ethan behaved as if nothing had happened—up early, making me breakfast. He played the part of a devoted fiancé. So I decided to play along too.

During breakfast, I feigned casual interest.

"Why don’t we go together to the bridal boutique today? We can check how our wedding photos turned out. If they’re not good, we can choose new ones."

Ethan’s hand hesitated, then he quickly forced a smile.

"Sure. Chloe mentioned they also offer romantic wedding video montages now. We could play one at the ceremony for the guests. If you’d like, we can film one."

"Sounds good." I agreed without hesitation.

At the boutique, when Chloe saw me walk in, the smile on her lips froze. Ethan was the first to recover.

"Oh, we’re here to check on the finished photos."

The moment I heard it was about wedding photos, I saw Chloe Adams (hereafter Chloe) curve her lips into a sly smile.

It wasn’t until I saw the photos of me and Ethan Carter (Ethan) that I realized why she was smirking.

The entire selection was perfunctory—either long shots or pictures without my face.

This so-called wedding album was pure trash. Honestly, you could swap out the bride and no one would notice.

I tapped my fingers lightly on the table and lifted my eyes to Ethan.

"These are the photos you’ve spent two months carefully selecting?"

Ethan clearly hadn’t expected Chloe to be so brazen. He could only rub his nose awkwardly.

Chloe, unwilling to let Ethan look bad, rushed to my side.

"Sophia, young people these days like this kind of atmospheric style. Close-up portraits like yours are outdated."

She was mocking my age, but I was only twenty-six. Yes, she was a few years younger than me, but she had no idea that maturity also had its advantages.

I ignored her and slammed the table hard.

"Get your Store Manager out here. Is this how you run a business?"

Hearing that, Chloe panicked. She quickly blinked at Ethan, and he understood, stepping forward to block me.

"Sophia, come on, these aren’t so bad."

I laughed bitterly, pulling free of his grip and pointing at the photos.

"So you think wedding photos without my face are fine? Then maybe a wedding without me would be even better, right?"

My question caught Ethan off guard. At that moment, the Store Manager came over.

After hearing what happened, he apologized sincerely, then turned on Chloe.

"What were you thinking? You insisted on taking this job yourself!"

Chloe’s eyes turned red with tears. She glanced pitifully at Ethan.

"But Mr. Carter asked for it this way. How is this my fault?"

I sneered.

"Store Manager, I paid ten thousand dollars. Either refund me, or—"

I didn’t finish, but my meaning was clear.

The Store Manager promised to redo everything, but Chloe refused. She tossed down her camera and ran out crying.

"Why should I?"

Ethan instinctively tried to chase after her, but after a few steps, he remembered I was still there.

On the way back, Ethan claimed there was an urgent meeting at the corporation and dumped me on the roadside.

I knew exactly where he was going—to find Chloe.

If not for this mess, today would have been the day we got our marriage license at city hall.

But none of that mattered anymore.

I checked the GPS location on his phone: Ethan had gone straight to our new house.

A house I had never even lived in, yet it had already been used by someone else. How ironic.

In the end, I still went along with Ethan’s wishes—we filmed that romantic wedding video montage, with Chloe as the photographer.

Seeing how furious she was, her lips nearly twisting with rage, was the first time I felt my money had been well spent.

On the wedding day, Ethan secretly swapped out the cameraman for Chloe again.

Naturally, she didn’t disappoint. On the big screen, our romantic montage played.

Ethan looked at me with feigned tenderness, his hand trembling uncontrollably.

I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t pursued acting—it would’ve suited him perfectly.

The guests offered their congratulations, but suddenly, the screen flickered to black.

Then, it began playing Ethan’s laptop recordings from graduate school.