I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself not to make a sound, no matter how much it hurt.

Stella knew Charles long before I did. Which meant... he'd never truly let her go.

The way Charles and I first met almost felt like something out of a story. It was the day of the piano competition finals, and my rival had locked me in a tiny, pitch-black room.

I had claustrophobia, and with the pressure of the performance, I was on the verge of breaking down.

Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, the door swung open—and there Charles was, backlit by light like some kind of savior.

I ended up winning that day. And after that, I started going after him like crazy. When I found out he was struggling with depression, I made it my mission to make him smile.

Charles always felt bad that I'd go out of my way to act goofy or dress silly, but I didn't mind at all.

When we were together, he'd feed me all sorts of delicious food.

Whenever I asked him why, he'd say, "Seeing you enjoy your food is like medicine for me."

He used to tell me that I gave him a sense of purpose and that he couldn't imagine life without me.

And I believed it. I thought our love had healed him. I thought he was fighting his way out of the darkness for me.

But somewhere along the way, his depression got worse.

One day, a tabloid segment came on TV about a rising actress getting engaged to some rich heir.

Something snapped in Charles. He grabbed a fruit knife and started cutting himself.

I scrambled to find him therapists so he could go into therapy. Even though treatment was expensive, I threw myself into commercial performances, taking every gig I could to pay for it all.

I gave up huge career opportunities without a second thought. As long as Charles got better, I didn't care. I never once complained.

Back then, I didn't know what was really going on. But now that I do, I realized how big of a fool I was.

Every breakdown was because of Stella—because he saw her playing the couple with someone else.

Now that his true love had returned, I was nothing compared to the one he truly cared about.

Absolutely nothing.

But I'd made up my mind to leave. It was time to sever this ridiculous past and let it go, once and for all.

That night, I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep. It felt like the love I'd held onto for so long had been nothing but a long, exhausting dream.

By morning, my mentor called again. He told me everything was arranged, and all that was left was for me to go.

I packed my things and headed out to finalize the paperwork for going abroad.

On the way, my phone buzzed non-stop with messages from my best friend.

"Check the trending news! Why are Charles and Stella dating?"

I opened Twitter. Charles and Stella were caught by paparazzi, and their photo had skyrocketed to the top of the trending page.

#CharlesAndStellaReunited—FirstLoveReturns? LoveTriangleRumorsSoar#

Stella was quick to hold a press conference. "Charles said since we were kids that he'd only ever marry me. Now that I'm back, I think those rumors about a third party speak for themselves.

"Charles and I grew up together. Please believe in our love. No outsider can come between us."

"Charles loves me very much. Don't believe everything you hear."

But something must have gone wrong behind the scenes. One of Stella's top fans posted a complete timeline of her relationship with Charles.

According to them, I was the intruder.

Two childhood sweethearts, cruelly torn apart—fans and the public were eating it up as they felt heartbroken for Stella and Charles' tragic, enduring love.

Not long after, Charles called me. I stared at the screen.

He was probably going to lie again and make up some excuse. But I couldn't bear the thought of him panicking, so I picked up.

"Natalie, are you okay?" His voice was rushed. "Be careful—there are reporters everywhere. Just listen to me, okay?

"Stella's just a good friend. I'll explain everything. Where are you? I'm coming to find you—"

Before I could even hang up the phone, I saw a massive crowd blocking the road—Stella's fans and members of the press swarming the area.

Someone recognized me and shouted, rallying the others.

"That's her! That homewrecker, Natalie Quinn!"

"How dare you come between them? Do you have no shame?"

"Stella's just too kind. That's why this two-faced woman got away with it!"

"Ms. Quinn, how do you feel knowing you've come between Charles and Stella's relationship? Aren't you afraid of ruining your own reputation?"

They swarmed me like a pack of wolves, leaving no space to escape.

The air felt thick and suffocating, and a sharp pain exploded in my head. I crouched down, arms over my head, drowning in their accusations.

Then, a warm hand grabbed mine to pull me out of the crowd. When I realized it was Charles, my heart wavered.

Then, out of nowhere, a knife came lunging toward me. Amid the chaos, as fans pushed and shouted, Charles instinctively stepped in front of me and shielded me with his body.

My heart dropped. His blood dripped from the blade onto my hand, the warmth burning into my skin and into my eyes.

Why? Why was he still protecting me?

The crowd fell into stunned silence.

I held his wound with trembling hands and dialed 911.

A reporter seized the moment, shoved a camera in our faces and started clicking away.

"Mr. Foster, you just risked your life for this woman. What's your relationship with her? Are the rumors about you and Ms. Monroe true?"

Charles was caught off guard. Then, after a beat, he answered, "Stella and I are just friends. Please don't read too much into things. I hope the media will leave her alone.

"As for this woman… we have no relationship. I hope everyone can stay calm to avoid harming anyone."

My hands, still pressed against his wound, went cold. His voice echoed like thunder in my ears.

My nails dug into my palms, and the pain bloomed across my chest. Tears stung my eyes, but I held them back, desperate to keep just a shred of dignity.

Charles, you were the one who let go. This time, I really am walking away.

When the ambulance arrived, I didn't go with them.

I just stood there and watched it drive away, then wandered home alone with my legs barely holding me up.

Once inside, I checked the next available flight.

For the next few days, I threw myself into work, playing through the performances I couldn't cancel. It was back-to-back with no breaks at all.

When the final show ended, I went home, weighed down with a heaviness I couldn't shake.

When I opened the door, the lights in the dark living room flicked on.

Charles walked toward me, holding a massive bouquet of red roses.

Red roses, heart-shaped candles, and a candlelit dinner.

Everything was set up to look romantic.

He smiled as he handed me the flowers. "Happy eighth anniversary, darling.

"I haven't been around much lately… Stella's been going through something, and I had to help her before I could come back.

"I was going to book that fancy couples' restaurant, but since it's hard for either of us to show our faces in public, I figured we could celebrate at home this year.

"Natalie, about us… We should just keep things quiet for now. I know you'll understand my decision, right?"

A cold, empty feeling spread through my chest, pressing down on me like I couldn't breathe. Did he really think that I was that naïve?

I didn't even look at him. I walked past, checking once more to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything.

He noticed my silence and guided me to sit at the table.

The steak smelled incredible—seared to perfection. He obviously didn't cook it himself.

In all our years together, I was always the one who cooked. I never let him near the stove, worried his depression might push him into something dangerous.

Now, he looked at me with his eyes filled with anticipation. He had never made this much effort before.

I didn't call him out. I just took a bland and mechanical bite.

Charles must've taken that as a sign I was softening. He always thought I was easy to please.

A bar of fancy chocolate and a box of my favorite pastries—he used to think that's all it took to make things right.

And now? He'd gone all out tonight.

But I wasn't the same Natalie I used to be. Anyone could pretend. Anyone could play along.

Charles pulled out a slice of strawberry shortcake and, just like he used to, dipped his finger into the cream and reached over to dab it on the tip of my nose.

However, I turned away this time.

He pulled back awkwardly, forcing a laugh. "You love desserts. I waited forever in line for this."

But I'd already seen the exact same cake on Stella's Twitter earlier today—

"My boyfriend waited in line forever to get this! I'm so happy! But I'm watching my weight, so I'll just take a picture for now."

It was something she didn't even want.

I took a bite anyway, just to go through the motions. The cream was sweet, but it turned bitter in my mouth.

Seeing me play along, Charles let out a quiet breath of relief. Then, he spoke like he was stepping on thin ice.

"Natalie, there's something I need to talk to you about. Stella's agency is holding a press conference tomorrow, and I need to be there."

He paused slightly to watch my reaction.

"They want us to go public—as a couple. It's just for publicity and to protect her image. That's all. Don't take it the wrong way."

I froze for half a second, then gave him a smile. "Sure. I understand."

After all, I was just being told, not asked, like always. It didn't matter what I said.

If he'd already made up his mind, why pretend to ask for my input?

A flicker of confusion crossed Charles' eyes. He opened his mouth to say something more.

But under his baffled gaze, I calmly finished the cake, then stood up, went to my room, and locked the door.

I leaned against it and stayed there for a long time. Because deep down, I already knew—I didn't need Charles anymore.

On the way home after my final show, I passed a massive ad display at the mall. Plastered across the walls were posters of Charles proposing to Stella.

There he was, on the giant LED screen, dressed in a white suit, down on one knee with an extravagant diamond ring.

A group of Stella's fans came, just to snap pictures.

"Did you hear? Charles and Stella are getting married!"

"I knew they must be a couple! Did you see the way he looks at her? You can't fake that kind of love!"

"I heard that they're going on a couples' reality show together—the proposal scene is from the final episode!"

Listening to them gush over how sweet the two of them were, I felt an unexpected tightness in my chest.

I wiped away tears that had started to fall and swallowed down the bitterness rising in my throat.

Just then, Charles called.

I picked up, inhaled slowly, and answered coldly, "What is it?"

There was a brief pause before his voice softened.

"Natalie, I'll be away for a little while. But when I'm back, I'll propose to you properly.

"You've always dreamed of a beach wedding, right? I'll give you the grandest, most beautiful one you've ever seen."

A grand wedding. How romantic. But I didn't need it anymore.

Not when every promise, every word of love, had turned out to be a lie. It was time to let go.

After I ended the call, I changed my flight to leave that night.

Once I boarded, I sent him a final message.

"We're over, Charles. I wish you and Stella all the happiness you deserve."

As the plane prepared for takeoff, the flight attendant gently reminded me to switch to airplane mode. His relentless calls and messages lit up my screen, one after another.

I stared at them blankly, then powered off my phone without a word.