I did not know when the tears started falling.

They came quietly, without permission, sliding down my face while I stood there watching him kiss her like nothing else in the world existed, like there had never been a place for me beside him.

My fingers trembled slightly at my side, weak, unsteady, and I pressed them against my dress, trying to ground myself, trying to stop the feeling spreading through my chest.

Years.

I had spent years loving him.

Years building lies in my heart that I thought was real.

I could still remember it clearly, the first time I realized I liked him, the way my chest used to feel tight whenever he looked at me, the way I used to wait for him, the way I held onto every word he said like it meant something.

And when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I had been so happy.

So stupidly happy.

I thought he felt the same.

I thought he had chosen me.

Now I stood there, watching him choose someone else without hesitation, without guilt, like I had never mattered in the first place.

My breath came out uneven, and I forced myself to look away, wiping my face quickly before turning back toward the house.

By the time I returned to the dining room, they were already seated again.

Nothing had changed.

Selene sat there calmly, her expression soft, composed, as if she had not just been wrapped in his arms moments ago, and Adrian looked just as steady, like there was nothing to hide.

No one questioned it.

No one noticed.

Or maybe they did, and they simply did not care.

I walked back to my seat quietly, my movements controlled, my face blank.

Dinner was over not long after, and the plates sat half empty across the table.

Mine was untouched.

His mother’s gaze shifted toward me.

“You’re not eating?” she asked, her tone light, but her eyes sharp.

“I’m allergic to seafood,” I replied calmly.

A brief pause followed.

Then she gave a small hum, like that was insignificant.

“You should have said something earlier,” she said, though there was no apology in her voice.

I glanced at Adrian.

He did not look at me.

He was pouring Selene a drink.

“I did,” I said quietly.

No one responded.

His mother turned slightly, looking around the table.

“There’s no one here to clear this up,” she said, her tone changing just enough to carry meaning.

Then her eyes settled on me.

“Well,” she continued, her lips curving faintly, “like mother, like daughter, I suppose you would know what to do.”

The words landed softly.

But they cut deep.

A quiet reminder.

A place I had tried to move past.

A place they would never let me forget.

My fingers tightened slightly against my lap, and for a moment, I did not move.

Then I stood.

“I’ll handle it.”

I began gathering the plates slowly, carefully, my injured hand aching with every small movement, the weight pressing against my fingers, sending sharp pulses up my arm.

I carried them into the kitchen one by one.

The sink filled quickly and I started cleaning.

My hands moved awkwardly, unsteady, my grip weak, and I had to adjust constantly just to keep from dropping anything.

The pain spread through my fingers, dull but persistent, and I clenched my jaw slightly, focusing on the task in front of me.

At least this was something I could still do.

A soft sound came from behind me.

Footsteps.

I did not turn immediately.

Then her voice came, light and almost playful.

“Evelyn.”

I looked over my shoulder.

Selene stood there, leaning lightly against the doorframe, her expression calm, her eyes watching me with quiet interest.

“I thought I should help,” she said, stepping inside.

I turned back to the sink.

“It’s fine.”

She moved closer anyway.

Too close.

Her presence filled the small space, her perfume faint but noticeable, and I felt it, the tension, the quiet pressure of her standing right behind me.

“You’ve always been so good at this,” she said softly.

I did not respond.

My fingers tightened slightly around the plate I was holding, the water running over it as I focused on not letting it slip.

“For someone who worked so hard to leave that life behind,” she continued, her voice almost thoughtful, “you still fit into it so easily.”

My breath slowed.

I said nothing.

Then suddenly, there was a sharp movement.

A quick shift.

A small, controlled gasp.

I turned instinctively.

Selene stumbled back slightly, her hand lifting, her expression twisting as she looked down at her wrist.

There was a thin line of red.

A cut.

Small.

But enough.

Her eyes widened, and she looked at me.

“You cut me,” she said, her voice soft, but carrying just enough shock.

The plate slipped slightly in my hand.

“I didn’t—”

Footsteps approached quickly.

Adrian’s voice came first.

“What happened?”

Selene looked up at him, her expression fragile now, her voice quiet.

“She didn’t mean to,” she said gently, holding her wrist like it hurt more than it should, “it was an accident.”

I stood there, my fingers trembling, my chest tight as I stared at her.

I had not touched her.

Not even close.

But she was already looking at me like I had.

And Adrian was already looking at me, anger brimming in his eyes. .

4

Adrian’s expression changed the moment he saw her wrist.

The softness disappeared, and something sharp replaced it, something I had never seen directed at me before, not like this, not so openly, not without restraint.

“Selene,” he said quickly as he stepped forward, his hand reaching for her, pulling her gently toward him, his body already shielding hers.

I was pushed aside.

Not roughly, not enough to draw attention, but enough.

Enough for me to feel it.

Enough for me to understand it.

“I’m fine,” Selene said softly, her voice trembling just enough, her fingers curling lightly around his sleeve as she leaned into him, her body small, fragile, like she needed him to hold her together.

“There’s blood,” Adrian replied, his tone tightening as he lifted her wrist carefully, his thumb brushing over the thin cut like it was something serious.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, her eyes lowering, her voice gentle, “Evelyn didn’t mean it.”

I stood there.

Still.

My fingers trembled slightly at my side, the plate slipping from my grip and settling into the sink with a soft sound that no one paid attention to.

Adrian’s parents had already entered the kitchen.

His mother’s gaze landed on me immediately, sharp and cold.

“What happened?” she asked.

Selene spoke before I could.

“It was an accident,” she said quickly, her voice soft, careful, like she was protecting me, “Evelyn was just washing the plates, and I think I got too close.”

His mother did not look convinced.

Her eyes moved over me slowly, then back to Selene’s wrist.

“Jealousy can make people careless,” she said calmly, but her words landed with weight.

“I’m not—” I started.

“You lost the mentorship,” she continued, cutting me off without even looking at me properly, “and now you lash out at the one who earned it.”

Earned it.

The word settled heavily.

His father’s voice followed, steady and firm.

“You should know your place, Evelyn, some positions were never meant for you, and forcing yourself into them only leads to embarrassment.”

My fingers curled slightly, weak, unsteady, my nails pressing into my palm.

“I didn’t cut her,” I said, my voice quiet but clear.

No one responded to that.

Adrian was still focused on Selene.

“I’m calling a doctor,” he said, his tone firm as he guided her toward the chair, his movements careful, attentive, like every small detail mattered.

Selene shook her head slightly.

“You don’t have to do that, it’s really not serious,” she said, but she did not pull her hand away.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Adrian replied immediately.

I watched him.

Watched the way his brows furrowed, the way his voice softened for her, the way his hand stayed around hers like he could not bear to let go.

I had never seen him like this.

Not for me.

Never for me.

The doctor arrived quickly, and the cut was treated within minutes, small, insignificant, something that did not require this much attention.

But Adrian stayed by her side the entire time.

When it was done, he finally looked at me.

Really looked at me.

And there was no softness left.

“You need to apologize,” he said.

The words hung in the air.

I felt them.

Heavy.

Cold.

“I didn’t do anything,” I replied.

Selene’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table, her expression hesitant, almost uncomfortable.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice gentle, “she didn’t mean it, Adrian, you don’t have to make her apologize.”

Her eyes flickered toward me briefly.

Mockery and triumph so evident. Then she looked away.

“I said apologize,” Adrian repeated, his voice sharper now.

I shook my head slowly.

“No.”

The room went still.

I could feel the shift immediately.

His anger snapped into place.

“You’re really going to stand there and act like this?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, his gaze hard, unforgiving.

“I didn’t cut her,” I said again.

“That’s enough,” he snapped.

His eyes burned into mine, and for the first time, I saw it clearly.

Not irritation.

Not disappointment.

Anger.

Real anger.

“You’ve already ruined enough,” he continued, his voice cold now, each word sharp, “you lost the mentorship because of your own incompetence, and now you’re taking it out on her.”

My breath caught.

“Incompetence?” I repeated.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his tone harsh, “you got exactly what you deserved with your hand, maybe this is what happens when someone tries to reach beyond their limits.”

I went still, Completely.

He looked at me like I was unpleasant.

Like I had disappointed him. Like I had failed him.

“You’re being wicked,” he added, his voice lower now, but no less cruel, “and I won’t tolerate that.”

I stared at him.

At the man I had loved for years.

At the man who had once held my hands so carefully, who had once told me they were precious.

And now he spoke about them like they meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

I had never seen him like this.

But he could be like this.

For her.

Only for her.

Before I could react, he stepped forward.

His hand grabbed mine.

My injured hand.

The pressure came suddenly, harsh, unyielding, his fingers wrapping around it tightly without hesitation, without care.

Pain shot through my arm instantly.

My breath broke as my body reacted, my knees weakening under me as the force pulled me down.

“Adrian—” I gasped, my voice shaking as I tried to pull back, but his grip only tightened.

“Apologize,” he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for refusal.

The pain spread through my hand, my fingers trembling violently, my chest rising and falling unevenly as I struggled to steady myself.

No one stopped him.

No one spoke.

I was on my knees.

Because of him.

Because of her.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and uncontrollable, sliding down my face as I clenched my jaw, trying to hold myself together.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words tasting bitter in my mouth, my voice barely steady.

Selene looked at me, her expression soft, almost concerned.

“It’s really okay,” she said gently, her voice kind, forgiving, “you don’t have to—”

“I said I’m sorry,” I repeated.

Adrian released my hand.

The moment his grip loosened, I pulled it back to my chest, holding it close as the pain continued to pulse through it, my fingers shaking uncontrollably.

I pushed myself up slowly, my legs unsteady, my breath uneven as I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

The tears did not stop immediately.

But something else did. I looked at him.

Really looked at him,then I spoke quietly.

“This is the last time.”

My voice was soft,but it did not shake.

“The last tear I will ever shed for you.”

5

By the time I got home, it was already late, and the silence inside the house felt heavier than usual, like it had been waiting for me, like it already knew I was coming back alone.

Adrian had not come with me.

He had stood there in that kitchen, his attention still fixed on Selene, and told me to go home first because he needed to make sure she was alright, as if I was not the one who had just been forced to my knees, as if my pain was an event to be postponed.

I did not argue, I did not ask him to come with me, I just left.

Now, standing inside the quiet house, I placed my bag down slowly, my injured hand throbbing with every small movement, the dull ache spreading through my fingers as I flexed them slightly, trying to ignore it.

My stomach tightened and then growled softly, reminding me that I had not eaten anything all day, and the memory came back all at once, the dinner, the table, the food I could not touch, the way no one noticed.

I let out a slow breath and leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes for a second as the exhaustion settled deeper into my body.

Then the doorbell rang.

I frowned slightly and pushed myself off the wall, walking toward the door with slow steps, my hand still pressed lightly against my side.

When I opened it, a delivery rider stood there, holding out a bag.

“Delivery for Evelyn,” he said.

I hesitated for a second, then took it. “Thank you.”

I closed the door and walked back inside, placing the bag on the table before opening it, and the smell hit me immediately, warm, familiar, safe.

My favorite meal, the one I always ordered after long shifts, the one Adrian never remembered, the one I used to joke about because he always got it wrong.

My fingers paused slightly over the container.

Then my phone lit up.

A message.

Mitchell.

“I figured you had not eaten.”

I stared at the words for a moment, something quiet settling in my chest, something I did not want to name yet.

He had noticed, without being there, without being told.

I swallowed and typed back, “Thank you.”

I did not say more.

I sat down slowly and opened the food, my hands still unsteady, but I forced myself to eat, even though each bite felt heavy, like my body did not know what to do with it after everything that had happened.

The house remained quiet.

Adrian did not come back that night, he did not call, he did not send a message.

Time passed slowly, stretching in a way that made every minute feel longer, but I stopped waiting at some point without even realizing it.

The next day passed, then the one after that, and three days went by without a single word from him, no calls, no messages, no explanation, and I did not need to ask where he was because I already knew.

He was with her, taking care of her, staying by her side.

It still hurt, the knowledge sitting quietly inside me, heavy and uncomfortable, but I did not reach for my phone, I did not try to contact him, and I did not ask questions I already had answers to.

By the third day, the silence no longer felt surprising.

It felt expected.

When he finally came back, it was like nothing had happened.

He walked in, his expression calm and controlled, like the past few days had not existed, like I had not been left behind without a word.

“I’ve been busy,” he said, loosening his tie slightly as he stepped inside.

I watched him, but I did not respond.

He glanced at me briefly, then away.

“I heard you haven’t been going out much,” he added, like it was casual, like it mattered.

“I’ve been resting,” I replied.

A short silence followed, then he exhaled.

“About what happened that night,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, softer now, “I might have been too harsh.”

Might have been.

I looked at him, but he did not meet my eyes fully.

“I was worried about Selene,” he continued, like that explained everything, like that justified everything, “you know how things can get when emotions are high.”

My fingers curled slightly against my palm.

“I see,” I said.

He nodded once, like that was enough.

Then his expression changed slightly, something lighter entering his tone.

“Our anniversary is tomorrow,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him, “I’ll make it up to you.”

I stared at him for a moment, the words feeling distant, unreal, but I nodded anyway.

“Alright.”

The next evening, everything was set, the table, the food, the soft light filling the room.

I had prepared everything quietly and carefully, my movements slow but deliberate, my hand still aching but steady enough to manage.

For a moment, I stood there, looking at it, and it reminded me of something, a memory, a past version of myself who would have been excited, who would have checked the time again and again, who would have waited by the door.

Now, I just sat down.

And waited.

Adrian arrived late, but he did arrive.

He stepped inside and glanced around briefly.

“You prepared all this,” he said.

“Yes.”

He nodded once, loosening his tie again as he moved toward the table.

“Good.”

He sat down, and for a moment, it almost felt normal.

Then his phone rang.

The sound cut through the quiet immediately.

He glanced at the screen, and everything changed.

His expression shifted instantly, his posture straightening slightly, his attention pulled away from the table before he even answered.

“Selene,” he said, his voice already softer.

I watched him, watched the way his tone changed, watched the way he stood up without hesitation.

“What happened?” he asked, his brows drawing together as he listened, his concern immediate, real.

There was a pause, and then he turned slightly away from me.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

The call ended.

He did not look at me right away, he picked up his jacket instead.

“I need to go,” he said.

I sat there, my hands resting quietly on my lap, my fingers still, my expression calm.

“Now?” I asked.

“It’s important,” he replied quickly, already moving toward the door.

“For her,” I said.

He paused for a fraction of a second.

Then he nodded.

“Yes.”

That was all, no explanation, no hesitation, no apology.

He just opened the door and left.