The next day, as I was getting his coat ready for dry cleaning, I stumbled upon a phone in the pocket that wasn’t Princeton's. Just then, it rang.

I frowned and picked it up. A woman's voice on the other end said, "Is this Tiana? It's Zuri."

I felt my grip on the phone tighten instinctively.

She continued, "Don't misunderstand, I accidentally left my phone in Princeton's pocket yesterday."

"Could you do me a favor and drop the phone off at Princeton's office? Thanks."

She quickly rattled off a few sentences without giving me a chance to reply. While she seemed to be apologizing, every word reminded me of the special connection she had with Princeton.

When I got to the office, I saw through the glass wall that Zuri was helping Princeton adjust his tie. They stood close, with Zuri looking at Princeton tenderly, as if doting on him.

I had once wanted to help him with his tie too. What did he say back then? He said that a simple task like that was something the staff could handle.

Yet now, he was clearly enjoying it. It wasn't that he didn't like the gesture; he just didn't want it from me.

I didn’t want to stay and endure any more humiliation. I just wanted to get away.

But Zuri called out, "Oh, Tiana, you’re here. Thanks for going out of your way."

I handed over the phone, trying to act nonchalant, "No problem at all."

As I turned to leave, the feelings of bitterness and sadness only grew stronger with each step.

On the way home, my mind was flooded with images of them lost in conversation, wrapped up in their own universe. It was becoming painfully obvious to me that Princeton and I were like two parallel lines destined never to meet.

When I got back that evening, he presented me with a gift—an extravagant sports car that cost more than a house. The car was sleek and incredibly pricey, yet I never had any interest in cars. He never really knew what I liked. I understood he was consumed by guilt, and I chose not to confront him about it. I swallowed the lump in my throat, pretending to be thrilled, smiling as I took the car keys. "Let's have dinner," I suggested.

Seeing the dinner table set with dishes he loved seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders. Later that night, after he had showered, he lay down beside me, inching closer until he pulled me into a hug. In the past, this would have made me happy, but now all I felt was a hollow chill.

His heavy breathing against my back kept me wide awake. Only after he slipped into sleep did I open my eyes. I turned to look at him as he slept, observing him for a long time. I couldn't stop wondering if he ever truly loved me. Had he ever really loved me?

Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my head, snapping me back to reality—I was dying. It's terrifying how obsessions can cling to us, even as life is slipping away, leaving me to ponder, even now, whether he loved me or not.

The pain heightened my awareness, and memories flashed through my mind like scenes from an old movie.

My mother, Bethany, raised me on her own, carrying the weight of the world without help. I grew up never knowing my father, and any attempt to ask about him only ignited anger in her eyes, teaching me quickly to keep my curiosity at bay. Eventually, she remarried, leaving me in my grandmother's care. I couldn't fault her; everyone deserves a chance at happiness.

When I was eight, my grandmother died after a long illness, leaving me truly alone. I threw myself into my studies, hoping to change my destiny, but middle school brought its own challenges—bullying. On my birthday, they cornered me on the school rooftop, hitting and kicking me.

That's when Princeton showed up. As the heir to the Foster Corporation, he was someone they wouldn't dare mess with. With his help, I got through my school years, and his presence lit up my dark world like sunshine. I fell for him, but the gulf between our lives was wide. So, I buried these feelings deep inside.

I chased the light he represented, step by step, and finally got accepted into the same university. But by then, I realized it was too late. He had already found the love of his life, Zuri Morgan, who, ironically enough, was my half-sister.

On a crisp Thanksgiving evening, I stood outside the Morgan estate, watching the warm glow from the windows where they gathered for dinner. Inside, the table was spread with roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and honey-spiced cake. I caught a glimpse of Zuri laughing with Princeton, and for a moment, I felt like an outsider gazing in on a scene from a period drama, with Zuri wearing a delicate lace dress that seemed from another time.

In that moment, I understood the world I yearned for was not mine to claim. I turned away, holding a cup of steaming coffee for warmth, and made my way back to my small apartment, my mind swirling with memories of my grandmother telling me stories of the Alps, a place she had always dreamed of visiting.

As I walked, I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened WhatsApp to send a message to my mother. Despite everything, I knew she cared, and sometimes that was enough to keep pushing forward.