Coral Veil
On the other end of the line, Colin stayed silent. Then, Poppy's voice drifted through faintly, sweet and careless. "Colin, the little cake on my head's crooked."
His tone turned awkwardly calm, like he was trying to cover something up. "Anya, I've got a meeting. We'll talk later." Then, he hung up in a rush.
When I called again, his phone was already off.
Almost at the same time, the detective's message came through with a video from the hotel. 'Everything's ready. By early next month, you'll get exactly what you wanted.'
I replayed their earlier conversation in my head. Any hesitation I'd had disappeared. From that moment on, I followed through with my plan.
Up until that day, I'd still been wondering—maybe Colin was just under too much pressure, or maybe Poppy, being young and naive, had fallen under his spell. I hadn't wanted to make things ugly; I wanted to understand what really happened. But now, I knew—they didn't deserve my understanding.
When I began preparing for the divorce and sold off all my shares at a low price, Colin and Poppy were busy putting on their romantic performance for the world to see.
When I set up a new studio and pulled over every business partner I could from our joint ventures, Colin bought Poppy a pink princess villa and even invited her parents to live there. They played house like one big, happy family.
When I bought a new apartment for myself and started moving out, Colin booked a luxury hotel for Poppy's birthday banquet.
When I was down to my last box, Colin came home. His eyes widened at the empty living room and the shards of pink scattered in the trash can. The pink bouquet in his hand trembled slightly. "Anya… are you moving out?"
For a brief second, I thought he'd finally come to his senses. But instead, he walked over and placed the flowers into a vase. "C'mon, I just bought a few pink things for the house. Do you need to remodel the whole place? Isn't that a little over the top?" His tone carried a hint of irritation, even blame.
I blinked slowly, a sting creeping up my chest. "I don't like pink."
He froze, guilt flickering in his eyes. "Throw it all away then. Whatever makes you happy. I've got to go for now, but I'll make it up to you once I'm done."
I didn't stop him, didn't ask a thing. As he turned to leave, I called his name. He paused, puzzled, meeting my gaze—and for a split second, something uneasy flashed across his face. I smiled faintly. "It's nothing. Go ahead."
Go—all of you. The 18-year-old Colin, the 34-year-old Colin—I didn't want either of them anymore.
Colin exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders. "All right. I'll be back soon."
The moment he left, I walked out too, carrying the last of my belongings. I listed the house with a realtor and had every single one of his possessions shipped—cash on delivery—to Poppy's new address.
…
When Poppy's birthday arrived, I stood at the back of the hall, watching the air fill with pink balloons and the glow of a million-dollar cake. I couldn't help but think back to my own wedding—just two tables, a modest ceremony. Colin had promised that when he made enough money, he'd give me the dream wedding I deserved.
He'd kept his word, in a way. The only thing missing was me.
I picked up the microphone and spoke to the control booth. "Let's begin."
The lights went out. The entire hall plunged into darkness, followed by a murmur of confusion.
"What's going on?"
"Did the power go out? In a hotel like this?"
Poppy's face soured, and Colin quickly tried to soothe her. "It's fine, I'll go check."
Then, the giant screen lit up. Colin and Poppy's videos filled the display—every lewd roleplay, every humiliating scene of him kneeling, wagging, begging for her attention. The footage was in perfect, high definition, playing in front of everyone.
Poppy's face turned ghostly pale. Her parents, mortified, stormed out of the room. Colin stood frozen, darting glances around in panic. And I walked up the stage, microphone in hand, facing them both. "Honey, do you like the birthday gift I got Poppy?"
