Owen frowned, as if my breakup a year ago were some tantrum I'd thrown out of immaturity.

At the same time, he was showing off his accomplishments.

All of it sounded ridiculous and grating to my ears.

“Owen, we already broke up.”

“Do you understand what breaking up means?”

My face was cold, and I didn't so much as glance at him when I spoke.

Back when Owen and I were in love, I'd actually liked that face of his.

Now, seeing it again, all I felt was irritation and the urge to look away.

“Margaret, don't I know you? There's no way you'd actually leave me.”

“Fine, fine. I'll say I was wrong, okay? Now hurry up and take the step down while I'm offering. This chance won't come around again.”

Arrogant and self-important—every word reeking of smug, patronizing entitlement.

“Owen, I came here specifically to make this clear to you.”

“When I broke up with you, I meant it. It wasn't a tantrum. It wasn't spite. There is no going back.”

“So from now on, stop harassing me.”

“Are we clear?”

I set down my chopsticks, stared straight into those eyes, and said every word like I was hammering it in.

Owen's smile froze on his face, and whatever he'd been about to say died in his throat.

“Is this still about Rachel? I ended things with her. For real this time.”

“Maggie, I really do want to marry you.”

I'd heard that line countless times.

Believed it every single time, before.

Now it just sounded absurd.

Owen and I had been together since freshman year. Right after graduation, he proposed.

“Maggie, you're the only one for me. For the rest of my life.”

That one sentence trapped me for years.

To help Owen get a foothold in the city, I begged my parents to pull strings and get him into a white-shoe law firm.

“Maggie, just wait a little longer.”

“Once I make partner, I'll marry you. I want your parents to see I'm worth something!”

I said yes, and started working my parents' circle to bring him clients.

Owen delivered. Everyone at the firm thought highly of him.

He made partner in under two years.

I thought the hard part was behind us, that everything was finally settled. That was when Owen changed.

He started going out constantly, entertaining at one event after another, staying out all night. And when he came home, there was always something on him that shouldn't have been there.

I confronted him more than once. The fights were explosive, hysterical, constant.

“What are you making a scene about!”

“Everything I'm doing is for our future!”

“It's networking. Don't you get that?”

Owen would snap at me, insisting there was nothing between him and those women.

I couldn't move forward, couldn't go back. Everything I'd already given up was making every decision for me.

So I forgave him, again and again. Chose to believe him, again and again—even when the sadness surged up in the middle of the night and drowned me. Believing was all I had left.

Then I started finding things. In his car, in his coat pockets.

Lipstick. Stockings. Underwear. A hair clip. Even a used condom.

Fight after fight drained almost everything I had.

And every single time, Owen would calm me down the same way: by dangling marriage.

“Margaret, I really do want to marry you.”

“Why do you always have to jump at shadows and start problems out of nothing?”

In Owen's eyes, none of it mattered enough to affect what we had.

“What guy out there doesn't have a few women on the side?”

“Why do you always have to blow everything out of proportion?”

Years of that kind of constant pressure ground away at who I was until I couldn't recognize myself.

I kept retreating, tolerating one humiliating thing after another.

The worst fight happened on my birthday. Owen never came home that night. But my phone lit up with a video of him checking into a hotel room with someone else.

I played that video in front of Owen, over and over. “Owen, I told you. As long as you kept it away from me, I could take it.”

My voice shook the whole time.

“How far are you going to push me?”

He didn't care. Same lines, same empty reassurances.

That time, I broke up with him.

The next day, I found out I was pregnant.

Owen was thrilled. He held my hands, earnest and intent. “Margaret, I'll really change.”

“Right now the most important thing is for you to have this baby.”

“Let's get married, okay?”

I believed him again.

But the pregnancy before a wedding gave Owen's mother all the ammunition she needed. She picked me apart over everything—and then insisted the marriage come with no gift, no dowry, not a single dollar from their side.

Owen sat across from me and said nothing.

“All my money will be yours eventually.”

“What difference does the bride price make right now?”

He said it with his head down the whole time, scrolling through his phone.

I didn't find out until later—Rachel Fox showed up right around then. While I was pregnant, before the wedding ever happened. That was the lesson Owen taught me, and it was the worst one of my life.

The memory broke off. I glanced back at Owen.

“I don't want to marry you.”

The finality in my voice caught him off guard.

But it only lasted a moment before he slid right back into form.

“Stop lying.”

“Margaret, you were four months along when you ran. ”

“You're telling me you got rid of it at four months? No way you could do that.”

I almost laughed.

So that was it. Owen thought I'd had his baby. That was why he'd rushed back a year later, desperate to patch things up.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“I didn't have your child.”

My lips curled into a cold smile.

“Owen, the confidence on you.”

“A man who betrayed me again and again and again. What made you think I'd carry your baby to term?”

He clearly didn't believe me.

“Margaret, I'm a senior partner now. Do you know how many women are lining up to marry me?”

That part wasn't a lie.

Half the women at this table probably wanted a piece of Owen Finch.

A few of them hadn't taken their eyes off him all night.

“Margaret, quit being stubborn.”

“Four months along—you wouldn't have gone through with it. You couldn't.”

Before I could respond, his hand reached for mine.

The next second he grabbed my wrist and stood up.

I didn't move. Stayed right where I was.

He tugged at me several times. I still didn't budge.

When he realized I wasn't going to cooperate, he decided to put on the show by himself.

“Hey, everyone—since we're all together tonight, I want to announce that Margaret and I are getting married. You're all invited.”

“Don't worry about gifts—just show up!”

Applause thundered across the table.

Envious looks, congratulations coming from every direction.

“Margaret, you've gotta think about the future.”

“Bring the kid back. I'll take you to get everything sorted—put my name on the paperwork.”

“I've already talked to my mom. I'll pay the bride price myself. How's that?”

He sat back down and leaned in close, his voice low.

I gave him one sidelong look and let out a scoff.

“Owen, nobody cares about your pocket change.”

I shoved back my chair and stood.

“I am not marrying Owen Finch.”

“We broke up a year ago.”

“Since Owen likes making sure everyone knows his business, let me go ahead and tell you why.”

I snapped my fingers, and a PDF appeared on the private room's big screen.

The photo on the first page was Owen and Rachel Fox.

“Isn't that the girl a year below us? I remember she used to chase after Owen.”

“God, isn't Rachel Fox at the same firm as Owen now?”

“Oh my God! Owen cheated that many times?”

“Holy shit, Margaret really put up with all that!”

“I knew it. Someone with Margaret's personality would never have run from her own wedding without a reason.”

……

As the screen flipped page after page, Owen's ugly past was laid completely bare.

His face had gone a deep, burning red. Every trace of the composure he'd walked in with was gone.

He was too arrogant.

Thought I was still waiting for him. Thought I'd come back.

But what he didn't know was that the moment I chose to leave that wedding and end things, we were done. Completely.

“Turn it off!”

Owen's roar filled the entire room. The manager rushed in, flustered, and killed the screen.

Dead silence.

“Margaret, was that really necessary?”

“So a guy slips up a few times—big deal. I'm still willing to marry you, aren't I? What more do you want?”

The thickness of this man's skin was beyond anything I could have imagined.

I let out a short, cold laugh and shook my head.

“Owen, I don't need you to marry me.”

“I'm already married.”

“Bigamy is a felony. I'm not stupid.”

That shut him up cold. He just stared at me, eyes blown wide.

“You're married?”