Barbara couldn’t listen any longer. Every word from Jerry’s mouth felt like a slow, deliberate carving into her heart—a torture she could barely endure.

The world spun. One thought crystallized in the chaos.

Had Jerry been rotten from the very beginning?

He’d hung up the phone at some point. Now he picked up his discarded jacket from the floor and draped it over her shoulders.

Barbara stiffened, recoiling instinctively from his touch.

But Jerry didn’t press further. His attention was already stolen by his phone.

He didn’t even seem to register their closeness, didn’t realize she could see the screen clearly.

Intimate messages to Claire pierced her vision. Barbara turned her head away, unable to look.

Jerry fiddled with his phone for another long moment before tossing a casual sentence her way.

“Sweetheart, something came up at the office. Can’t stay. I’ll have the driver come get you. I’m heading out.”

With that, he strode to his car. The Lamborghini roared to life and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

It never even occurred to him whether she was safe out here in the middle of nowhere.

After all, he’d already left Claire waiting at the airport for forty minutes.

But he couldn’t be blamed, really. It was Barbara’s birthday today. He’d spent so long coaxing her, convincing her to wear the lace and come out here with him.

Watching the taillights vanish, Barbara let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh.

One sentence looped endlessly in her mind:

*Jerry, when did you start to rot?*

She drifted back to her apartment like a ghost. The blast of central heating did nothing to thaw the ice in her bones.

The room was pitch black, filled only with the sound of her choked sobs.

Her phone lit up on the coffee table—a vibrating rectangle of light.

She didn’t want to answer. But the caller was stubborn, insistent on reaching her tonight.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Barbara finally pressed accept.

Grant’s voice, familiar and warm, filled the silence.

“Barbara… will you marry me?”

“I know about you and Jerry… but I truly don’t care. I’ll wait for you. However long it takes.”

Barbara gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her nails dug into her palm, the sharp pain a counterpoint to the suffocating ache in her chest.

“Grant, I…”

Her voice was a dry rasp. “I will. I do.”

“But… are you really sure you don’t mind?”

“Jerry and I… it’s been so many years…” Her words faded to a whisper.

“Silly. I told you. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Grant’s voice was impossibly gentle.

“Loving you, waiting for you… it’s all my choice. My own wish.”

“I’ve waited ten years already. What’s a little more?”

*Ten years.* The words hit her like a physical blow, a sledgehammer to her ribs.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears spilled over, tracing burning paths down her cheeks.

She nodded fiercely into the phone, her voice thick with tears. “Okay… Give me two weeks. Just two more weeks to wrap things up here. Then we’ll get married. And never be apart again.”

Two weeks from now was her birthday. Seven years ago, on her most wretched birthday, Jerry had swooped in like a savior, pulling her from the fire.

She was someone who believed in finishing what she started. She’d use that day to say a final goodbye to Jerry.

Whenever he’d started to rot, she’d been tangled with him for seven whole years. A few more days wouldn’t change anything.

“Married? To whom?”

Jerry’s voice was a thunderclap, exploding right behind her, making her ears ring.

She jumped violently. The phone slipped from her grasp, hitting the floor with a sickening crack, the screen shattering.

She whirled around. There he stood, having appeared out of nowhere.

They’d been together for seven years. But in that moment, he felt utterly alien. Utterly repulsive.

She fought to keep her voice level. “My mother is pressuring me to go back home and get married.”

To her surprise, Jerry laughed.

“Barbara, baby… are you still mad at me?”

He strode forward, producing a delicate velvet box from behind his back and presenting it to her like a prize. “Look. Do you like it?”

Barbara took it coldly and set it on the side table without a word.

“Why so cold?” His voice held a thread of displeasure. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

He moved silently, coming up behind her, his hands reaching to circle her waist.

Barbara jerked away, spinning to face him, her body trembling uncontrollably.

She hated him. Hated his touch. Hated the faint, lingering scent of his cologne—the same one Claire always wore.

She looked at him, her gaze icy. “Jerry, what does it matter how expensive the things you give me are?”

“Tell me—what have you ever given me that could compare to what you’ve given Claire?”

Today was Jerry and Claire’s engagement banquet. All of Southborough’s elite had gathered for the occasion, while she was forced to hide like a shameful secret in this gilded cage.

Jerry’s expression stiffened for a moment before his smile returned. “Jealous?”

Barbara ignored him, turning back to the files spread across the desk.

He wasn’t about to let it go. Grabbing her shoulders, he forced her to face him, his tone turning sharp. “Barbara, what’s your problem?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to slip away from that banquet?” Closing the distance between them, his eyes darkened dangerously. “I came here with a gift just to make it up to you—and this is the thanks I get?”

Barbara almost laughed in his face.

Did he really think stealing a few minutes from his own engagement party was some grand act of charity?

“Envious?” His voice dropped to a murmur against her ear, thick with desire. “Be good for me tonight, and maybe I’ll get you a ring too.”

“Be a good girl. I promise, yours will be even bigger…”

His hands began to wander.

“Jerry, what do you even think I am?”

He caught her hand, pulling her roughly against his chest with a low laugh. “What do you think you are? Sweetheart, don’t be difficult. Do we really need to spell it out?”

His voice was a husky, seductive whisper—yet it sent a chill straight down her spine.

“You’re engaged, Jerry. Why are you doing this?”

Trembling, she shoved against his chest with all her strength, but his arms were like iron bands around her.

After a desperate struggle, she finally broke free.

She fled to the bathroom, snatched a wet wipe, and began scrubbing her skin where he’d touched her. Over and over, as if she could scour away the memory itself.

She felt filthy.

Jerry stumbled back from her shove, nearly losing his balance.

Watching her frantic scrubbing, his face darkened.

“Barbara, stop this,” he said, his voice low and rough with anger. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Stop this?” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Jerry, when have I ever *not* been ‘making a scene’ in your eyes?”

“I ducked out on my own party. I left my fiancée, my family, all our guests. Do you have any idea the pressure I’m under? I just wanted to see you. I just… missed you.”

“Missed me?” The words tasted like ash. If she hadn’t overheard his conversation with his friends a few days ago, she might have almost believed him.

At her scornful tone, the smile finally faded from Jerry’s lips, replaced by a chilling calm.

“Barbara, enough.”

“Just stay. Be good, and I’ll give you everything you want. Everything except my name. You know how this works. Claire is just a business arrangement. Once this all settles down, we can go back to how things were…”

“Go back?” Barbara laughed, the sound hollow. “To being your caged songbird?”

"Barbara, what's on your mind? You've been quiet for ages."

Jerry's tone was sharp with impatience.

"I've spelled it all out. What more do you want? Just be good. It's for your own good."

Barbara stared at him, her heart a cold knot of pure hatred.

Her fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms—the sharp pain the only anchor keeping her from splintering apart.

Mistaking her silence for a sulk, Jerry gave a helpless shrug.

"Actually, I got you another surprise."

Like a magician, he produced another elegant gift box from behind his back, its perfect bow gleaming.

"Wanna open it?" His voice brimmed with anticipation, as if offering a rare treasure.

But Barbara sat utterly still, her eyes hollow and vacant—still, dead pools.

When she didn’t move, Jerry waited a beat, then opened the box himself.

"Barbara, you're gonna love this!"

With a wicked grin, he pulled out a black lace bunny outfit—provocative, suggestive, its sheer panels and strategic cutouts designed to set any man's pulse racing.

The sight hit her like a physical blow. Her world seemed to collapse in a silent roar.

She shot to her feet, trembling violently with rage and humiliation.

"Jerry, *this* is your surprise?" Her voice was a ragged scrape, each word torn from her throat. "What am I to you? Some cheap hooker you can humiliate? Your personal plaything?"

She bit her lip until she tasted blood. The vile words Jerry and Jason had exchanged that day slithered through her mind like venomous snakes, gnawing at the last tatters of her dignity.

"Enough drama. Get over here," Jerry's voice thickened with lust. "Put it on..."

Barbara couldn't take another second. She lunged forward, snatched the outfit from his hands, ripped it savagely to shreds, and hurled the tattered fabric into his face. "Jerry, you animal!" she screamed, her voice raw and breaking. "I'd rather die than let you touch me again!"

Her violent outburst startled him. He dropped the remnants and reached for her, trying to pull her into his arms. "Barbara, what's gotten into you?"

But his hand never reached her. She slapped it away.

"Don't touch me!" Barbara shrieked, recoiling like a wounded animal, her eyes wide with terror and revulsion.

Just then, Jerry's phone rang. His expression shifted instantly. A glance at the screen, and he answered swiftly.

"Hey, Claire, what's up?" His voice softened, dripping with honeyed gentleness.

He picked up the torn bunny outfit and the little whip from the floor, holding them up mockingly before her. "Shame about this. Next time, maybe. Sleep alone tonight. Don't wait up."

"Jerry!" Her voice cut the air. He paused at the door and turned, a teasing smirk on his lips. "What's this? Jealous?"

He walked back, hooked a finger under her chin, and forced her gaze up to meet his.

Leaning close, his breath hot against her ear, he whispered words meant for her alone:

"Let me make this crystal clear. Being with Claire is my right. Being with you? That's an affair. Understand? Keep your head down and stop making waves."