In eight years together, my boyfriend—Shayne Raffield—blocked me eighty-eight times.

This time? Because I missed his call. At my best friend's birthday party.

Usually, I'd panic-order a gift, then stand outside his office, head down, ready to beg.

But today? I blocked him first.

The Chat Feed popped up, loud as ever:

[Nooo, Ley-Bae, don't block Shay-Shay! He's just got abandonment issues. Comfort him!]

[Shay's heart = shattered; Eyes = red. Ley, go! One pout and he's yours again!]

Then Shayne called.

Didn't say a word. Just breathed for ten seconds and hung up.

The Chat Feed freaked out.

[AHHHH SHAY LOVES LEY SO MUCH HE JUST SUCKS AT SAYING IT. THIS COWARD'S GONNA LOSE HIS GIRL.]

[Tomorrow's the big 8-year ShayLey anniversary! Shay-Shay booked the amusement park! PROPOSAL ALERT. Ley-Bae, unblock him! Marry him already!]

I stared at the feed. Nose stinging.

Yeah, I caved. Almost took him off the blocklist—almost—when the property manager texted:

[Ms. Landon, Mr. Raffield says you two broke up. Please pay $44.45 for this month's utilities. Also, he's calculated eight years of dating expenses: $5,844.10.]

My blood straight-up froze.

Next second, I Venmo'd the money.

Then I packed my stuff, clipped the leash on my corgi, Pudding, and walked out.

Before I left, I sent one last message:

[I'm generous—no need to split the dog expenses from the past eight years. I'm taking the dog. You and me? We're square.]

Dragging my suitcase, leash in hand, I stood at my best friend's door.

Opened it—and there he was. Shayne. Half-reclined on the couch. Shirt undone.

Vanessa—my best friend—was straddling him like some low-budget porno.

She jumped up the second she saw me, yanking her top back in place.

Shayne blinked, slow. Eyes met mine, and all the color drained from his face.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice? Full-on panic.

It hit like a knife.

Pudding whimpered at my feet.

Not even half a day post-breakup, and he was already wrapped around her.

My so-called best friend.

My nails dug into my palms. Didn't even feel it.

The Chat Feed lit up:

[LEY-BAE, CRY! If you stay calm, Shay-Shay'll think you don't care!]

[Shay, hello? Her hands are shaking. FIX. IT.]

[Vanessa totally set you up. Got you drunk, made you think she was Ley. Just explain, bro!]

Vanessa's eyes flickered smug before she switched to pity mode.

"Leyla, it's not what it looks like. Shayne loves you."

"It's not what it looks like?" I dropped the suitcase. Four bloody crescents stared back from my palm.

"So him crashing on your couch three hours after we broke up—and you on top of him—was just bad timing? Or was I supposed to wait till you two got naked?"

The Chat Feed spiraled:

[LEY. SWEAR. FROM ABOVE, NOTHING HAPPENED.]

[Vanessa's a snake. She's been plotting this. Wanted you to walk in.]

Vanessa's face darkened.

Shayne stepped up, yanked her behind him, eyes all unreadable pain.

"Vanessa's right. This isn't what it seems. But us? That ended the second you blocked me. Don't ever show up again."

His words slammed into me.

I looked at him—and just like that, he felt like a stranger.

"Shayne Raffield," my voice shook, "do you really think I'm that pathetic? That I'd come crawling back after YOU dumped me?"

His brow twitched. Vanessa's lipstick was still smeared across his collar.

"I didn't think that."

"Yeah? 'Cause that's EXACTLY how you act." My voice cracked, loud and sharp.

Pudding paced at my feet, anxious.

Shayne had that look again—the one he wore every time he blocked me, waiting for me to beg.

Smug. Condescending. Like he still had me on a string.

The Chat Feed popped off:

[Shay's such a stubborn jerk. He's obsessed with Ley but pretending he's some cold-hearted bad boy.]

[Ugh, Ley too—blowing up just feeds that manipulative witch's drama kink.]

Shayne's fingers twitched. His Adam's apple jumped.

Still, nothing.

I exhaled hard. Exhaustion hit like a brick.

"Forget it. I'm done. I don't want to fight anymore. You won't see me again."

Before he could say a word, I scooped up Pudding and walked away.

I checked into a hotel, suitcase dragging behind me.

The Chat Feed blinked like it was having a meltdown:

[How is Ley this calm? She just walked away from eight years like it was nothing!]

[Shay-Shay LOVES her—he just sucks at showing it!]

[Poor Shay-Shay. Orphaned young, and now Ley's leaving too. This is a TRAGEDY!]

"Tragedy?" I snapped, slamming my makeup bag on the vanity.

Pudding flinched.

Eight years, and Shayne treated me like his personal customer service line.

He's the victim? Seriously?

What about me—the girl who gave everything?

Two years ago, I turned off my phone to host the company gala.

In two hours, I had 32 missed calls. The last text?

[If you disappear, we're done.]

That night at 3 AM, I stood outside his place in high heels and a cocktail dress—for five hours.

All he said was, "Realize your mistake?"

Whenever it rained, his umbrella only covered him.

I'd be soaked, and he'd smirk, "Now you've got an excuse to change at my place."

Back then, I thought that was love. Cute. Couple stuff.

But last month, when a car sped past and splashed mud everywhere—he shoved me into it.

I just stood there, drenched and dumb, asking why he didn't pull me back.

He buried his face in my neck and mumbled, "Babe, I've gotten so used to relying on you... I figured you'd protect me."

I knew something was off. But I stayed quiet—because I loved him.

There are a million ways to love.

In our mess of a story? I was the strong one. He was the human version of a 'protect me' button.

Until now.

Shayne—yeah, the same guy who always hid behind me—suddenly turned into Captain Shield, throwing himself in front of Vanessa.

Lipstick still smeared on his collar, arms out like some wannabe hero.

That's when it hit me—he could love someone. He could protect her.

Eight years with him, and not once did he ever do that for me.

Pudding curled up by my feet, those big, worried eyes locked on me.

I ran my fingers over his head. Tears slipped down, hot and sharp like they were trying to leave scars.

Still, I muttered, "It's fine. It's done."

I didn't need saving—I could handle better solo.

Then my phone lit up.

[Ms. Landon, are you available tonight at 8 PM? Elysium Lounge. I'd like to discuss the Selvora branch lead position with you.]

—Mr. Cadwell, HR Director.

I shook my head, ditching the emotional junk.

Quick rinse, makeup on, bag over my shoulder—I was out.

Elysium Lounge had that chill, lowlight vibe.

Mr. Cadwell was already there, standing the second he saw me. "Ms. Landon. Long time."

I slid into the seat across from him and ordered an iced Americano.

He got right to it—offering me the lead role at the new Selvora branch. We were just getting into the juicy details when—

"Leyla Landon!"

Cue the chaos.

Shayne yanked my wrist hard enough to snap something.

Eyes wild, voice shredded.

"You're really leaving me—for HIM?!"

Mr. Cadwell blinked. "Sir, I think you're misunderstanding—"

"Misunderstanding?" Shayne's laugh was pure chaos, eyes unhinged.

Next thing I knew, he had Mr. Cadwell by the collar, fist cocked.

"Shayne!" I jumped up, wedging myself between them. "Haven't you done enough? You literally told me to disappear. Said we were done. So what is THIS?"

And because things weren't messy enough—enter his buddy—Andy.

"Leyla," he huffed, already in attack mode, "if we hadn't been here chillin', Shayne would've stayed clueless. The guy's been wrecking himself over you, and what do you do? Use him up and bounce to the next?"

I shot Shayne a look. "That what you told them?"

He couldn't even meet my eyes. Classic.

"We were together EIGHT YEARS," I said, voice shaking. "From houses to takeout, I paid my share—even when everything was under your name.

"I once had fifty bucks to my name, and when you said, 'Let's split the soup'? I didn't blink.

"Our total shared living costs? You didn't even break $6K. And after we broke up, you demanded it all back—so I paid. Every. Cent."

I stepped in. He backed off.

"Wasn't that enough for you? And now you drag your crew in here to blow things up? What are you trying to prove?"

Shayne's fist stopped mid-swing.

Breathing hard, but still couldn't meet my eyes.

Andy and Mr. Cadwell just stood there, jaws basically on the floor.

Then—heels, fast and furious—Vanessa barged in.

Vanessa gasped, all fake-shocked. "Leyla! If Andy hadn't called, I wouldn't have known you'd already moved on. No wonder you dumped Shayne outta nowhere."

She latched onto Shayne's arm like some cloying perfume ad. "Shayne, let it go. Don't ruin her date. Just move on—you'll thank yourself later."

His eyes flashed with pain, but he kept staring at me, like I owed him something.