At a classmate’s wedding, everyone joked with me, "So when are you getting married?"

I said, "Soon."

My girlfriend, Fiona Hartley, said she hadn’t thought about it yet.

After we spoke at the same time, she looked at me with undisguised disgust. "When did I ever agree to marry you?"

That night, claiming it was out of spite, she went out with friends to a get-together centered around her long-cherished first love.

I knew then that she had never intended to marry me.

So I didn’t try to stop her. I let the wedding plans continue as scheduled.

After all, she was never the woman I wanted to marry in the first place.

I had been dating Fiona Hartley for eight years.

At lunch that day, I casually mentioned getting married. I hadn’t even finished my sentence when Fiona slammed her cutlery down on the table with a sharp crack.

She stood up, furious, and shouted at me, "Caleb Morgan, are you really so desperate to trap me with marriage? How can you be this selfish?"

I didn’t understand. We had been together for eight years, and I wanted to get married. What was wrong with that?

I couldn’t help asking her out loud, "Don’t you want to marry me?"

I don’t know which nerve that sentence hit, but Fiona suddenly grabbed her bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

If a friend hadn’t sent me a video later that night, I wouldn’t even have known that she’d gone out to meet another man.

Watching the video of her dancing closely with him, bodies pressed together, I finally understood why Fiona didn’t want to marry me.

I knew that guy, or rather, everyone in our circle knew him. He was Fiona’s first love, Gavin Rhodes.

I’d heard about them before. In college, they’d been the model couple. People used to see them everywhere together, inseparable. No one knew why they eventually broke up.

Back then, I hadn’t paid much attention. I’d assumed it was just a fleeting infatuation from their student days.

So what if he was her first love? I was the one by her side now.

Now, as I watched the video, the last bit of hope in my heart slowly went out. Fiona’s face seemed to twist and distort in front of my eyes.

I called Fiona.

No answer.

Then the owner of that number sent me a message, dripping with provocation. "Even if you marry her, so what? I'm still the one she loves."

I didn’t reply and quietly blocked the number.

After thinking for a moment, I called Fiona’s best friend, Lena.

The call connected. I got straight to the point. "Fiona is with you right now, isn’t she? Who’s that guy?"

There was silence on the other end. She was clearly guilty.

Then I heard Fiona’s voice in the background. "It’s your turn to drink. Who are you talking to?"

"Work stuff," Lena said in a lowered voice. "I’m hanging up. My phone’s about to die."

"Ten thousand," I said.

"No way! What do you take me for?"

"Fifty thousand. I want everything you know about that man."

"Fine… just don’t say it was me."

I acknowledged it softly.

The call ended.

Almost immediately, my phone started buzzing nonstop. She sent me an Instagram account that belonged to Fiona, one that was private and I had never known about.

I tapped into it.

She posted constantly about what she ate, where she went, and what she read.

Every single post had comments from Gavin.

Fiona: Finally finished it. Knitting a scarf for the one I love.

Gavin: Got the scarf. Too bad he’s at home, or I’d come pick it up.

Fiona: Hmph. Then forget it.

It was a black scarf, the birthday gift Fiona had given me last year. I’d been genuinely moved at the time.

Now I realized it was something Gavin hadn’t wanted, so it ended up with me instead.

I kept scrolling. Then I saw the post that completely froze my heart.

It was on Valentine’s Day the year the pandemic was at its worst. I’d been stuck in a hotel, unable to spend the holiday with Fiona, and she’d been angry with me for a long time.

However, on that day, she posted a mirror selfie of her kissing Gavin. The background was unmistakable. It was a hotel bed.

Ding!

A new post notification popped up.

Fiona had updated again. The caption read, "Saying goodbye to my youth."

Gavin commented, "I hope he treats you well."

I quietly closed my phone and rubbed my temples.

At eleven that night, Fiona’s call came right on time. Her voice on the other end was bright, carrying a hint of excitement. "Caleb, don’t wait up for me tonight."

I didn’t say anything.

As if feeling guilty, she quickly added, "My friends know I’m getting married. They want to throw me a last bachelorette night."

I knew that line too well. After my friend’s wedding, she had said the exact same thing seven times, which meant that under the excuse of a bachelorette night, she hadn’t come home for an entire week.

Through the phone, loud music and the shouts of a crowd spilled out, shattering the quiet of the night.

When I still didn’t respond, Fiona called again. "Hey… what’s wrong? Are you mad?"

Her tone was cautious, testing. She waited quietly for my reply.

I lowered my head and glanced at the watch on my wrist.

For some reason, the words slipped out. "It’s eleven."

Outsiders wouldn’t understand what that meant, but it was something only the two of us shared.

I knew it, and so did she.

It was a rule she had set back when we were deeply in love. Back then, she had just started working, and I was in a critical stage of my career. I almost always came home very late after business dinners.

One night, it was nearly midnight when I got home and found her curled up on the couch like a little cat. When she saw me, she had stumbled toward me in a daze, carefully testing the waters.

"Caleb… can you come home before eleven?"

We hadn’t been together very long at that point. At first, she had been lively and outgoing.

Then, because of my constant late nights, she gradually became suspicious and sensitive. I had looked at her damp eyes, the faint trace of cake cream still clinging to the corner of her mouth.

It was her birthday. I couldn’t bring myself to refuse, so I agreed.

During that time, she openly called me every night. "Caleb, it’s eleven. Time to come home." Her tone made her sound like a little housekeeper.

Later on, whenever she said, "It’s eleven", I would instinctively reply, "Time to come home." It became our unspoken game.

However, because it was so unspoken, I suddenly realized something. I didn’t know when that game had stopped. When exactly did it end?

It was the first time I had ever seriously thought about it.

Maybe it was when she officially passed her probation at work or when she started traveling frequently for business, or perhaps even earlier.

She hadn’t said those words in a long time, as if she was certain I would come home on time no matter what.

There was one thing she might have forgotten. That privilege had been something I gave her in a moment of softness.

If I wanted to take it back, I could do so at any time.

Fiona froze. She clearly knew what I meant. There was a long pause.

Then a man’s voice came through the line. "Fiona, hurry up. Everyone’s waiting for you."

It was Gavin Rhodes. His voice moved from far to near. As if he realized something, Gavin let out a scoffing laugh.

"You’re not even married yet, and you’re already checking up on her. Once you’re married, won’t you be even more annoying?"

Fiona didn’t say anything.

Gavin urged her again, "Come on. Truth or dare. Everyone’s waiting."

Only then did Fiona speak. Her tone softened, carrying a hint of pleading. "Caleb…"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and pulled my thoughts back under control. "You don’t need to come back anymore."

Fiona seemed startled. Right after that, she complained with obvious dissatisfaction, "Caleb, this is my last night as an unmarried lady."

She was blaming me. Blaming me for forcing her.

Everyone who knew us knew that during the three years we’d been together, I had spoiled her excessively. I would have done anything for her, even plucked stars from the sky if she wanted them.

At a friend’s wedding a week ago, someone had joked with me, "So when are you getting married?"

Fiona replied, "Let’s wait a bit. No rush."

I said, "Soon."

Fiona and I had spoken almost at the same time.

Fiona had shot me a resentful look, her expression full of reluctance. That attitude made everyone there uncomfortable.

Seeing my friend’s frown, I had added calmly, "Probably the second half of the year. Weddings are a hassle to prepare for."

Maybe to save my face, Fiona fell silent and didn’t argue further.

After we got home, though, she had exploded at me, "Caleb! Why are you forcing me? I’m only twenty-five!"

So what?

I looked at her and felt like laughing.

We’d been together for three years. In the beginning, she loved clinging to my arm, eyes full of longing, saying she wanted to marry me as soon as possible. Even the birthday wishes she made two years in a row were about marrying me.

Had she forgotten all of that in just one year?

That argument ended without any conclusion because it was never a discussion. It was her venting alone.

I was just tired.

Looking at her stubborn expression, I didn’t have the energy to argue about whether I was forcing her or not.

Fiona stormed out, furious, and didn’t come home all night.

I thought that must have been the day Gavin reached out to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have told me the very next day that she was going to another bachelorette party.

Today, she was still going to a bachelorette party.

On the other end of the call, Gavin kept urging her. Before I could say anything, Fiona hurriedly hung up.

It wasn’t until late at night that her message finally came through.

"Caleb, I love you the most. I’ll come home tomorrow night."

I had once seen a saying online. When a woman who doesn’t come home suddenly declares her loyalty to you late at night, it means the man beside her is finished.

Sure enough, I soon received photos from another number.

In the pictures, Fiona’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes hazy.

"You should thank me for taking such good care of her for you."

Those repeated provocations struck me as nothing more than ridiculous.

I turned off my phone and didn’t reply to Fiona right away.

It was less than six months until the wedding date I had set. If I didn’t make my position clear, she would absolutely use these so-called bachelorette parties to get through that time to satisfy her own desires and to express her dissatisfaction with me.

Three years together had convinced her that I couldn’t live without her.

She was wrong.

I had always been clear-headed.

No one dies just because they lose someone else.

Marriage is marriage, no matter who it’s with. The only reason it had been her was that she suited me, so I kept her by my side.

If she behaved, I spoiled her.

If she cheated, I replaced her.

I would pick someone clean, obedient, and easy.

It was that simple.

Fiona didn’t cling to me this time, the way she used to when she didn’t get a reply.

I checked the time. It was three in the morning.

I picked up my phone and replied to her message, "When I said you didn’t need to come back, I meant we’re breaking up."

A relationship should have a proper beginning and a proper end.

I was the one who had asked to be together. It was only right that I was the one to say the words when it ended.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t given her chances. She just didn’t cherish them. I felt I had done more than enough.

My grandmother’s health was getting worse by the day. I had to get married according to the original plan. If she wouldn’t do, then I would switch to someone else.

I sent a message in the group chat, asking the guys to introduce some new people to me.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

One knock after another, it seemed unhurried, standing out sharply in the quiet of the night.

I got up and opened the door.

A girl stood there, shoulders drawn in, clearly trying to stay calm. She was holding a cake in one hand. When she saw me, happiness flashed across her face.

"Caleb."

Her voice trembled, yet her tone was firm.

Before I could speak, she continued, serious and resolute, "I’m here to steal my sister’s boyfriend."