By the time I reached the stairs, a single tear slipped down before I could stop it. I remembered his friend, years ago, who had tried the same trick, painting me as cruel. Wilmer had not hesitated then. He had defended me, even pulled out the security footage just so his family would never misunderstand me. Back then, I thought he would always stand by me. Now he did not even ask. He just believed her.

I dug my nails into my palm, anything to stop the tears. I wanted to leave right then, to walk out and never look back. But Wilmer’s mother kept asking me to stay, her soft voice pleading. She had been good to me since I was a child. After my parents died, she treated me like her own. How could I turn my back on her now?

So I slipped away from the crowd, searching for a quiet place to sit, to hide. Somewhere I could breathe before I broke completely.

After the broken engagement came out, I could tell Mrs. Preston was terrified that Wilmer would just go running back to Madonna. She didn’t want that door to close forever between me and him, so she kept pulling Wilmer to stay by my side during every part of the banquet. Which left Madonna stranded, sulking in the corner.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as some drunk rich boy stumbled up to her, insisting on making friends. He wouldn’t leave her alone, and the crowd around them just pretended not to see. They had all witnessed what happened earlier, and not one person was willing to step in. Madonna’s eyes got red, her lip trembling like she might cry.

Then suddenly, Wilmer appeared out of nowhere and landed a hard punch straight into the boy’s face. The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw.

“Wilmer! You wouldn’t let me touch Lucille, and now you won’t let me touch her either?” he shouted. “Lucille is your fiancée, but who the hell is this one to you?”

Wilmer just stared at him for two long seconds, then let his gaze slide, quick, in my direction. His jaw clenched.

“SHE’S MINE.”

The room went still. My chest tightened.

And then like some cruel twist I watched him pull Madonna into his arms and crush his mouth against hers in front of everyone. The kiss was rough, loud, and when he pulled back, she clung to him like she would collapse without him.

“If anyone dares to bully Madonna again,” Wilmer declared, “I will never let them go.”

I felt the room shift. People who just hours ago had defended me now rushed to stand at his side, surrounding Madonna like she was a queen. My stomach twisted so painfully I thought I might be sick. I couldn’t breathe anymore.

I ran to the bathroom, shut myself inside, and covered my mouth to hold back the sobs, but the tears still fell heavy and fast. I cried until my chest ached.

Finally, I sent Mrs. Preston a text, apologizing. I told her I wasn’t feeling well and would come back another day to chat. Then I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

I barely made it two steps before someone yanked my wrist.

It was Felix, the same drunk Wilmer had punched earlier. His lips curled into a wicked grin as his eyes raked over me.

“Actually,” his voice low and taunting, “compared to that Madonna, I’ve always liked you more. I only stayed away because Wilmer guarded you like his precious treasure. But now he’s protecting someone else. If you’re willing, I’ll take you in.”

My skin crawled. I pulled my wrist back hard. “I don’t want to. And this is the Preston manor. I’d advise you not to be reckless here.”

His eyes darkened. The punch Wilmer had given him earlier must have been burning in his head. He lunged, shoving me back toward the bathroom wall, and then his mouth crashed against mine.

I struggled desperately, my hands shaking as I reached for the emergency button on the wall. Somehow, I hit it.

The phone connected almost instantly.

“Wilmer! Felix won’t leave me alone, come quickly—”

But all I heard was a sneer on the other end.

“Maddy was harassed by him, and now you too? Lucy, since when did you start playing tricks like this?”

My breath caught. “I didn’t! He really is—”

The line cut off.

I froze, ice sinking into my veins. Wilmer hung up on me.

Felix’s hands tightened, dragging me toward the bathroom. Panic roared in my ears. I grabbed the nearest decoration hanging on the wall and smashed it against him with all my strength.

He shouted in pain and loosened his grip. I bolted, stumbling into the bathroom, slamming the door, and locking it with trembling hands. My whole body shook as I called Mrs. Preston and begged her to send someone.

She arrived fast. She ordered servants to drag Felix out while he cursed and kicked. The sound of his rage faded, and I collapsed against the door, drained.

Mrs. Preston didn’t scold me. She didn’t even ask. She just told the servants to take me upstairs to change. And When the banquet ended, she insisted on sending me home herself.

At the car, she reached out, fixing my hair the way my mother used to. “Before you go to Europe , come visit me more often,” she whispered. Her eyes were wet, but all she let out was a soft sigh. “I’ll send your token later.”

I nodded, thanked her with all the strength I had left, and slid into the car.

We were still a ways from my apartment when the driver’s phone rang. I didn’t mean to listen, but Wilmer’s voice carried through the speaker, sharp and urgent.

“Turn back immediately! Madonna has a stomachache. She needs to go to the hospital now.”

I turned my face toward the window, silent. It was always her. Always.

The driver glanced at me in the mirror and spoke softly, almost like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. “But Madam said that Miss Lucille was frightened today. She told me to take her home first.”

“You’re the Preston family’s driver. Since when do you care about outsiders? Huh!”

Outsider.

My hands gripped the strap of my bag so tight my knuckles turned white. That was what I was now. Just an outsider.

I didn’t want to make things harder for the driver, so I told him to just let me out.

He hesitated for only a second then pulled to the side. The cold air slapped me when I stepped onto the pavement. A second later, the taillights disappeared into the night.

I walked slowly down the road, my scarf pulled tight around me. I’d had some wine at the banquet, and my mind drifted where it shouldn’t. I remembered Mrs. Preston’s last birthday, how everyone had teased us about what I’d look like in a wedding dress, what kind of baby Wilmer and I would have. I’d been so happy that day, I drank too much and ended up doubled over with stomach pains.

It was storming that night, no taxis, the driver was off duty, and Wilmer wasn’t allowed to use the family car. He didn’t care. He carried me on his back through the icy streets all the way to the hospital. He wouldn’t even let me cry.

Now, a year later, the same Wilmer could leave me standing on the roadside for Madonna.

My nose stung. I pulled my scarf tighter and kept walking. By the time I reached my apartment, my body was stiff from the cold.

I was just about to unlock the door when a hand suddenly covered my eyes from behind. “Guess who?”

My heart leapt, but I forced myself not to scream. I pried his hand off calmly, my face blank.

It was Wilmer.

He frowned when he saw I wasn’t going to play along. Slowly, he lowered his hand, almost awkward, and pulled a small box from his pocket. “My mom said you left something behind,” he said, turning it over in his hand. “She made me bring it. What is it?”

He flipped the box in his fingers, curiosity all over his face, and I saw he was about to open it.

My breath caught. That box… it was the token of trust my mother had exchanged with the Prestons before she died.

I lunged forward and snatched it from his hands.

His frown deepened. “Lucille, are you hiding something from me?”

The sharp corners of the box dug into my palm as I clutched it. Wilmer and I once promised never to keep secrets from each other. Until Madonna. She came, and suddenly he lied. And then he lied again.

I held the box tighter, the ache spreading from my hand into my chest. I looked up at him. “It’s not a secret. But there’s no reason for me to tell you.”

We weren’t anything anymore.

I turned away, reaching for my door, wanting this night to end.

But he was faster. Wilmer grabbed my bag, yanked it open, and pulled the box out again. “Is this necessary?” His tone was mocking now. “What is this, huh? Some gift from a man outside? Is that why you don’t want me to see it?”

Something in me snapped. I didn’t even think. I reached up on my toes, desperate, trying to grab it back before he could open it.

Wilmer liked it when I did this, I could tell. It reminded him of the way he used to tease me back then, when we weren’t fighting all the time. I would throw myself into his arms, laugh, and beg for whatever he had taken from me. He used to love that.

This time, he caught my hand and steadied me so I wouldn’t fall. But when I looked up, his eyes caught mine, and I knew mine were red. His smile froze.

“You cried just because I wanted to see it?” he asked quietly.

I pressed my lips together. I only wanted him to look and give it back. That was all. Before I could even explain, his phone started ringing.

It rang once, then stopped. Rang again, then stopped. Again and again, like it wouldn’t let him breathe. I glanced down and saw the name flashing across the screen. Madonna.

Wilmer shifted, growing restless. The more it rang, the more anxious he looked. Finally, he turned to leave. Without thinking, I reached for the corner of his jacket, holding on as if for once I could keep him here. His body stilled, and for a second he looked surprised.

Then the phone rang again, and he sighed.

“Madonna keeps calling. I don’t know what’s wrong, maybe something happened. She’s all alone, I should go—”

“Give me back my things and leave,” I cut in.

His face darkened, and I saw the words he wanted to say die in his throat. The phone wouldn’t stop, and finally he shoved the box into my hands. Roughly. Carelessly. The lid popped open, and a yellowed piece of paper slipped out, floating to the floor.

He glanced at it, then walked out without another word.

I bent down, picked it up, and saw what it was. Our marriage certificate that needed his signature. I tore it into pieces before I could think twice. The scraps fell into the trash can, along with whatever was left of us.

After that, I knew I had to leave. There was nothing for me here anymore. No relatives, no family. Only this city that had turned so cold. I had to sell everything before I went.

My parents’ apartment, and the wedding house Wilmer had given me. Both our names were on it, and that meant I couldn’t just walk away. I had to face him one last time.

I sent him a message. No reply. I waited, but time wasn’t something I had. I didn’t want to come back to New York again just to handle this. So I opened his profile, looking for where he’d been. But the moment I clicked, I saw it. I had been blocked.

The air punched out of me. I thought of calling his mother, but she only told me Wilmer hadn’t gone home since that night.

So I swallowed my pride and messaged Madonna. “I need to talk to Wilmer. Please tell him and let me know.”

Her reply came instantly, like she had been waiting. An address.

It was a villa. The holiday home that was ours. Our secret place, where no one else was allowed. Where I had kissed him for the first time. Where he promised me this place would always belong only to us.

But Madonna had gone there too.

I told myself not to think, not to feel, and I drove. The road curved through the quiet trees, but when I arrived, the quiet was gone. Laughter spilled everywhere, strangers filling the house that used to be ours.

I walked along the path, my chest aching. Then I saw them.

Madonna, half-kneeling, her lips brushing Wilmer’s cheek. “Thank you for inviting my friends here,” she said sweetly.

He started to pull away, but his eyes lifted and found me.

The kiss still burned on his face. And all I could think of was that night, when I kissed him first. My clumsy little thank-you kiss, right here in this villa. He’d smiled so warmly, and after that, he always asked for kisses whenever he made me happy.

Every tree, every wall here had seen our love.

And now they were about to witness the end.

I waited until Madonna finally pulled back from him before I stepped closer. My hands trembled a little as I held out the papers.

“You bought our wedding house,” I said quietly. “Since we’re done, I should return it to you. Take a look. If you don’t want it, I can buy it back at market price.”

Wilmer’s eyes turned sharp and cold. His knuckles cracked as he gripped the document like it was something filthy. He stared at me for a long time before speaking.

“Anything else?”

I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “I still have some things there. I’d like to take them this time.”

His face darkened, like I had said something unforgivable.

Madonna covered her mouth and let out a fake little gasp. “Oh no. I thought everything in that room was just useless junk. I already moved it all to the storage room. Want me to take you there?”

I nodded politely. “Thank you.”

She smiled sweetly and touched Wilmer’s shoulder as if he belonged to her. She tried to stand, but the moment she moved, Wilmer caught her wrist.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed. She pouted. “Why are you so clingy?”

I lowered my eyes and walked ahead, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. The storage room was the smallest one in the house. Cramped, airless, barely enough space for two people.

Wilmer leaned against the doorframe, watching me with cold eyes as I picked through my things. His silence pressed down like a weight.

Madonna bent down beside me, pretending to help. Her perfume suffocated me in the narrow space. Her voice came out soft, but sharp enough to cut.

“You’ve found so many excuses just to see him again. You really haven’t given up, have you? Fine. I’ll help you.”

Before I could even react, she brushed against the shelf, and a box tumbled from the top.

I barely had time to move.

Wilmer’s pupils shrank, and he rushed in. But not for me. He grabbed Madonna, pulling her tightly into his arms.

The box missed her by an inch. Instead, it slammed into my shoulder, hard enough to knock me off my feet. Pain shot through me, white and blinding.

I collapsed on the floor.

Wilmer frowned, just frowned, then turned back to Madonna. He lifted her as if she were made of glass, her arm only scratched, and hurried her outside. I heard him call for a car, his voice sharp with worry but none of it for me.

The pain spread until I couldn’t move. My breathing grew shallow, my vision fading. Before the darkness took me, one thought brought me a strange kind of peace.

It’s good I don’t love him anymore.

If I don’t love him, I won’t cry because he chose her when I needed him most.

If I don’t love him, I can finally stop waiting for him to save me.

When Madonna’s friends saw her tiny scratch, they all rushed with Wilmer to the hospital. No one looked back.

I don’t know how long I lay there. It wasn’t until the next morning that the maid found me. Her eyes went wide with shock as she called for an ambulance. She must have panicked, because she also called Wilmer.

“Mr. Wilmer,” I heard her say faintly on the phone. “Miss Lucille was badly hurt and collapsed in the storage room. The ambulance is on the way. Do you want to come see her?”

There was a pause. Then his cold voice, flat and final. “Why should I go? The ambulance is coming. It has nothing to do with me anymore.”

The maid tried again, but he only snapped, “Make sure she and her things are cleared out properly. I don’t want her dirtying my place.”

The line went dead.