I was still a little pissed when the annual party ended.

Without waiting for Andrea, I drove alone to the bridal shop in the city center. The custom wedding dress I had ordered for next week was there. It had cost six figures, but I felt no hesitation paying for it. I wanted to give her the best.

When the shop assistant saw me, her expression turned awkward. "Mr. Reed… Miss Smith came by this afternoon. She already took the dress."

I frowned, puzzled. Was she trying to surprise me?

I was ready to forgive her. I even took out my phone to ask what she wanted for dinner.

Then I saw her new post. No caption, just a photo. She was wearing the wedding dress. Ethan stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist.

He had left a comment beneath it: [My girl is the most beautiful bride in the world today.]

My hand began to shake around the phone.

…

When I got home and pushed the door open, the living room was a disaster. Takeout boxes, bottles, and scraps of white fabric covered the coffee table.

The wedding dress I had custom made lay among them, cut into pieces. One piece sat under a pizza box, soaked with grease.

Andrea and Ethan were playing video games. They were squeezed into a single seat, their bodies pressed together.

When she saw me, she did not even look up.

"You're back? Pour me a glass of water." Her tone was flat.

I walked to the coffee table and picked up a grease-stained piece of the dress. "What is this?"

Only then did she glance at me, her expression indifferent.

"Oh, Ethan said he wanted to see me in the wedding dress, so I wore it for him. He accidentally damaged it, so I cut it into a short dress. Then I messed it up." She shrugged and kept playing. "You're rich anyway. Just buy another one. What's the big deal?"

Ethan leaned out from her arms. In a soft, calculated voice, he said, "Sorry, Mr. Reed. I didn't know the dress was so expensive. I thought it was just some cheap prop you got online. I'll pay you back… Even though I only make a few hundred a month, I can pay in installments…"

At once, Andrea exploded. She threw the controller aside and stood, shielding him. "Pay for what? He's just a kid. What does he know? Is one stupid dress more important than him being happy? Daniel, stop coming home with that sour face. You act like someone owes you millions."

I looked at her. This was the face I had loved for seven years. For her, I gave up a high-paying job on Crownmarket Square and came back to work myself to exhaustion for her family's failing business. I drank for her, stayed up nights for her, and handled every dirty and exhausting task for her. I turned her into the admired, beautiful CEO everyone envied.

In the end, I was not even as important as making that manipulative coward happy.

I said nothing. I turned and walked into the kitchen. I needed a glass of cold water to put out the fire in my chest.

I picked up my cup, the one from our matching set.

Something yellow, sticky, mixed with saliva was soaking inside it—Ethan's clear aligner.

My stomach churned.

"Who did this?" I walked out, holding the cup.

Andrea glanced at it and frowned in disgust. "Oh please. Ethan didn't have anywhere to put it, so he used your cup for a bit. Just wash it. Why are you being so dramatic?"

"That's my cup."

"I know it's your cup. So what if we used it? Are you going to die?" she snapped.

I forced down the urge to kill. As I looked at her completely justified expression, something inside me stretched to its limit.

I glanced at the ruined wedding dress on the floor, then at the aligner in the cup.

Suddenly, I felt relieved.

At that moment, the food delivery arrived.

Andrea, in a rare display of domesticity, opened each container one by one. She picked up a strawberry and placed it on Ethan's plate.

"Ethan, you're still growing. Eat more," she said.

He smiled sweetly. "Thanks, Andrea. You're the best."

Andrea picked up another strawberry and set it on my plate. "Eat. Don't be petty. Let's drop what just happened."

I looked at the bright red fruit on my plate.

I was severely allergic to strawberries. My throat would swell, and I would go into shock. In the past, Andrea would not even use strawberry-scented perfume. There were never any strawberry products in the house. Now she had put a strawberry on my plate.

"You forgot I'm allergic to strawberries?" My voice was light.

Andrea froze for a moment. A trace of awkwardness crossed her face. "Oh, I forgot. Ethan likes strawberries, so I ordered it without thinking. You can just pick it out. A little bit won't kill you."

"Come on, eat. Don't ruin the mood," Ethan chimed in. "Mr. Reed, these strawberries are really sweet. It'd be a waste not to eat them. Are you refusing just because I like them?"

As soon as Andrea heard that, she slammed her fork onto the table. "Daniel, are you done? Competing for attention with a kid who just graduated? Aren't you embarrassed? Eat it or don't. If not, get out."

I looked at her face. There was no remorse. Seven years of love could not compare to one provoking remark from Ethan.

I stood up, picked up the plate, and threw it hard into the trash right in front of her.

The crash was loud. Ethan screamed and buried himself in her arms.

She startled, then immediately exploded. "Daniel, are you insane? You dare throw things? You've got some nerve!"

I ignored her.

I turned and went to the bedroom, pulled out a suitcase, and began packing. I took only my documents, my laptop, and the financial records from the past few years. I left behind the clothes and shoes she had bought. I didn't take a single piece.

Andrea followed me in. When she saw me packing, she let out a cold laugh and leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed. "Alright, stop acting. Aren't you tired of playing hard to get? Apologize to Ethan now, and I'll forgive your little tantrum tonight. Otherwise, if you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back."

I closed the suitcase, pushed past her, and walked out.

Behind me, Andrea shouted furiously, "Daniel! If you leave, then die out there. I'll see how long you can keep this up!"

I walked out the door and drove off.

After a while, something felt wrong. While packing, I must have gotten strawberry juice on my fingers from the plate.

Then I touched my lips without thinking.

My throat began to itch. The swelling followed, as if someone were squeezing my neck. Breathing became difficult. I needed to get to a hospital immediately.

My vision blurred, and my limbs went numb.

I pulled over to the side of the road and tremblingly took out my phone.

Instinctively, I dialed the most recent contact: Andrea.

The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. Loud music blared on the other end. It sounded like karaoke at a bar.

Ethan's excited voice rang out. "Andrea, that's amazing! Open another bottle!"

I struggled to speak. "Help… me… Allergy… medicine…"

Andrea's voice was full of impatience and disgust. "Daniel, are you done yet? First you smashed a plate, now you're pretending to be sick? Do you think this is funny? Ethan's at the best part of his song. Don't ruin it!"

The call ended.

I tried calling again.

"The number you have dialed is unavailable."

I looked at the bustling night outside the window. So this was what a dead heart felt like.

Before I lost consciousness, I used my last bit of strength to reach out to a passing patrol officer.

…

I woke to pain. My throat felt as if I had swallowed blades, and tubes covered my body.

The doctor told me that if I had arrived five minutes later, I would have suffocated from severe anaphylactic shock.

I had been in emergency treatment for four hours. During that time, my fiancée had been opening champagne for her male assistant at a bar.

I lay on the hospital bed and stared at the ceiling.

My phone vibrated on the bedside table. It was the company's legal director, my college classmate, Zach Valto.

"Daniel, I heard you were hospitalized. Are you okay?"

My voice was hoarse. "I won't die."

"Andrea… We can't reach her. There's an urgent document that needs signing."

"No need to contact her." I closed my eyes. My mind had never been clearer. "Zach, initiate Plan B."