"Didn't you always say peeling oranges makes your hands sticky? Here, I peeled them all for you. Just eat."

Hector's voice was soft, his tone indulgent as he pushed a neatly peeled orange toward Laura. The faint aroma of citrus lingered in the air.

Hector's friends, sprawled casually around the picnic area, immediately erupted into laughter and teasing.

"Hector, peel some for me too, won't you?" one of them joked, tossing a chip into their mouth.

"Yeah, Hector! Pals before gals, remember?" another chimed in, grinning broadly.

Hector chuckled, shaking his head. He grabbed an unpeeled orange and lobbed it toward them, earning a chorus of playful groans as they scrambled to dodge it. But even in the midst of their laughter, his gaze never wavered from Laura.

"If you want some, peel them yourself," he said, his words directed at his friends but his expression softening as he looked at her. "Only Laura gets this treatment."

Laura offered a faint smile in return, her fingers grazing the orange segments but not eating. Though her outward composure remained calm, a quiet unease stirred beneath the surface.

Hector was about to say something more when his posture suddenly changed—stiffening as his gaze shifted to something behind her. Laura turned her head just as Olivia approached the group, her movements brisk yet poised.

Carrying a laptop in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, Olivia flashed a polite smile at Hector's friends before striding directly toward him, bypassing Laura as if she weren't even there.

Her voice, bright and confident, carried over the hum of conversation. "Hector, the academic office just sent a reminder that the grades for this semester need to be entered into the system today. It's my first time doing this, and I'm not familiar with the process. Since it's still the New Year's holiday, there's no one else who can help me. I had no choice but to come to you. You don't mind, right?"

Her words were accompanied by a slight tilt of her head, her expression effortlessly blending innocence and charm.

Olivia was striking, with a demeanor that seemed to draw attention effortlessly. Her outward appearance was as pristine as a white lily, but her bold, self-assured nature added a magnetic allure that often left an impression.

Laura watched the scene in silence, her fingers tightening around the paper cup of tea in her lap.

Hector's friends exchanged awkward glances. A few managed polite nods, but their discomfort was palpable. They were all aware of Olivia's history with Hector—a history that hung in the air like an unwelcome specter.

Hector hesitated, his gaze flicking to Laura before settling on Olivia. "Olivia, you remember my friends," he began, gesturing toward the group in an attempt to diffuse the tension. "Since it's the New Year, and it'll be dark soon, it's unsafe for you to go down the mountain alone. Stay and join us for the evening."

His tone was polite, and though his words were reasonable, Laura felt a pang of frustration. She kept her expression neutral, unwilling to let her inner turmoil show.

As the group shifted to make room for Olivia, Laura's thoughts wandered. She had heard stories about Hector and Olivia during their university days. Back then, they had been the "Golden Couple" of MIT—brilliant, attractive, and seemingly destined for greatness together. Everyone had assumed they would marry and become a power couple in academia.

But Olivia's betrayal had changed everything. She had taken Hector's opportunity to study abroad and later married someone else, severing their relationship.

When she returned to the country years later, divorced and taking up a teaching position in Hector's department, Laura had felt a flicker of unease. She had reassured herself that Olivia's past mistakes and current circumstances posed no threat. Yet now, sitting by the fire with Olivia so effortlessly inserting herself into Hector's life, those reassurances felt like flimsy excuses.

As night fell, the deep blue sky sparkled faintly with sparse stars. The group gathered around a campfire, its flames casting flickering shadows on their faces. The scent of wood smoke mingled with the crisp mountain air, and the occasional crackle of burning logs punctuated the lively chatter.

Hector and Laura sat side by side, his arm loosely draped behind her. Though his posture suggested casual intimacy, Laura noticed the subtle shifts in his focus. Olivia, seated on his other side, seemed to command his attention in fleeting but unmistakable moments.

Olivia's gaze would drift toward him during the conversations, her expression calm but her eyes brimming with a subtle invitation. She leaned slightly closer whenever she addressed him, her movements calculated yet natural.

Laura stared into the fire, its warmth doing little to ease the growing chill in her heart. The chatter of Hector's friends, the gentle laughter, and even the crackling firewood all faded into the background as her mind churned with questions.

Why was she still here? Why did she let herself endure this?

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her coat, the tension in her chest threatening to suffocate her. Hector's warmth beside her felt like both a comfort and a mockery, a reminder of the man she thought she knew and the reality she could no longer ignore.

Olivia wore a windbreaker over a simple pair of jeans, yet the way she moved made even this plain outfit exude an effortless charm. Her fingers toyed with the zipper of her jacket, tugging it downward in what appeared to be a casual adjustment. The collar parted slightly, revealing a sliver of fair skin and the faint curve of cleavage.

The movement was fleeting, almost absentminded, but it was enough to catch Hector's attention. His breath hitched, a subtle but telling reaction.

"Oh, this fire is so hot," Olivia murmured, her voice light and teasing, laced with a coyness that drew the eyes of everyone nearby. She waved her hand in front of her face, feigning discomfort from the heat.

"Hector," she continued, her tone softening into something more intimate, "my hands are all greasy. There's a hair tie in my bag—can you help me tie my hair?"

Hector froze, glancing first at Olivia, then at Laura, who appeared engrossed in a conversation with one of his friends. Still, he hesitated, the tension palpable as Olivia waited with an expectant smile.

Finally, he gave a nod. "Sure."

Olivia turned her back to him, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a silky cascade. Hector reached for the hair tie in her bag and began gathering her hair, his fingers brushing against her skin as he worked. Her neck was warm beneath his touch, and despite himself, a shiver ran through him.

As he tied her hair into a neat ponytail, Olivia leaned forward ever so slightly. The subtle shift in her posture caused her hips to brush against him, a seemingly accidental movement that sent his heart racing. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"There," he said quickly, stepping back as if the distance could ease his growing discomfort.

Olivia turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. She leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered, "Thank you, Hector."

Her voice lingered, intimate and deliberate. Then, with the same ease, she returned to her seat, her expression serene, as though nothing had happened.

Laura, outwardly calm, had caught the entire exchange through the corner of her eye. Her nails dug into her palms, her fists clenched so tightly that the crescent shapes imprinted on her skin. Her chest felt heavy, each breath a struggle to keep the anger and pain from bubbling to the surface.

Hector, oblivious to her turmoil, picked up a freshly grilled skewer from the fire. Using kitchen tongs, he slid the meat off the stick and blew on it gently to cool it down before offering it to her. His expression was tender, his voice warm.

"Careful, it's hot. Eat slowly."

Laura looked at him, her face a mask of composure, though a storm of disgust and betrayal raged inside her. How could he act so attentive, so caring, after what she had just witnessed?

She forced herself to speak, her voice clipped. "I've lost my appetite."

Without waiting for a response, she rose from the table and walked away, leaving the flickering firelight and muted conversations behind.

Back in the tent, Laura sat on the edge of the cot, her hands trembling as she tried to steady her breathing. Her fists slowly uncurled, leaving faint marks on her palms. She repeated a mantra in her mind, each word hollow.

"It's fine. It's fine. It'll all be over soon."

But the knot in her chest refused to loosen.

Hector didn't return until late into the night. Instead, Laura's phone buzzed with a message from Olivia. The text was brief but chilling: [The woods behind the parking lot.]

The campsite was secluded, with Hector having rented the entire area for privacy. Few vehicles were parked in the lot, and the nearby woods were silent except for the occasional rustling of leaves.

Laura's steps faltered as she approached. A black Rolls-Royce was parked under the moonlight, its windows fogged. The car rocked slightly, betraying the movements inside.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The muted sounds of gasps and moans reached her ears, unmistakable in their intimacy.

"Hector, I love you..." Olivia's voice drifted through the still night air, each word piercing Laura's heart like a dagger.

Laura had seen the photos Olivia sent before, each one a calculated blow meant to shatter her resolve. But witnessing it firsthand—seeing the silhouettes of their bodies intertwined in the moonlight, their movements unabashed and bold—was something else entirely.

Her legs felt like lead, her chest tightening until she thought she might collapse. Hot tears streaked down her face, yet she barely registered them. Her trembling hand reached for her phone, and she pressed the record button.

The seconds stretched into what felt like hours before she finally tore herself away. She stumbled back to the tent, her breaths shallow and ragged.

Inside, she clutched her phone to her chest, her body shaking with silent sobs. Her love for Hector, once bright and pure, now lay in ruins.

Her mind drifted to the early days of their relationship, the memory of their first hand-holding surfacing unbidden. Hector, usually so composed, had been shy and awkward then. His hand had been clammy, his face flushed as he laced his fingers with hers.

But that Hector no longer existed. The man outside, entwined with another woman, was a stranger.

Laura wiped her tears, her expression hardening. The love she had once cherished was gone, replaced by something darker.

Hector had always insisted on saving their first time for after marriage. Laura, once deeply moved by this, had believed it to be a sign of his respect and care for her.

"You're too precious to rush things," he'd often say, his gaze steady and sincere, cradling her hands as though she were something fragile and sacred.

Even after their engagement, whenever she tried to express her affection more intimately, he would gently turn her down. His touch was always warm but firm as he held her at bay. Laura had thought his restraint stemmed from a selfless desire to protect her purity.

Only now, after discovering the truth, did she realize the irony of it all—Hector's abstinence with her wasn't an act of devotion. He had already indulged himself elsewhere, his needs satisfied long before she'd even tried to cross that line.

***

The next morning, the campsite was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird. Laura moved briskly inside the tent, hurriedly folding clothes and shoving them into her bag. Her hands trembled slightly, but she forced herself to focus.

Olivia's audacity the night before had been the final straw. If the New Year's Eve party Hector had meticulously planned had evoked even the slightest hesitation about leaving, Olivia's boldness had crushed it entirely.

Laura's chest tightened as she zipped her bag shut. Turning off her phone, she slung the strap of her travel bag over her shoulder, stepped out of the tent, and headed for her car.

The drive home felt interminable. Every mile on the empty road was filled with memories of past New Year's Eves—when Hector had held her close after the fireworks, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered promises.

"We've grown another year older. Soon, you'll be my wife," he'd say, his voice rich with hope and love.

But those words, once a balm to her heart, now rang hollow. This year, Laura had indeed grown older overnight—but not because of love. It was betrayal that had forced her to mature.

***

The following afternoon, Laura sat at her kitchen table, sipping tea and staring at her untouched laptop screen. She had barely begun sorting through her emotions when the sound of hurried footsteps on the porch pulled her from her thoughts.

The door swung open to reveal Hector, his hair disheveled and face filled with worry.

"Laura, why did you leave without saying anything?" His voice carried a note of desperation. "I spent the whole morning looking for you. I was so worried."

Laura set her mug down with a deliberate calmness, her expression unreadable. "Really?" she said, her tone razor-sharp. "Were you truly worried about me? I left early in the morning. Why weren't you beside me? Did you lose your way going to the restroom, or were you... sharing the night with someone else?"

Hector's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he quickly composed himself. His features softened into a look of contrition. "I stayed up all night playing games with the guys after dinner," he said, his voice low and apologetic. "I didn't want to disturb your sleep."

Laura laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. "Games?" she echoed, shaking her head. "That's what you're going with?"

The man who stood before her now, trying to spin flimsy lies, was a far cry from the Hector she'd once known. He used to worry if she was afraid of the dark, staying by her side through the night and vowing to always be her guiding star.

But those promises had crumbled, and so had the man she thought she loved. His insistence on marrying her felt less like devotion and more like a duty he was fulfilling out of habit or convenience.

Hector opened his mouth to say something, but his phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, his expression darkened briefly before he adjusted his glasses. Laura caught sight of the notification—a message from a contact with a reindeer avatar.

[Santa, I'm so sorry! Don't put me on the naughty list! This little reindeer just couldn't wait until New Year's to see you. I swear, I'll be on my best behavior from now on, she won't see a single antler!]

[If you don't believe me, you're welcome to check. I promise, no long nose here. I have a tail instead...]

The accompanying emojis were nauseatingly playful—hearts, a winking face, and a suggestive peach fruit icon.

Hector cleared his throat, his voice suddenly clipped. "I have an urgent matter at the company. My father needs me back immediately," he said, avoiding her gaze as he turned toward the door.

Laura didn't stop him. She knew better than to press for the truth.

***

That evening, Laura sat in the quiet villa, the only sound the rhythmic tapping of her fingers on the keyboard. Her revised thesis, a project she'd poured her heart into, was finally ready for submission. She clicked "Send" and leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly.

But the emptiness lingered. Hector hadn't returned.

The silence was both a curse and a blessing—it gave her the clarity she needed to act. Quietly, Laura began packing her belongings, each action deliberate and final.

She sold the luxury items Hector had given her—handbags, jewelry, even the designer heels she'd worn to their engagement party. She threw away the things she couldn't sell or carry, discarding memories she no longer wanted.

Her wardrobe, consisting mostly of oversized hoodies and practical jeans, fit easily into a single suitcase. Her skincare routine, as unpretentious as her lifestyle, was reduced to a small pouch of essentials.

When everything was done, she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the neatly packed suitcase. This was her life now—compact, uncomplicated, and free of the burdens Hector had imposed.

Laura ran her fingers over the suitcase handle, her heart a mix of resolve and sorrow. She wasn't running away; she was taking back control.

The love she once shared with Hector was gone, and with it, any reason to stay.