The night before my wedding, I stumbled upon his old chat logs with his friends.

"I've never met anyone so easy to fool."

"You know she comes from a single-parent home, right? She’s desperate for love."

"So, all I have to do is be a little nice to her, and she throws herself at me."

I used to believed he had saved me from the depths of despair, but in the end, he played me for a fool.

I thought I’d found love, but in the end, my sincerity was worth less than dirt.

When Keith Walton got home, he didn’t see me in the living room.

So, he went upstairs.

I had only turned on the warm bedside lamp in the bedroom.

Shrinking into the flickering light, I crossed my arms and waited for him.

I didn’t want him to notice that I was crying.

That would make me lose the upper hand.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing a kiss against my neck.

There was a faint scent of lemon candy on him, and I couldn’t help but wonder—was he out messing around the night before our wedding too?

Otherwise, where would such a sweet smell come from?

I shoved him away abruptly.

Under the dim light, his eyes flickered with unreadable shadows.

He simply raised a brow.

"Dear?"

His fingertip brushed against the corner of my eye, grazing my skin like a spark.

"You’ve been crying?"

I hated how sharp he was, how he always seemed to read me so effortlessly just like how he toyed with me all along using this very skill.

"Keith, let’s not get married.”

He stared at me, stunned for a few seconds.

Then, before I could react, he clamped a hand over my mouth, pinned me onto the couch, and flicked off the light—all in one swift motion.

We fell into sudden darkness together.

His hair brushed against the hollow of my neck, sending a shiver through me.

I started kicking him, but he trapped my knees between his legs.

"Shh, you don’t have to say more, dear," he whispered.

Only in the dark did I notice that his voice had turned hoarse, low and trembling.

"You saw the chat logs."

Of course, he figured it out in an instant.

A stranger had sent me his past chat logs with his friends, and the content was just as sickening as a hunter stalking its prey.

He said the only reason he stayed with me for so long was because I was easy to fool.

He commented I was easier to coax than other girls, that I’d be overjoyed even receiving discounted Valentine’s Day roses.

He remarked he never once worn the scarf I knitted for him because it was too tacky.

And he also mentioned he was just playing around, that the way I took everything seriously was absolutely hilarious to him.

…

"Those were all edited."

His breath spilled over my collarbone, weaving through my hair like a lingering whisper. Then, without warning, he bit me—not hard, but enough to snap me out of my thoughts.

There were too many screenshots.

The timestamps on the phone matched up with real events.

Who would believe they were fake?

I grabbed the back of his neck, trying to lift his head away from me.

"Did you always think I was this easy to fool, Keith?"

"Does messing with me give you such a sense of accomplishment?"

In the darkness, he held onto me stubbornly and silently.

…

Looking back, I should have realized.

When we first got together, the only person who ever liked his posts was me.

We had mutual friends, yet none of them ever reacted.

Back then, I had foolishly thought it was because I meant something special to him.

How laughable.

It was just his way of dealing with a girlfriend—a pathetic trick, but one that worked well enough to fool me.

…

Last night, we slept in separate rooms—for the first time in two months and three days.

I had a dream that wasn’t exactly pleasant.

It unearthed memories I had buried away for a long, long time.

It was from when we had just started dating.

We made plans to go to the newly opened amusement park for the night session, agreeing to meet in front of the library.

That morning, I had already started dressing up, trying on outfit after outfit.

My roommates, used to my usual quiet demeanor, were surprised by how much effort I was putting in.

I arrived an hour early.

On our first date, my heart pounded like a drum.

But I waited until the streetlights flickered on one by one, and he still didn’t show up.

I stood there in the chilly autumn breeze for over two hours before he finally called.

His voice on the phone was full of apologies, saying he had lost track of time while working on an experiment.

Later, one of his friends let it slip that Keith had actually spent the night gaming at an internet café.

Did I feel sad back then?

I couldn’t remember.

I had always been the one left behind.

If anything, I was already used to it.

Not long after, he gave me a bouquet, and just like that, I happily followed him again.

In those chat logs, he called me dumb and said I was gullible and easy to please.

…

For the first time, after making him breakfast every morning, I only made a portion for myself.

He sat across from me in his loose T-shirt, propping his chin up with one hand, watching me.

His eyes always carried that deceptively affectionate look.

"No breakfast for me?"

I nodded, stirring my coffee without looking at him.

"You don’t like my cooking anyway."

Back when we first got together, I used to bring him breakfast every morning.

But in those chat logs, I saw how he either took a few careless bites or gave away the meals I carefully prepared to his friends who didn’t have time to buy their own.

He chuckled from across the table.

I looked up and shot him a glare.

"I was wrong, dear."

The morning light streamed in, casting a soft glow in his eyes.

I always felt that he handled this relationship far more effortlessly than I did.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t know how many girlfriends he had before me.

Every trick he used, and every affectionate gesture had been refined through countless past relationships.

But he was my first love.

And up until now, we were supposed to be registering our marriage today.

Our families had already met, the discussions about houses and cars were settled.

Yet, with just one sentence, I was calling it off.

I could already imagine how people around us would react.

They would think I was spoiled and being dramatic.

It had been so long, so did it really still matter that much?

I got up and walked to the entryway.

I took the day off because my mom asked a fortune teller to pick this so-called auspicious date for us to register our marriage.

But now, I was going to work instead.

Just as I opened the door, a hand caught my wrist from behind.

He didn’t ask if we were going to get our marriage license today.

He didn’t tell me not to come back if I were to step out of the house.

He just looked at me with those calm eyes, a hint of helplessness flickering within them.

His composure made me feel like I was just throwing a childish tantrum.

"Teresa, I think your breakfasts are really delicious."

He reached up and buttoned the collar of my shirt, which I had left undone in my rush to leave.

For a long moment, we stood there in silence, eyes locked.

The emotion in his gaze felt like something I could melt into the moment I touched it.

I took a step back, but he held onto my wrist.

Then, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

It wasn’t like our usual morning kisses.

This time, it felt like he was trying to devour me whole.

…

I felt a little disoriented.

Even as I sat at my desk, I still wasn’t sure how I had managed to escape from his grasp.

A coworker slid over to my side when she saw me.

"Aren’t you supposed to be registering your marriage this afternoon? Did I see that wrong, or do you just love work that much?"

I rubbed my temples and shrugged at her, too drained to explain.

Another email sat in my inbox.

It was from the same sender who had sent the chat logs.

The message was simple.

It contained a single candid photo of a woman in a white dress pulling a suitcase through the airport

Along with it was a short note:

"Do you know her? Her name is Kaylee White. She’s Keith Walton’s first love."

"Keith never treated Kaylee the way he treated other women. She’s back now…"

"Do you really think you can hold on to him?"

…

Honestly, this kind of childish provocation felt like something straight out of an elementary school playground.

It wasn’t even worth a second of my time.

I closed the email window and tried to refocus on the report in front of me.

My eyes landed on the binder clip holding the pages together, but no matter how hard I tried, my mind refused to settle.

Kaylee White…

I knew her.

Or rather, anyone who had known Keith back then knew her.

Kaylee was Keith’s ex.

They broke up ages ago, yet people still brought her up in passing conversations.

She had been my nightmare.

Everyone around us used to speculate how long it would take before Keith dumped me.

Now that Kaylee was back, they’d probably start wondering if Keith, the ever-so-proud man, would go running back to her.

But I was with him all this time, and Kaylee never returned.

Now, that strange equilibrium had been shattered.

…

I frowned.

It was lunchtime.

Normally, I would have messaged Keith to ask what he was eating.

It was our little habit—sharing bits of our day, something my best friend never failed to tease me about.

She couldn’t understand how, even with a wedding around the corner, we still acted like we were newly in love.

But after seeing those chat logs, I had no desire to send him so much as a punctuation mark.

I didn’t know what I was to him anymore.

Was I just an easy target? Someone gullible enough to keep falling for his tricks?

While he toyed with me, I had been loving him, wholeheartedly and without question.

The thought alone sent a dull ache through my chest, like something was being scraped raw.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

Keith sent me a photo.

Three dishes and a soup.

Then, his usual question: Have you eaten yet?

I stared at the image for two seconds.

Then, I deleted his contact.

…

"Aren’t you supposed to be getting your marriage license with Keith right now? What’s going on… was it because of that so-called lucky date your mom picked?"

I was sitting in a bar with my best friend.

Technically, the bar wasn’t even open in the middle of the afternoon, but since she owned the place, it didn’t really matter.

"I’m not getting married anymore." I poured myself a full glass and downed it in one go.

The burn of alcohol seared down my throat, and for a moment, my mind wavered.

"Whoa, look at you. Such a rebel."

Rebel? What did that even mean?

"I saw his old chat logs with his friends."

I stared at the ice cubes in my glass.

The bar’s lights weren’t fully on yet, just the soft glow from the counter reflecting off the amber liquid, rippling like melted gold.

"He never really cared about me, you know? He told his friends I was fun to mess with, that I was dumb and easy to please…

"He said even the smallest surprise could keep me happy for days. Remember that scarf I spent forever knitting? He never even wore it."

"He also…"

My throat caught.

I coughed, and my best friend reached over to pat my back.

"Oh, that? Honestly, wasn’t it obvious to everyone that he wasn’t good to you back then?"

Huh?

"Teresa, there’s one thing Keith got right. The old you was so starved for warmth that even the smallest bit was enough to make you endlessly grateful."

I was a lightweight, and the alcohol was already messing with my vision.

My best friend’s face blurred at the edges, but her eyes were clear and serious as they met mine.

"How many times did we tell you Keith wasn’t a good guy? You just never wanted to listen."

I was speechless.

"But, I’ll admit, over the past few years, I’ve actually been kind of thankful to him. The way he spoils you now is almost unbearable to watch.

“At least, he’s taught you how to have a bit of a temper.

"You used to be afraid of inconveniencing people. You didn’t even know how to say no.

"But think about it—could the old you have ever pulled off something like running away from your own wedding?

My brain was too foggy to process her words properly.

All I knew was that, for some reason, even in this quiet lounge, the world suddenly felt too loud.