After we got to the car, Chris thoughtfully opened the passenger door for Yvonne and bent down to fasten her seat belt.

I sat in the back seat, watching as Yvonne skipped my favorite song and switched to her own playlist. She moved with practiced ease, and it seemed she had ridden in this car many times before.

Back when we were in the early stages of our relationship, Chris often drove to pick me up from school.

But over the past month, he had rarely met up with me and always blamed work.

Only now did I notice that the cute handmade decoration I'd given him was nowhere to be seen. Even the good luck charm I had painstakingly gotten and hung in his car had disappeared.

I stared at the fleeting cityscape outside the window, struggling to suppress the ache in my heart.

I remained silent the entire ride.

When we got to Yvonne's home, she opened the back door of the car. Because she thought I was carsick, she generously invited me to sit in the front.

I declined, but she smiled and said, "I'm not one of those girls who think no other girl can sit in their boyfriend's front seat."

But I had already sat there many times—back when Chris was still my boyfriend.

After Yvonne left, it was just the two of us in the car. Chris didn't start the car right away.

He kept tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. It was a sign that he was agitated.

After a long silence, he finally said in a low voice, "Yara, I'm sorry."

He didn't even dare look me in the eye.

I let out a soft laugh and stubbornly asked, "Besides apologizing, don't you have anything else to say?"

I knew perfectly well that no explanation could justify any of this, but in just these few hours, countless memories flashed through my mind.

Chris had once returned from a business trip late at night just to surprise me downstairs at my place. He used to share little bits of his daily life and would even take pictures of dogs he saw on the street just to show me.

Were we ever truly happy? Did he treat me well?

The answer was yes. Otherwise, I wouldn't have foolishly kept our relationship a secret for half a year.

I just wanted to hear him say something, anything, to give this hidden relationship a proper ending.

Chris rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and stayed silent for a long time.

When the cigarette burned out, he finally spoke. "I liked her for many years, and we were in the same department. However, she had a boyfriend. I knew we had no chance, so I never confessed.

"Later, when I was with you, I thought I was doing alright, and I truly did consider a future with you. But then… She became single again.

"When she cried and told me about her breakup, I felt a mix of emotions—pity for her, guilt toward you, and even relief for myself. I felt like… maybe we finally had a chance. Whether it was love or obsession, I just didn't want to miss my chance again.

"The only person I truly wronged was you, Yara. From now on, can I treat you like a little sister, just like Tricia is to me?"

I almost laughed when I heard his excuse, and I asked in return, "So, when you said we'd go public once our careers were stable, what you were really hesitating about was that slight chance with her, right?"

This time, Chris stopped talking altogether.

I knew then that I had guessed right.

Being in a relationship that only the two of us knew about didn't stop him from continuing to like someone else. In fact, ending it was easy for him.

He had always harbored hopes for him to get with Yvonne deep down, and in order to appear devoted in front of her, he had lied to me from the very beginning.

Whether he had genuine feelings for me or simply saw me as a distraction no longer mattered to me.

There was no real difference either way.

In the end, it all came down to my poor judgment. I had placed my trust in the wrong person.

The smell of Chris's cigarette drifted over, and I belatedly felt sick to my stomach. I pushed open the door and got out of the car.

He said he'd drive me home, and his car slowly trailed behind me.

However, I didn't want to say a single word to him. Instead, I turned around and kicked the car door hard. That finally made him drive off.

Through the rearview mirror, I could see the ugly expression on his face.

I was the only one walking the streets aimlessly on a festive night like this, in such biting winter cold.

Scalding tears streamed down my cheeks and burned against my skin.

I was in so much pain, and the more I cried, the louder I became.

A black sports car drove past me, but a few seconds later, it turned back and headed toward me.

The window rolled down, and the person inside said, "It's the middle of the night. I thought I saw a ghost."

The voice sounded familiar, but I didn't have the mental energy to figure out who it was.

I ignored him and kept walking. Just then, a sudden honk startled me, so I stumbled and fell to the ground. I simply stayed sitting on the ground, not getting up.

A figure blocked the streetlight in front of me. As I looked up into the light, everything in front of me was a blur.

A tall figure crouched down, and I finally saw who it was.

It was Xander Jenkins, a friend of Tricia's ex-boyfriend.

We had run into each other a few times when I went out with Tricia. He rarely spoke, and I could never hold a conversation either. Thus, we'd never really talked before.

I was shivering, and the tears on my face had dried into streaks that stung in the wind.

"Can you get up?" Xander asked.

I shook my head.

He clicked his tongue softly and tried to pull me by my hat.

I buried my head between my knees and shouted with unexpected strength, "Leave me alone!"

Xander's hand lifted from my back, and all movements stilled.

I cried harder and harder, my sobs shaky because of the winter chill.

Suddenly, a warm and faintly scented jacket landed on my head, shielding me from the wind.

After a while, Xander couldn't take it anymore and said, "Can you cry in the car? I'm kind of freezing too."

I peeked out from under the jacket and saw him standing there, arms crossed and looking helpless.

Xander helped me up and shoved me into the passenger seat.

The sudden warmth inside the car made me sneeze several times. He didn't say anything and just handed me some tissues.

In the silence, I heard his fingers rhythmically tapping the steering wheel. It was a habit similar to Chris's, but not quite the same.

Chris's frustration could be felt whenever he did it, but Xander tapped at a steady pace. It seemed almost like he was deep in thought, or perhaps trying to soothe me.

After a long time, I finally calmed down and looked at him, saying sincerely, "Thank you."

He glanced at me, then turned away and pulled out a cigarette from its box.

However, he put it away before he even lit it.

"It's late. Let me drive you home," he offered.

…

When we reached my place, I thanked him again as I got out of the car.

"Yara," he called through the open window. "You really do look like a ghost right now."

I thought that was a strange thing to say, but when the window rolled up, I finally saw my face in its reflection.

My makeup was smudged, my hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under my eyes.

It was no wonder Xander stopped the car—I really did look like a ghost.

I turned and ran, only to run into someone downstairs who shouldn't have been there.

Chris, who was supposed to be working late, stared at me. His tone was ice-cold as he asked, "Yara, who's the guy in the luxury car who just dropped you off?"