That night, a breaking news alert from a well-known fashion magazine popped up on my phone. It was an intimate photo of Julian and Scarlett at a dinner party, with the caption: "Wall Street's rising star Julian Vance engaged to socialite Scarlett Mercer."
My phone immediately blew up with messages from his friends, who all assumed the woman in the photo was me.
"Congratulations! You finally landed Julian! When's the wedding?"
"Bro, you're so lucky! You landed the beauty of our architecture school!"
"Where's Chloe? Why isn't she saying anything?"
...
Julian and I had been together for eight years, since college. All his friends knew me. I had to read the headline twice. I couldn't blame his friends for getting it wrong.
However, that person wasn't me. It was never going to be me.
I opened my phone, ready to explain, but before I could type a single word, Julian called.
The moment I answered, he started yelling.
"Chloe, what the hell is wrong with you? You're letting this rumor spread to upset Scarlett and ruin my reputation, aren't you?"
"Listen to me. Scarlett is very upset right now. You'd better issue a public statement clarifying that you are not the one I'm engaged to. And wish us well, gracefully. Make this go away!"
My boyfriend had just publicly announced his engagement to another woman, and now he was demanding that I, his actual girlfriend, issue a clarification for him. He even wanted me to publicly congratulate them—all to protect his image and soothe her feelings.
An icy chill spread through me, numbing me to the bone.
So this is what my eight years of devotion were worth? Less than his pristine public image? This wasn't even my fault. So why was I the one being made the scapegoat?
Just because I loved him, did I deserve to have my dignity trampled on like this?
He never considered my feelings, never spared a thought for the humiliation I'd face by releasing that kind of statement.
From the very beginning, the only person he ever cared about was himself.
I once loved him enough to let anything slide. But now, I refused to tolerate it any longer.
I remained silent, and he pressed on, "You have two choices. Either you release a statement wishing us well, or marriage is off the table. Permanently."
He always used that to threaten me, to force me to submit whenever we argued. I used to be so afraid of losing him that I caved every single time.
But that only made him push his luck even further. It’s true what they say: if you don’t respect yourself, no one else will.
Julian was the perfect embodiment of that principle.
"Do whatever you want," I said and hung up.
He never intended to marry me—he was just using marriage as a leash to keep me under his control.
After I hung up, Julian flew into a rage, bombarding me with vicious texts. His words were incredibly cruel, as if our years together had meant nothing.
I blocked his number, packed my things, and dropped them off at a friend's place.
Next, I went to my company and handed in my resignation.
New York City was Julian's territory. I had followed him here from Ithaca after graduating, thinking it would be the start of my happy life.
New York was a beautiful place, but I had no intention of ever coming back. After getting my affairs in order, I met up with a few friends for a farewell party.
At the party, I stepped out onto the terrace for some air, only to run into Julian, who was also waiting for someone.
He was holding Scarlett's designer shawl.
Julian saw me and sneered. "Chloe, are you that determined to haunt me? Now you're even following me to parties?"
He pointed back inside. "This is my event. You'd better go give Scarlett a real apology. If she's willing to let it go, I'll forgive you this once."
I ignored him, my gaze fixed on him.
Julian was a workaholic. If I wanted him to join me for a party, I had to book a slot in his calendar a month in advance.
Even when we did go out, he was impatient and cold the entire time. He would never wait for me by the door, let alone hold my shawl.
He used to complain, "Women are so much trouble," and then stride straight to his car, as if I were a nuisance he couldn't escape fast enough.
Yet here he was, standing in the cold for Scarlett, doing something he’d never once done for me. A familiar bitterness rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down.
"I'm here to meet friends," I explained calmly.
Julian didn't believe me. "Oh, please. You think I don't know what you're up to?"
His eyes were full of arrogance, as if to say, I know you still care about me. Stop pretending.
I had no interest in explaining further. He could think whatever he wanted.
Just then, a scream echoed from inside the party. Julian rushed in without hesitation, and I followed him.
Scarlett was slumped in the middle of a crowd. Her expensive white gown was splattered with red wine, the stain stark against the fabric.
When she saw Julian, her dazed eyes immediately focused. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
Julian comforted her gently, and once she had calmed down a bit, she turned to me with teary eyes.
"Chloe, why couldn't you just talk to me? Why did you have to ruin my dress out of jealousy?"
"If you feel like Julian and I are too close, I can keep my distance. But why did you have to deliberately spill wine on me and humiliate me in public?"
Her voice grew more agitated, her shoulders trembling with each sob. "The person who isn't loved is the one in the way, Chloe! And that's you!"
"I was just following my heart. What did I do wrong?"
I had no idea what had happened, but it was a setup. I was being framed.
Julian's gaze turned fierce, and before I could react, his hand clamped around my wrist. "I didn't know you had it in you—playing these kinds of dirty tricks now, are we?"
I winced as his fingers dug into my wrist. "It wasn't me."
My friends rushed to my defense. "We didn't even touch her! This whole thing was staged!"
"She ruined her own dress. If you don't believe us, you can ask—"
"Enough!" Julian refused to listen, his angry voice slicing through the chatter. "I'll deal with all of you later!"
With that, he dragged me toward the center of the party. "You like humiliating people? You like playing the bully?"
He shoved me into the center of the crowd. Gripping my wrist in one hand, he pointed at me with the other and announced to everyone, "Chloe Collins, you're finished."
"Julian Vance, what are you doing? Let go of me! Don't touch me!"
He ignored my struggles and called security to haul me out. I tried to fight back, but the two tall guards held me firmly.
"You like ruining parties, don't you? Then get out."
My friends rushed forward to help, but he blocked them. It was December. Even with the heat on inside, my thin dress offered little warmth.
I clenched my fists, glaring at Julian with eyes burning with hatred.
He just stood there, a cruel smirk on his face as he watched me being dragged away.
A crowd gathered, and all my colleagues and the other guests stopped to watch the spectacle. Most were just gawking, enjoying the drama. Some even took out their phones to record.
I was thrown outside, and the cold, sleety rain immediately lashed against my skin. Maybe it was the cold—or maybe something inside me had gone numb—but I found myself surprisingly calm.
"Julian, are you sure you want to do this?"
"Did you think about that when you and your friends decided to pull that stunt on Scarlett?" he shot back.
Then, with unwavering cruelty, he delivered his final command. "Watch her. No one is to help."
Then he and Scarlett disappeared from my sight.
I took a step forward, into the wind and snow. Between the icy gale and the relentless sleet, I quickly lost feeling in my limbs.
Even so, I couldn't stop walking. If I stopped, I would become a laughingstock—a joke for them to mock.
Before long, my vision started to blur. A memory from years ago, also on a snowy day, suddenly surfaced.
I hadn't brought a scarf that day and had come home freezing, with a high fever. Julian had stayed by my side for a day and a night. When I woke up, his face was swollen. I later found out he had slapped himself, over and over, out of guilt.
From then on, every time it snowed, he would order me to stay put and wait for him to pick me up. But today, he was the one who had thrown me into this freezing December storm, clad only in a thin dress.
A sudden wave of dizziness hit me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed to the ground.
I was so cold I couldn't even feel the pain. Despite this, I willed myself to get up, to keep walking. But my body wouldn't obey.
My vision blurred, and then the world went black.
