I tapped the ash from my cigarette, then stopped mid-motion.

The stainless steel ashtray caught my reflection. Fine lines at the corners of my eyes. Exhaustion etched between my brows. A black V-neck dress that had torn along the seam during the earlier scuffle.

She really did look like a younger version of me. More alive, even, than I had ever been.

And Christopher really had bought me so many dresses just like hers.

I hadn't understood before. Now, I finally did. That look in his eyes every time he watched me put one on, full of expectation, only to go flat with disappointment the moment he actually saw me in it.

Gradually, I grew to hate that hollow pretense of his. I started wearing the styles he despised most.

Seven years together, and none of it measured up to three days with her.

At the end of it all, he was simply bored of me.

"Christopher, people change."

"But the thought of marrying you, the way you are now, makes me sick."

I crushed the cigarette out. My hands clenched tight, knuckles white, trying to hide the trembling.

Christopher's gaze swept over me, top to bottom, and he offered nothing more than a single flat sentence. "Give me one more year."

"I'm already thirty."

His step faltered. He half-turned, a smile playing on his lips that meant nothing kind. "So you do know you're thirty."

That sneer lodged in my chest like a needle.

I watched his back as he walked away, and all at once, I was done playing his game.

"Christopher, let's end this."

He didn't turn around. But he answered.

"You wouldn't dare."

I drew a long breath and sank into the couch. Even breathing felt tight.

He wasn't wrong. The old me wouldn't have dared. Or maybe it wasn't courage I lacked. It was that I couldn't stand the thought of giving up.

I'd imagined it countless times: if he didn't love me, what kind of woman would he love? And I'd told myself I could fight for it, compete, become that.

But now that I'd actually seen her, the whole thing just felt pointless.

Completely, thoroughly pointless.

I steadied myself. When I opened my eyes again, Christopher was standing at the cake table, cutting slices.

He was clumsy about it, sawing carefully at a pink rabbit-shaped cake. He placed two strawberries on top, fumbling with them, but they kept sliding crooked. Finally he gave up and set the plate aside, glancing around the room for help.

I was the only one there.

"Can you help me? She gave me orders. If I mess it up, she won't let me come find her."

He held the pink tray out to me. I reached for it.

The instant our hands touched, he pulled back.

I cut a slice of cake. In the mirror behind the table, I could see Christopher's reflection. He was looking down, rubbing the hand that had just brushed against mine.

I believed him now. The thought of marrying me really did make him sick.

"Christopher, I mean it. Let's break up."

He looked up, took the plate of cake from my hands, and nodded.

"Sure."

The party was an all-night affair. No one was allowed to leave until morning. I had no choice but to wait it out.

I drifted to the bar and ordered two drinks. Maybe I hated him for being faithless. Maybe I hated myself for being weak. Either way, two drinks turned into more before I noticed.

When night fell, a bonfire was lit. Christopher and his crowd gathered around it to celebrate his birthday. His friends were sloppy drunk, and their mouths ran loose.

"Chris, your girl loves you so much. If you just sweet-talked her a little, forget a mistress, she'd probably put up with a whole lineup."

"Tch, watch your mouth. She's not 'the mistress,' she's the new Mrs. Gilbert. Right, new Mrs. Gilbert?"

"Oh right, right, my bad. I'll drink three for that."

I sat at the bar, glass in hand, the room blurring at the edges. But even through the haze, I felt it. A gaze, cutting straight toward me.

"It's midnight! Happy birthday, Christopher! Make a wish!"

After he blew out the candles, the crowd erupted. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

"What did you wish for?"

The music dipped low between tracks, and Christopher's voice cut through, steady and deliberate.

"I wish Louisa Henson peace and happiness."

The young woman beside him blinked. "Louisa? Who's that?"

Every head in the room swiveled toward me.

Louisa. That was me.

Alma's voice came out soft and pouty. "That's not fair. You're playing favorites..."

"Right, right, my mistake. I've had too much to drink. I wish our darling Alma stays beautiful forever."

Confetti burst through the air, streamers drifting lazily overhead.

Then came the main event: group games for the whole party. A spotlight would land on someone, and they'd choose Truth or Dare.

I moved to a corner where no one was paying attention.

I was halfway to drunk when the host's question cut through the noise.

"Louisa or Alma? Who do you love?"

"Alma."

"But we heard Alma's the other woman."

Christopher didn't hesitate for even a second. "Louisa is the other woman."

My fingers tightened around my glass. Whatever warmth the alcohol had given me evaporated on the spot.

I lifted my head. His eyes were already on me, cold and indifferent.

A few minutes later, Christopher strolled over with his drink. He clinked his glass against mine, barely a gesture. "Given your temper, I'm surprised you didn't throw your drink in my face. That's not like you."

"I just talked to the wedding planner. We'll push it back a year. You've waited seven already. What's one more? She's at the perfect age right now. Once this year is over, we can—"

I cut him off. "Let's just end this."

Christopher scoffed. He clearly didn't believe me.

"Babe..."

Alma drifted over, all shy smiles, and the edge in Christopher's expression softened instantly. He wrapped an arm around her and started walking toward the door.

She glanced back at me, eyes wide with practiced sympathy. "Are you upset? Babe, I don't need a title. Why don't you two just go ahead and get married like you planned?"

Christopher shook his head. "If she could accept another man, she wouldn't have stuck around this long. She can't even stand it when a guy tries to buy her a drink. She'll spend her whole life giving in to me."

I had been with Christopher for seven years.

I knew exactly what it looked like when he loved someone.

Three days. He'd known Alma for three days, and the look in his eyes was unmistakable.

What I also knew was that Christopher still didn't understand me at all.

Once I decided to let go of this, I could disappear to the ends of the earth, and he would never find me.

I stood up to grab another drink, and the spotlight landed squarely on me.

"Well, would you look at that! First Christopher, now Louisa. This party just keeps delivering."

I froze for a moment, then kept walking to the bar and picked up my glass.

The host bounded over with a grin. "So, Miss Henson, Truth or Dare?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Dare it is, then?"

"Sure."

The host's eyes lit up. "You're certain? If you back out, the entire venue's tab goes on yours."

This party happened once a year. Half the city's young elite were here tonight. The tab was longer than a mortgage statement. The number of people who could actually cover it could be counted on one hand.

I didn't think too hard about it. I agreed.

The host's voice pitched higher, ringing across the room. "The dare is: pick anyone here to spend the night with!"

The place exploded.

I set my glass down and scanned the room. Christopher's lips curved into a brief, knowing smile.

"Come on, this is boring. She's obviously going to pick Christopher. Don't they have an engagement?"

"Didn't they call it off?"

"She's definitely picking Christopher. Even just to spite Alma, she'd do it."

The crowd buzzed with speculation.

Alma clenched her fists around the hem of Christopher's jacket.

"Babe, if you agree to this, don't ever touch me again."

"Relax. I'm not agreeing to anything."

Christopher watched me like I was a show put on for his amusement. "I can cover the tab for everyone here, no more than three people. Postpone the wedding by a year, and I'll give you the money. How's that sound?"

Alma nestled into his arms with a satisfied smile and raised her glass. Christopher drank the wine she fed him.

"You guys don't even know. I ran into her at a club once. Some guy barely brushed her hand and she nearly threw up."

"Forget guessing who she'll pick. The real question is how she's going to beg Christopher afterward."

Christopher kissed Alma's ear. "If being my girlfriend isn't exciting enough for you, how about I let you mess with my dear wife a little? When she comes crawling over, you can think of ways to make things difficult for her."

The two of them put on quite the performance.

Just waiting for me to walk over and grovel.

But who started the rumor that Christopher was the only man I'd ever choose?

I looked past Christopher and pointed at the quietest young man in the room. "I pick him."