Chapter 4

This time, my parents were the ones who pulled me out of that house.

They told me they had booked flights home:

"Why don't you quit your job and come home with us? We can support you."

Ever since I started dating Julian, they had wanted to meet him.

Early on, his mental health had been fragile, and later, Maya’s chaotic presence made it impossible.

I had always made excuses.

This time, they bought tickets without telling me, hoping for a pleasant surprise. I naively thought Julian would maintain basic respect in front of my family.

Reality hit hard. In his and Maya’s eyes, my loved ones and I were nothing more than props for their amusement.

I squeezed their hands, tears spilling over:

"As soon as my current project wraps up, I’ll follow you home."

There was no project. I just couldn't swallow the humiliation. I needed Julian to look me in the eye and tell me what I truly meant to him.

I stayed away from our apartment for days. He flooded my phone with texts and calls:

"I was wrong, okay? I'm sorry!"

"I can't stand you being out there alone. Please come home."

"You know how bad my depression gets. I need laughs to stay grounded, to keep the dark thoughts away."

Always an apology, always weaponizing his mental illness.

Yet he forbade me from staying angry, and he never allowed me to call Maya out.

"So in your mind, leaving my parents to freeze on a hillside and leaving them stranded in your hallway while you had lunch—those were just laughs to you?"

He went dead silent.

Sick of his excuses, I hung up.

Hours later, a text popped up on my phone:

"Words mean nothing now. Let me show you. Tomorrow, I'm taking you to City Hall. I swear to God, this isn't a prank."

A solemn vow.

I didn't believe a word of it.

The next morning at the office, whispered murmurs followed me everywhere.

A close coworker pulled me into an empty breakroom:

"Have you seen the forum thread? It’s blowing up across the entire industry. I know you’d never do something like this, but your boyfriend needs to clear this up right now!"

She sent me the link.

The headline glared at me:

"A Homewrecker Wants My Title: How I'm Fighting for My Marriage."

I didn't bother reading the essay beneath it.

My eyes locked onto the attached photos—Maya and Julian wrapped in each other's arms, kissing.

Beside them was an image of an official marriage certificate bearing their names, alongside a screenshot of Julian’s text to me from last night, promising to marry me.

My vision blurred. The room spun around me.

My manager called me into his office:

"Chloe, you've been with this company for years. I trust your character."

"But this thread is spreading too fast. For the sake of the firm's reputation, my hands are tied..."

He trailed off, but the message was loud and clear.

Numb, I returned to my desk and began boxing up my belongings.

Julian’s name flashed across my phone again:

"Can you take the afternoon off? I'll pick you up and head straight to City Hall."

I ignored his question:

"Did you know about the post Maya made?"

He sounded confused. I hung up and sent him the link.

Two minutes later, my phone rang:

"Chloe, I swear I had no idea! Those photos are photoshopped! If I were already married to her, would I really ask you to go to City Hall? She's probably just teasing you!"

Teasing me?

A cold laugh escaped my lips:

"I just lost my career, Julian, and you're telling me she's just teasing me?"

Julian hesitated:

"I'll get you a better position somewhere else. Please don't hold it against her, okay?"

Always shielding her. Always making excuses. Never once demanding that she apologize.

A few nights ago, I ran into a couple of his fraternity brothers at a bar. They were already three drinks in.

"You know why Julian got depressed in the first place? He and Maya were days away from getting engaged, and then she suddenly booked a one-way ticket overseas to chase her dreams."

"His entire sickness is rooted in Maya. Nobody else could ever fix him."

I had heard the sound of my own heart shattering into dust.

I had poured my soul into saving him, swallowing every ounce of disrespect, thinking I could be his savior.

It turned out I was never the person he wanted.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, I held back my tears:

"Fine. I won't hold it against her. But I'm devastated right now. I need proof that you care."

Taking the hint, he immediately wired seven hundred thousand dollars to my account, with the transfer labeled as an unconditional gift.

Not to comfort me—just to keep me from confronting Maya.

"Head over to City Hall first. I'm finishing up my paperwork now. Three o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

Since he thought her cruelty was just a harmless game, I decided to give him a prank of his own.

A massive one.