On the day Sebastian proposed to me, I broke up with him. Our friends looked confused. He knelt on one knee, eyes red, telling me he had been planning this proposal for an entire month. Red roses, flown in from Ecuador, covered the ground. The scent was intoxicating. He really had put his heart into it. But... what a coincidence. I had made up my mind to leave him exactly one month ago. 1 I said the words before Sebastian could even take the ring out of the velvet box. The cheering friends around us seemed to hit a pause button. The evening breeze blew gently, carrying the rich scent of roses into my nose. The proposal scene he prepared was exactly as perfect as I had once fantasized. During the year we were madly in love, I told him that if he ever proposed, it had to be at a vineyard in Napa Valley, with an arch of roses and a white dress like a princess. He had all of that. He had prepared even more. "Why? Don't you love me anymore, Violet?" It took Sebastian what felt like half a century to react. His usually arrogant face flushed red. I looked quietly at this face. The man I had loved for ten years. He was still as handsome as a fallen angel, still capable of making my heart skip a beat. But... I helped him up and gently patted the shoulder of his expensive suit. "Sebastian, you stopped loving me first." 2 I was the most invisible "wallflower" on the college campus. My roommate, Serena, was the dazzling sorority queen. She looked down on me, despised me, and humiliated me for fun, treating me like her sidekick. Until the man she was crazy about returned to the States. At his grand welcome party, she threw a dusty, gray dress at me. "Put this on. Go do your makeup. Use a darker foundation shade; it'll hide that pale, sickly look of yours. You're coming with me." "I have a shift at the library tonight..." Serena pulled a stack of cash directly from her Prada bag and threw it in my face. The edges of the bills scratched my cheek, stinging slightly. But I numbly squatted down and picked them up, one by one. It was a few hundred dollars. Enough to cover my medical bills for the week. Today, she acted out of character. She didn't dress up like a peacock spreading its tail. Instead, her makeup was light, her blonde hair straightened. She wore a pearl-white, Audrey Hepburn-style dress. She looked elegant and noble, like a white swan. And I, wearing a foundation shade that didn't match and exaggerated eyeliner, was the control group for the white swan. An ugly, ridiculous ugly duckling. 3 I knew tonight's party was crucial to her. I heard that the man from the top tier of Manhattan's elite, the one she had a crush on for years, was back. Serena was nervous as hell. She barely spoke in the Uber, constantly checking her makeup in a compact mirror. When getting out of the car, she was so flustered she almost twisted her ankle in her red-bottom heels. Habitually, she pinched my arm. "Watch where you're going! Are you blind?" The hangers-on around us laughed and persuaded her, "Alright, Serena, calm down. Sebastian will be here soon. It won't look good if he sees you like this." Inside the private club, Serena was busy touching up her makeup and taking selfies. I sat in the corner, calculating how to use those few hundred dollars. I raised my hand and gently rubbed my left eye, which was becoming increasingly blurry. My heart was filled with a sense of lost direction. I didn't know how long I had to endure those dark part-time jobs to save enough money to fix my eye. Maybe, before I saved enough, this eye would go completely blind. Just then, the carved wooden doors were pushed open, and the crowd suddenly erupted. "Sebastian is here!" Serena screamed, "Oh my god, my lipstick!" She scrambled to fix it. I didn't move. The excitement of the elite class had nothing to do with me. I was just curious. What kind of man could make the arrogant Serena humble herself like this? Through the crowd, I saw the young man. Superior height—the kind of physique built from years of equestrian sports and sailing clubs. The impact of that face was enough to suffocate any woman. But I only dared to glance once before lowering my head. 4 The atmosphere in the room was as hot as a champagne tower overflowing. Cries of "Bash" or "Sebastian" never stopped. Serena shed her usual arrogance, acting like a trained socialite. No one noticed me, the gray blur in the corner. I quietly stood up, wanting to go to the restroom for some air. But just as I stood, the man surrounded by the crowd suddenly looked at me. I lowered my head in panic, my limbs feeling awkward and misplaced. The terrible makeup on my face made me want to crawl into a hole. "Is that your classmate?" A deep, magnetic male voice rang out. Serena paused, then laughed, her tone contemptuous. "Ugh, I didn't want to bring it up. That's my roommate." "She insisted on tagging along to see the world." "Sebastian... you know me. I'm too soft-hearted to say no." "But I get it. Who doesn't want to social climb a little?" A thunderclap exploded in my ears. Sebastian... How could his name be Sebastian? No, maybe it's just a coincidence. He's not the only Sebastian in the world. I pinched my palm hard, desperately trying to stay calm. But my blood felt like it was on fire, cold sweat breaking out in layers. I couldn't help but lower my head further, yet I could still feel that burning gaze. I couldn't hear what else Serena said mockingly. My left eye throbbed painfully, and tears uncontrollable welled up. Just as I was about to wipe them, the room suddenly went quiet. A moment later, Serena's sharp voice trembled in the air: "Sebastian, what did you just say?" 5 Sebastian lifted his eyes lazily. He leaned back on the leather sofa, legs sprawled comfortably. His gaze swept lightly over the meticulously dressed Serena and landed on my face with its ruined makeup. Then, he lifted a slender finger and pointed at me. "I said, she is better looking." The room went dead silent. Sebastian added, unhurriedly: "Considering she's my first love, of course she's better looking than you." The crowd looked at each other, not daring to breathe. I could even hear Serena's furious, rapid breathing. The next second, Serena lost it completely. She turned around, grabbed a glass of cranberry juice, and splashed it onto my face. "Bitch!" She completely forgot her disguise. "Trying to seduce my man right under my nose?" Serena grabbed my hair, about to slap me. But her wrist was caught in a vice-like grip. "Sebastian!" Serena cried out in anger. "Before you hit someone in front of me, I suggest you weigh your own importance." Sebastian threw her hand aside, his eyes cold as the Hudson River in winter. Serena covered her face, daring not to make a scene, and ran out crying. The others tactfully left, even though they were dying of curiosity. "Violet." Sebastian spoke, calling my name. In that instant, I felt like I was sentenced to death. The sticky juice dripped down my face, staining the cheap dress. I stared at the dark water stains. They seemed to merge with the red blood on the infirmary sheets at boarding school years ago. "Violet, don't always look down. You're not ugly at all." "Really?" "Of course. They just don't have taste." Eighteen-year-old Sebastian was the king of our private boarding school. He gradually became unsatisfied with just holding hands and hugging. That restless summer night, in the abandoned music room. He coaxed me, unbuttoning my school shirt. When I was nervous and scared, he promised: "Trust me, babe. We are in love. This is natural." "Sebastian, will we be together forever?" "Of course. Forever." "But I'm scared... scared of getting pregnant..." "You won't. Trust me. I've got you." That night, white sheet music was scattered all over the floor. I remember he wouldn't stop even when the sky turned light outside. He kissed me, biting my earlobe, whispering, "Violet, seeing you... I knew you were the one."
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