Harris gave me the silent treatment for seven whole days just because I carpooled with a male coworker on the way home. Late at night, I was alone in the ER, cold sweat dripping from the excruciating pain in my stomach. I called his number over and over again, but all I got was the despairing, automated voice: "The line is busy." He was an incredibly cold and aloof man, with a borderline pathological possessiveness over me. During our five years of dating, he demanded that I delete all non-essential male contacts. I even had to report our professional conversations in my WhatsApp work groups to him. He always spoke in the most deeply affectionate tone, saying: "Chloe, I have a pure soul. I can’t stand even a speck of dust in our relationship. I want what we have to be absolutely pure." To maintain this so-called purity, I turned my life into an isolated island. It wasn't until I connected to the hospital Wi-Fi that I happened to scroll past a new post from a popular relationship influencer on Ins. [Thank you to my exclusive listener. Thirty consecutive nights of listening to me until dawn got me through my darkest hours.] In the long screenshot attached to the post, the phone number at the top wasn’t completely blurred out. It ended in '0921'—my birthday, and the exact custom number he insisted on using. I carefully compared the timestamps in the screenshot. Every single call took place late at night, exactly when Harris had shut me out, claiming he "needed independent space to think." I quietly stared at those call durations—each lasting two to three hours. Suddenly, the physical pain in my body felt completely numb. I tapped the cancel call button. This sick, twisted version of purity? I didn't want it anymore.
I ripped the medical tape off my arm and pulled out the IV needle. Pressing down on the bleeding vein, I dragged my aching body through the discharge process and left the hospital. The wind outside the hospital was freezing. I didn't bother calling that busy number again. I just took an Uber straight home. When I pushed the front door open, Harris, who was supposed to be out "needing independent space," was sitting right there on the living room sofa. The main lights in the living room were off. Under the dim glow of the wall sconce, his brows were knitted tightly. There wasn't a single trace of worry on his face. "Where have you been?" He looked me up and down. "Did you go see that male coworker again?" "Chloe, I gave you the silent treatment so you could reflect on your lack of boundaries, not so you could retaliate against me." I stood in the entryway, my underwear already soaked with cold sweat. I pulled out my phone, pulled up that poorly blurred screenshot, walked over, and tossed it onto the coffee table. "0921. Thirty late nights. So, your 'space to think' was spent being Sophie’s exclusive listener?" I thought he would panic, make up excuses, or frantically try to destroy the evidence. But he didn't even change his posture. He glanced down at the screen, sighed, and turned his head away. "Chloe, you spied on me. To look at me with such vulgar, dirty eyes... I'm so disappointed in you." A sharp cramp in my stomach forced me to double over. I let out a cold laugh. "I'm dirty? You shut me out for seven days, spending hours on the phone with another woman every single night." "And now you're blaming me for not being noble enough?" Harris stood up, walked over to me, and towered over me. "Sophie has severe depression." "As her former classmate, I am simply saving a life. It's an act of charity." "What we discuss is the meaning of life and the struggles of the soul. It has nothing to do with anything else." He raised his chin slightly and spoke. "I didn't tell you because I knew you were narrow-minded and couldn't understand this kind of gender-transcending spiritual salvation." "But I never expected you to stoop so low as to monitor me. You've stained the absolute purity between us." With that, he snatched my phone and shoved it into his pocket. "Confiscated for three days. Stay home, rest, and reflect." "When you've washed the jealousy out of your brain, then you can go out." He turned to leave. I reached out to grab my phone back. In our struggle, he grabbed my wrist. The moment he felt my cold sweat and saw the ER discharge papers slipping out of my bag, his movements froze. He snatched the papers. When he saw the words "acute gastric spasms," his eyes instantly turned red. Dropping the phone, he threw his arms around me, holding me so tightly my ribs ached. "You went to the hospital? Why didn't you tell me!" "Chloe, I won't allow you to have a single scratch on you! You can only stay within my sight, do you hear me!" His voice was trembling, his whole body shaking, as if the cold, accusing man from a second ago had never existed. Leaning against his chest, my defensive walls wavered slightly. He had always been like this during our five years of dating. He cut off all my connections with the outside world, yet showered me with intense, suffocating affection. Maybe he really was just trying to save a life. Maybe I really was being narrow-minded. I was so starved for love that I had to rely on his borderline pathological possessiveness to convince myself I was loved. Harris carried me to the bedroom, tucked me into bed, rolled up his sleeves, and went to the kitchen to cook my favorite pasta. He blew on the pasta to cool it down and brought it to my lips. "Good girl, take another bite. You're never allowed to run off on your own again." "If you feel sick, tell me immediately. I'm your man." I mechanically swallowed the warm pasta. Watching his attentive movements, my tense emotions eased a little. Right then, his private phone on the coffee table lit up and buzzed twice. A short text popped up on the lock screen: [The weather is beautiful today, but I can't see the light. Not without you.] The pasta in my throat instantly turned into a wave of nauseating disgust.
I stared at the screen until it went dark again. My hands and feet grew ice-cold. I forced the rising bile back down and remained silent. The next morning, after Harris left, I forced my aching body out of bed, got dressed, and put on some makeup. Today was an incredibly important, closed-door VC pitch event. To secure a face-to-face interview with the managing partners of a top venture capital firm, I had worked sleeplessly for three months. In this city, which was completely controlled by Harris, this was my only chance to break free. When I arrived at the venue, I found an empty seat in the back row and waited for the presentation to start. The stage lights went up, and the host introduced the guest speaker. "Next, let’s welcome the relationship influencer with millions of followers, Sophie, to share her journey of spiritual rebuilding." My hands clenched the fabric of my skirt. On stage, Sophie was wearing a simple, elegant dress, speaking into the microphone. As she talked about how her "soulmate" had dragged her out of the abyss of depression, my grip on my portfolio tightened. Then, Harris, a man who had always despised public events, actually walked onto the stage as a surprise guest. Under the gaze of the entire audience, he sat down next to Sophie. They didn't even need any polite introduction. With just a single glance from Harris, Sophie seamlessly picked up the deep psychological discussion. Their chemistry was flawless. The industry big shots in the audience nodded in approval. Sitting in the corner, I stared at my fiancé—the man who claimed he only wanted absolute purity with me. On that stage, he freely poured his warmth onto another woman. This kind of spiritual betrayal was far more agonizing than physical cheating. As soon as the networking session began, I forced myself to look away from the stage. I stood up to find the investors and present my business proposal. The lead investor showed great interest and spoke with me. I responded politely and professionally. Suddenly, I felt a burning gaze on my back. I turned around. Harris had stopped talking on stage and was staring dead at me. During the mid-session break, the moment I walked into the backstage corridor, someone grabbed my arm and dragged me into a utility closet. Harris pinned me against the wall, locked the door, and pinched my chin, his voice dangerously low. "I told you yesterday to stay home and rest. Did my words go in one ear and out the other?" "And you dare to smile so flirtatiously at another man right in front of my face?" "Chloe, have you completely forgotten my rules?" A wave of humiliation rushed over me. I slapped his hand away. "I was doing my job! He is the lead investor!" "Job?" Harris sneered. "Do you even need a job?" "My credit card has no limit. Do you really need to go and sell smiles to those disgusting men?" I trembled with rage, pointing at the door and yelling, "I'm not allowed to smile at investors, but what about you?" "What you and Sophie did on stage—that 'soul connection'—what is that? Spiritual cheating?" His face went completely cold, his eyes filled with disapproval. "Chloe, that is spiritual salvation." "Sophie needs my validation to recover." "To twist our relationship with your low-class jealousy only makes you look completely unreasonable." With that, he flung the door open and left. I leaned against the wall, gasping for air. A few minutes later, I walked back toward the main hall. Just as I reached the entrance, I heard him speaking to the lead investor. "Mr. Vance, there is a serious issue with Chloe’s proposal." "She is my fiancée, and her health has been very poor. Her mental state is unstable, and I don't want her to overwork herself. She is pulling out of this project." Mr. Vance looked disappointed. "But Chloe's proposal is brilliant. A sudden replacement..." "There's no need to worry," Harris’s tone left no room for argument. "I highly recommend Sophie to take over as the chief consultant for this project." "Her insight into human nature is a hundred times more profound than Chloe’s." "If you agree, Harris Group is willing to inject an additional twenty million dollars into this funding round." Standing outside the door, I felt my chest tighten. Three months of my blood, sweat, and tears—gone. Just for his so-called purity, he had personally crushed my last piece of career hope. Inside, Mr. Vance gave a compromising laugh. "Well, since you put it that way, Mr. Harris, we will go with your recommendation, Sophie." "As for Chloe, I’ll have my assistant send her the rejection letter." I turned around and walked out of the building with heavy steps.
Back in the luxury villa he had built for me, I looked up. In the living room, the hallways, the study, and even the corner of the dining room—little red lights were blinking. He used to tell me that the security cameras were there because he worried about me being home alone. He said it was for my safety. But standing under those red lights now, I was entirely sober. I wasn't a protected lover. I was just a caged pet. Sophie was the partner who could actually stand by his side. At ten o'clock that night, he came home, acting as if nothing had happened, completely ignoring our daytime fight. He walked over to the sofa and pulled out a velvet box. Inside lay a stunning sapphire necklace. He stepped behind me, draped the heavy necklace around my neck, and fastened the clasp. He hugged me from behind, burying his face in my hair. "Chloe, the outside world is too dirty. The corporate world is full of schemes." "You can't handle them. Just stay home safely. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life." He was always like this—cutting off my escape routes, then wrapping his control in a layer of excuses called protection. Looking at our reflection in the dark window, I didn't scream, and I didn't question him. I placed my hands over his around my waist, and nodded obediently. "Okay." He relaxed instantly and kissed my cheek. The next morning, the moment he walked out the door, I quickly hid in the camera's blind spot—the corner of the basement walk-in closet. I opened an old laptop, connected to a burner hotspot, and logged into my backup email. [Dear Ms. Chloe, congratulations. You have successfully passed the final background check at our global headquarters.] [Your official appointment letter as the Vice President of the APAC region has been issued. Please confirm your start date.] In truth, I had already figured out that in this city, no matter how hard I struggled, I could never escape the reach of Harris Group. The three-month pitch event was just a smokescreen. My real trump card was this position at a rival global firm. I typed in a few words: [I will depart in three days.] Just as I closed the laptop, a friend request popped up on my Snapchat: [Hi Chloe, this is Sophie.] I accepted. She didn't send any direct, petty insults. Instead, her words were dripping with false sympathy. [Chloe, Harris told me that you've been in a terrible mental state since losing your project. He says you're too dependent on him, and it's putting a lot of pressure on him.] [He asked me to talk to you when I have time. You really need to learn how to stand on your own two feet.] Then, she sent two photos. The first was a snowy mountain peak at 4 AM. Harris and Sophie were sitting side by side, watching the sunrise. The second was a dimly lit underground bar. Harris was sitting in a dark corner, his eyes fixed on Sophie dancing on stage. The timestamps on those photos were all during the dates he claimed he was away on "crucial business trips." Staring at the bar photo, memories from two years ago flooded my mind. When I was first diagnosed with mild depression, the doctor suggested I spend more time in lively places. I had begged Harris to take me to an outdoor music festival. But he had frowned, his face full of disgust as he refused. "Chloe, I can't stand those dirty, noisy places where the air is thick with other people's sweat." "Making a request like this only makes me feel like your taste is degenerating." That night, because I had stood near the entrance of the festival venue for a few minutes, he made me scrub my skin with disinfectant soap three times until my skin was raw and bleeding. Those were his rules. He used rigidity and suppression to lock me up, yet he broke every single one of his boundaries for Sophie. The double standard was sickening. Calmly, I saved the photos and opened an encrypted folder titled "Financial Audit." Inside were the highly suspicious offshore transactions I had signed on his behalf over the past three years as his fiancée. I packaged all the files and set an auto-send timer. That evening, Harris arrived home with a team of personal stylists. He loudly announced to the media that he was hosting a grand gala for me in three days. "Chloe, I want to declare my love for you to the entire world. A love that is absolutely pure." He squeezed my hand, his face full of deep affection. I curled my lips into a smile. "Okay. I can't wait."
Three days later, the luxury yacht was anchored in deep waters. The entire deck was decorated in pure white. White roses paired with a white carpet. I was forced to wear a white gown of his choosing, led by his hand to the center of the deck under the gaze of hundreds of wealthy guests. "Mr. Harris really went all out for Ms. Chloe. This party is absolutely stunning." "Chloe is so lucky. To be loved by a man like Harris, what more could she possibly want?" "Exactly. What more does a woman need than a man whose eyes are only on her?" The guests whispered among themselves, holding champagne flutes. I listened blankly, offering no response. He walked up to the microphone. "Five years ago, I met Chloe." "I said back then, my world cannot tolerate a single speck of dust." "Thank you, Chloe, for your five years of devotion, keeping our love entirely spotless." The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Looking at his face made me want to throw up. Harris dropped to one knee and pulled out a massive diamond ring. "Chloe, marry me." The crowd cheered, and camera flashes blinded my eyes. Right at that moment, a vibration came from inside his suit jacket. I heard it loud and clear. His hand holding the ring froze in mid-air, his eyes flickering. In front of hundreds of people, he actually pulled back the ring and reached for his private phone. On the screen was Sophie's latest Instagram update. It was a photo of the deep ocean, with one of her feet dangling off a bridge. The caption read: [The listener is gone. My soul is too heavy, dragging me down into the deep.] [Harris, be happy. It's time for me to sleep forever.] The affection on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a deadly pale horror. "Sophie..." He forgot he was holding a wedding ring and bolted upright. The force of his sudden movement pushed me back, causing me to stumble. The diamond ring slipped from his fingers, rolling into a dark corner of the deck. The entire deck fell into dead silence. Everyone was utterly stunned by his sudden loss of control. Ignoring the crowd of high-society guests, he pressed his earpiece and roared toward the captain's cabin: "Lower the speedboats! Turn the yacht around at full speed!" "Now! Send people to the harbor bridge immediately!" After screaming into the mic, he turned to sprint toward the boarding gate. As he passed me, he stopped. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with rage. He gritted his teeth and warned me: "Wait for me here." "If anything happens to Sophie today because of your jealousy..." "Chloe, I will never forgive you for that cold, heartless look in your eyes!" Not only did he abandon me in front of the entire city's elite, but he also pinned the blame entirely on me. He jumped onto a speedboat and sped off without looking back, leaving the yacht rocking violently in the open sea. The wind on the deck was harsh. The stares of the guests pierced through me, a mix of pity and mocking whispers filling the air. Staring at the corner where the diamond ring had rolled, I actually laughed out loud. Under everyone's bewildered gazes, I walked over and gave the ring a sharp kick. The multi-million dollar ring splashed into the dark ocean. His fake, hypocritical love sank straight to the bottom. I opened my clutch, pulled out my global VP appointment letter, and retrieved a tablet loaded with Harris Group’s tax evasion and financial fraud files. Dragging my white train behind me, I walked steadily onto the main stage where he had just stood. I grabbed the microphone, facing the crowd, and raised the documents high.
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