1 Working late into the night, I found myself standing at the entrance of that pitch-black alleyway yet again. "Fred... could you come pick me up?" I asked, my voice trembling over the line. "The streetlights still aren't fixed, and I'm scared." A rustling sound came through the speaker. "I'm cracking crab legs for Sienna. My hands are covered in butter. I can't leave right now." I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and hung up the phone. Those streetlights had been broken for thirty days. I had begged him to pick me up thirty times, and he had never shown up once. I had no choice but to brace myself and walk into the darkness alone. I barely took two steps before my phone buzzed. It was a new social media post from Sienna. [Big thanks to Fred for the amazing handmade dinner! I absolutely love it!] The attached photo showed a plate of rice and seafood meticulously arranged into the shape of a little crab. Once upon a time, I had seen a viral couple do that and asked him to make one for me. Fred had rolled his eyes. "Are we five years old? If you want to play with your food, do it yourself." Yet now, he was perfectly willing to play the childish boyfriend for his content-creator co-star, Sienna. At that moment, a profound exhaustion washed over me. I didn't want to walk down this dark road anymore. Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting under the harsh fluorescent lights of a 24-hour convenience store. I took slow, mechanical bites of a microwaved chicken wrap. The tortilla was scalding hot, but the filling was completely freezing in the center. Back in college, if I didn't reply to his texts within ten minutes, Fred would blow up my phone in a panic. Tonight, our chat history was a ghost town. My last message to him was a 'Good morning' sent ten hours ago. He had left it on read. Five minutes later, I swallowed the last bite of the wrap along with my tears. My phone finally rang. A pathetic spark of hope flared in my chest. I thought Fred had finally remembered I existed. But the second I answered, his impatient voice filled my ear. "Harper, Sienna got chili oil on her dress. Do you have any new clothes in your closet? Bring one down for her." I gripped the phone tightly, staying completely silent. "Actually, forget it. I'll just take her to the mall downstairs. Your clothes are way too cheap anyway. The fabric will just scratch her skin." In that split second, the tears I had just shed for him felt like the ultimate punchline to a sick joke. "Fred, do you even hear yourself right now?" I couldn't stop my voice from shaking. He replied with his usual, infuriating nonchalance. "What is it now? Are you throwing another tantrum? It's just a piece of clothing, Harper. Grow up." A hollow laugh escaped my lips. I shook my head and hung up on him. From beginning to end, he never once asked why I wasn't home yet. He never asked where I was. His entire universe revolved solely around his precious co-star. So what exactly was I holding onto? I bit my lip and threw the wrapper into the trash can. My relationship with Fred was exactly like that convenience store food. It had expired a long time ago. Walking out of the store, my screen lit up with a text from Sienna. [Harper, please don't get the wrong idea! Fred and I are just a contractual couple for social media. We are strictly business.] [Stop fighting with him over me. He's so stressed out he can't even eat.] Immediately after, she sent a selfie. Sparkling on her ring finger was a massive, flawless diamond. I recognized that ring immediately. A week ago, Fred told me his management agency wanted him to film a fake proposal with Sienna. If the video went viral, they would get a massive cash bonus. I had agreed. Nobody argues with free money. I had suggested buying a cheap prop ring online for ten bucks. He had vehemently refused. "The internet misses nothing. Who are we going to fool with a piece of cheap glass?" "I'm taking Sienna to a luxury jeweler this afternoon to pick out a bespoke piece." I had frowned. "But that specific brand famously requires a man to register his ID. You are strictly limited to buying one in your entire lifetime. Are you seriously giving that to her?" Fred's eyes had darkened. He impatiently twisted the watch on his wrist. "Are you acting jealous again?" "It's literally just a prop ring. It doesn't mean anything." When he came home that night, he tossed the empty velvet box on my nightstand. Sienna kept the ring. As the memory faded, Sienna suddenly unsent the photo. [Oops, sorry! Sent that to the wrong person.] I saw right through her pathetic little game. I smiled faintly and typed back. [Since he proposed, I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.] A second later, Fred's furious text popped up. [How dare you send something so spiteful to Sienna! She's crying in the bathroom because of you!] I didn't reply. Instead, I scrolled to the very bottom of my contacts list, tapped on a greyed-out profile picture, and sent a message. [Coach Blake, is the offer to rejoin the racing team still on the table?] [I miss being behind the wheel.] By the time I finally walked into our apartment, it was pitch black outside. The kitchen was dead silent. In the past, whenever I worked overtime, Fred would have hot soup simmering on the stove, meticulously reheating my favorite dishes right before I walked through the door. He used to say my stomach was too fragile for cold food. Now, the dining table was littered with greasy takeout boxes and dirty plates. The bedroom door swung open. Fred stood in the frame, his face dark like a thundercloud. "Are you done throwing your little fit?" "I'm not throwing a fit." "Sienna left here in tears. She blamed herself, saying she shouldn't have come over for dinner. If you have any free time tomorrow, you need to apologize to her before she overthinks this." I genuinely thought I was hallucinating. "You want me to apologize?" Fred didn't even blink. He nodded. "Yes. You had absolutely no right to text her that passive-aggressive garbage." "You know perfectly well she and I are just coworkers." Coworkers? I wanted to laugh until my lungs gave out. He bought her a once-in-a-lifetime diamond, cooked her lavish meals, let her linger in our apartment until midnight, and he had the nerve to call her a coworker? I opened my mouth to snap back, but he suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his chest. He buried his face into the crook of my neck, a practiced, manipulative gesture. "It's late. Let's just go to sleep." "I have a Couple's Q&A video to shoot tomorrow, and I still haven't memorized my script." Every rational instinct screamed at me to shove him away, but an agonizing ache squeezed my heart. It took me two full years of quiet longing to finally stand proudly by Fred's side. When we first got together, everyone told us we were a disaster waiting to happen. He was the golden boy of his Ivy League class with a limitless future. I was a college dropout, a rough-around-the-edges street racer trying to survive in the city. After graduation, he tried to become a lifestyle influencer, but his channel completely flatlined. Meanwhile, I defied all odds, winning two major international racing circuits and becoming an overnight legend in the motorsports world. We had promised each other that once I secured my million-dollar championship prize, we would get married. But then, he hesitated. He signed a predatory contract with an influencer agency behind my back. "Harper, I want to build an empire with my own hands so I can give you the world. But the agency repackaged my image. They assigned me to a 'couple channel'." "For now... we have to keep our real relationship a secret." "If you really love me, quit the racing scene. Come work as my personal assistant." Back then, I was so blindly in love with him that I threw away my brilliant career and followed him into the shadows without a second thought. "Fred." "I never want to see Sienna in this apartment again." It was my final compromise. If he agreed, I would let all of this go. He stayed silent for two agonizing seconds. Then he sighed. "When did you become so petty?" I froze. His tone was entirely flat. "You were acting like a brat, refusing to come home. Sienna and I were both worried sick about you. That's why she texted you. I can't believe you insulted her for caring." Fred looked at me with deep exhaustion. He looked at me the way a parent looks at a toddler throwing a tantrum in a grocery store. Worried about me? If he was so worried, why didn't he text me himself? Was he genuinely worried, or was he just annoyed that my absence ruined his perfect evening? A gaping hole ripped open in my chest, letting the freezing wind howl through. I lowered my head. Fat tears spilled over my lashes, soaking the collar of my shirt. "Look at you. Crying again." "When are you going to grow up and be mature like Sienna?" Fred let out a heavy sigh, gave me a condescending pat on the head, and walked back into the bedroom to sleep. He didn't care that my heart was breaking. Just like every single time before, he refused to fix the problem, expecting me to swallow my own pain and get over it by morning. But this time, I refused to swallow it. I wiped my eyes dry and forwarded my recent medical and physical reports to Coach Blake. [Coach, I'm still in peak condition.] [Put me in the West Coast Rally next week. I'll prove I still have it.] I opened the bottom drawer of my closet, pulled out my dusty, heavy racing suit, and meticulously ironed out every single wrinkle. From the bed, Fred shifted in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath. My hands stopped moving. I heard his sleep-talking crystal clear. "Sienna... Sienna..." Right. I set the iron down, walked straight into the living room, gathered every single box of his obscenely expensive Cuban cigars, and dumped them into the kitchen sink. Then I turned on the faucet and let them drown. Without looking back, I zipped up my racing suit and headed straight to the training track. At nine the next morning, I walked into the influencer agency with massive dark circles under my eyes. A few passing coworkers gave me sympathetic looks. "Harper, are you okay? You look totally exhausted." Everyone noticed. Except Fred. He was standing under the studio lights, pacing back and forth with a script in his hand. Sienna was standing right beside him, fresh out of the makeup chair. She rested her hand on his shoulder. "Don't stress. We can edit out any mistakes. Besides, your assistant is right here." She walked over and shoved a thick stack of cue cards into my chest. "Harper, if Fred forgets his lines, you stand off-camera and prompt him." "And remember. In this building, you are just an assistant." I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and nodded. In this company, every single person thought I was just a glorified intern. Nobody knew I had been Fred's loyal partner in the shadows for five years. "Question one! Where did we first meet?" On camera, Sienna looked sickeningly sweet, resting her chin on Fred's shoulder. Fred answered without missing a beat. "At an internet cafe. You told me I was amazing at gaming." Sienna giggled and playfully hit his chest. "I did that on purpose! I thought you were cute and wanted an excuse to talk to you." "You little schemer," Fred grinned, his eyes overflowing with genuine affection. "Next question! What was our first..." Before Fred could finish reading the card, Sienna suddenly leaned in and kissed him directly on the lips. The entire production crew gasped. I panicked, frantically flipping through the script. That kiss was absolutely not on the page. Fred's ears burned bright red. He nervously darted a glance toward where I was standing in the shadows. "Did I shock you guys?" Sienna playfully stuck out her tongue at the camera. "He's my boyfriend. I can kiss him whenever I want." My nails dug so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. My vision blurred with tears. Sienna had blatantly gone off script, but not a single director called cut. I even heard a lighting tech whisper, "They are so perfect for each other." A hot tear slipped down my cheek. Unable to stomach another second, I dropped the cue cards and practically sprinted to the restroom. A few minutes later, the heavy restroom door creaked open. Two people walked in, and the deadbolt clicked shut. "Sienna, Harper was standing right there. How could you just kiss me like that?" It was Fred. I slapped a hand over my mouth, suffocating the gasp in my throat. "I'm sorry, I just got completely lost in the moment. Sometimes I... I actually forget we're faking it." Sienna's voice was fragile, practically dripping with vulnerability. "Oh, by the way," she said, her tone shifting slightly. "Here. You left your watch on my nightstand when you came over." My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss. When did Fred go to her house? "Oh, right. Last Thursday." Fred's casual confirmation felt like a physical knife twisting in my gut. Last Thursday, I was in the emergency room with a severe gastric infection. I had called him thirteen times. He ignored every single one. By the time I woke up from surgery, he texted me a pathetic: 'Was busy with a brand deal.' He wasn't busy with work. He was busy rolling around in Sienna's bed. A self-deprecating smile stretched across my face. The last microscopic shred of love I held for Fred disintegrated into ash. Just then, my phone violently vibrated in my pocket. "Wait, there's someone in one of the stalls!" Sienna's voice sharpened into panic. Her high heels clicked loudly on the tiles, walking closer. My heart leaped into my throat as I frantically jammed the mute button. "You're hearing things, it's empty." Fred quickly unbolted the main door and pulled Sienna out into the hallway. I pressed my hand against my chest, my heart threatening to crack my ribs. I looked down at the glowing screen. It was a text from Coach Blake. [Let's see what you've got.] Three seconds later, another message popped up. [Harper, I believe in you.] Instantly, the tears I had been fighting back broke free, streaming down my face. I wiped my face clean, walked straight out of the bathroom, and marched into the HR office to formally resign. Fred chased me out to the parking lot, aggressively demanding answers. "What is your problem? Did someone say something to you? Who offended you this time?" He paused, a mocking smirk appearing on his lips. "Wait. Don't tell me you're still throwing a tantrum because I bought Sienna dinner." I didn't say a word. He nodded like he had just solved a massive mystery. "No wonder you ruined my entire stash of cigars. You're still drowning in jealousy." "I have had absolutely enough of you, Harper!" I stopped walking. I turned around and looked him dead in the eyes. I had never felt this calm in my entire life. "I've had enough of you too, Fred." It was the first time in five years I had ever spoken to him with such cold, absolute finality. He flinched, visibly taken aback. "Oh my god, I am so sorry! This is all my fault. I'm the reason you two are fighting!" Sienna suddenly sprinted across the asphalt, her eyes red and puffy. "Harper, if you're mad, just hit me. Slap me until you feel better." Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist with terrifying strength and yanked my hand violently toward her own face. I tried to rip my arm away, but her grip was like a vice. "Ahhhh!" A piercing scream shattered the air. She suddenly let go of my wrist. A long, bloody scratch marked the entire left side of her cheek. She collapsed flawlessly into Fred's chest. "My face... Fred, it burns so bad..." "I didn't touch her, Fred, listen to me, there are security cameras right over—" "Shut up!" Fred's eyes turned lethal. "I watched you do it with my own eyes, and you're still trying to lie to my face?!" "Do you have any idea that her face is her entire career?! How is she supposed to shoot the brand campaigns tomorrow looking like this?!" It finally clicked. To protect Sienna's flawless image, he was fully prepared to pin the blame on me. A crowd of employees gathered in the lot, their whispers turning into toxic venom. "Harper is so violently jealous of Sienna's looks. She definitely slashed her on purpose." "She really thought a nobody assistant like her could lock down a guy like Fred. Delusional." "Fred would never settle for trash like her. No wonder she's quitting. She probably got rejected and lost her mind." Fred heard every single insult hurled at me, yet he stood there like a statue. He didn't defend me once. My fingers brushed against my chest. There was no physical wound, but it felt like I was bleeding to death. I stopped defending myself. I turned my back on the circus and walked out of the corporate park. I hailed a cab and headed straight to the racing circuit. Once I was seated, I sent Fred a breakup text. Then, I powered off my phone, severing every single tie I had to the outside world, and threw myself entirely into my training. Late that night, after a grueling day of damage control and filming, Fred dragged himself into the apartment. "Harper, pour me a glass of water." He yelled out of pure habit. The only response was the echo of his own voice in the empty rooms. "Tch. Throwing another invisible tantrum." He casually pulled out his phone. His lock screen displayed a single message. [Fred, we are done. We're breaking up.] He scoffed, swiped the notification away without a second thought, took a shower, scrolled through some videos, and fell into a deep sleep. Days bled into a week. I never came home. Fred finally started to panic. Was I actually serious this time? He started calling my number. It went straight to voicemail. He sent texts. No reply. "Damn it! Harper, don't make me—" His voice cut off abruptly. He stared blankly at the massive flat-screen TV in the living room. It was broadcasting the live post-race press conference of the West Coast Rally. I was standing on the podium, radiating absolute confidence, hoisting the massive gold championship trophy above my head as camera flashes blinded the room. After answering technical questions about the engine specs, a reporter leaned in with a cheeky smile. "Harper, an incredible driver like you must have guys lining up around the block. Is there a lucky man cheering for you today?" I looked directly into the camera lens and offered a bright, genuine smile. "I am completely single." In that exact moment, Fred picked up a heavy glass ashtray and shattered the TV screen.
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