1 I was choking on a piece of food when Isabelle was on the dance floor with a male model. My face was turning a deep, desperate shade of crimson as I begged her for help, but she just shot me a look of pure annoyance, as if I was ruining her fun, and dragged the model away. It wasn't until I was on the verge of collapsing that a waiter saw me and saved my life. But when Isabelle returned, she walked right past me, slapped the waitress across the face, and then pointed a finger at me, her voice dripping with venom. "I leave you alone for one minute, and you're already hitting on other women!" "I guess you don't really want to get married after all. Fine, we can postpone it. Again." Usually, when she threatened me like that, I would have scrambled, desperate to explain myself. But this time, I was just… tired. A profound exhaustion settled deep in my bones. After her words, a dead silence fell over the private room. Isabelle sat down, her brow furrowed, saying nothing. I knew what she was doing. She was waiting for me to bow my head and apologize, just like I had on a thousand other nights. I looked at my reflection in the dark glass of the window—the man staring back was a ghost, his face a bloodless mask. The exhaustion was overwhelming. I didn't offer an explanation. I didn't try to win her back. I simply stood up and walked out. Behind me, I heard a mocking voice—the model, Leo. "Ms. Lin, I think Mr. Chen is angry. Aren't you going to go after him?" Isabelle's voice was a blade of ice, laced with undisguised contempt. "Him? As if. Give him two days. He'll come crawling back with an apology." That was what she truly thought of me. But she was wrong. For the next week, I didn't contact her once. Just when I thought the relationship was finally over, Isabelle showed up at my apartment one evening, completely unannounced. I was in the middle of a lighthearted chat with a friend on my phone when I heard the sound of a key in the lock. The smile faded from my face. I watched calmly as Isabelle pushed the door open, a sense of distance growing between us. Her eyes scanned my face, and she frowned slightly. "Have you calmed down now?" Those words almost made me laugh. Oh, I had more than calmed down. In the past few days, I had canceled the tuxedo fitting and given notice on our apartment. As soon as my current project was finished, I was leaving this city for good. The room was silent. Isabelle walked toward me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. "Have you gained weight?" I paused, the glass of water halfway to my lips. I hadn't gained or lost a single pound. She thought I looked bigger because, for the past week, she’d been spending all her time with someone skinnier than me. Isabelle let out a small sigh of relief, then placed a gift box in front of me. "Well, you can't blame me for this one," she said, her tone teasing. "It's your own fault for getting fat." I opened the box. Inside was a slim-fit suit, two sizes too small for me. I said "thank you" and set it aside. My new haircut was a bit short, and I ran a hand over it. Isabelle's gaze followed my movement, and she froze. "When did you get your hair cut?" I didn't stop, my voice flat. "A few days ago." She fell silent. In her version of events, a pathetic man like me would either be crying his eyes out or starving himself. He certainly wouldn't have the peace of mind to get a haircut. A bitter look crossed her face. She turned and went into the bathroom to wash up, but when she looked up at the mirror, she realized all her things were gone. Her brow furrowed. "Where are my face wash and my toothbrush?" I’d thrown them out days ago. It had never even occurred to me that she would come back. I was so lost in my plans for the future that I didn't notice her walking up to me until she was right there. Her voice was soft, with a hint of pleading. "Don't be angry anymore. I was upset, that's why I said those things. Don't worry, the wedding is still on." The wedding that was supposed to happen a year ago had been postponed again and again. She had me wrapped around her little finger, turning me into a laughingstock among my friends and family. Seeing my silence, she assumed—as always—that I had forgiven her without question. She reached out to touch me. But in that instant, the sharp, woody scent of cypress filled my nostrils. It was the same cologne the model, Leo, had been wearing. The image of the two of them, intertwined and whispering, flashed in my mind, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I shoved her away and ran for the bathroom. 2 Isabelle stumbled back, her face turning ashen as she stared at the bathroom door. She let out a cold, sharp laugh, then slammed the front door behind her as she left. Faced with her blatant silent treatment, I felt nothing. No sadness, no anger. I tossed the suit into the trash can and went to bed. The next day, after work, I met up with a friend for dinner. I had just walked into the restaurant when someone, holding a glass of wine, bumped into me hard. The wine splashed all over both of us, leaving dark stains on our clothes. It was Leo. When he saw it was me, he sneered and just stood there, his face a sullen mask. Isabelle, who had been following him, froze for a second, then took off Leo's jacket and shoved it at me. "You upset him. You can wash this for him." Leo barely suppressed a grin, murmuring, "Isabelle, I don't know… Evan's a grown man." Isabelle just smiled, taking his hand. "And are your hands suited for doing laundry?" Her words made me look down at my own hands. They were dry and rough, the hands of someone used to manual labor. Because so many of Isabelle's clothes were delicate and had to be hand-washed, I had done it without complaint for five years. And the result? In her eyes, I had become someone only fit for menial tasks. The memory stung. I shook my head and held the jacket back out to her. "You should take this to a dry cleaner." Isabelle was stunned. In her memory, I had never once refused a single request she'd made. She had just assumed I would fall in line. My defiance was a slap in the face. Her expression hardened, and she stared at me without a word. The stress and exhaustion of the past few days had weakened my immune system. I coughed twice. Isabelle's brow knitted in annoyance. "Evan, don't play the victim with me. You're perfectly healthy. You're just lazy!" She refused to take the jacket, instead grabbing Leo's hand and pulling him towards the exit. "Forget that one. I'll buy you a new one." As they walked away, I casually draped the jacket over a chair and turned to find my friend, Alex, looking for me. "Whoa, what happened to you? Your shirt is soaked!" he exclaimed. I didn't want to ruin his evening. I threw an arm around his shoulder and guided him inside. "It's nothing, just an accident." "You should go home and change." I waved him off. "It'll dry. We haven't hung out in forever. Let's eat first!" After dinner and a long chat with Alex, it was already nine o'clock when I got home. The damp clothes had dried against my skin. I touched my face and realized I felt hot. A thermometer confirmed it: 103 degrees. I took some medicine and fell into a feverish sleep. At one in the morning, Isabelle burst into my apartment and shook me awake violently. I pried my heavy eyelids open to see her furious face looming over me. "Where did you throw Leo's jacket?" she seethed. "It was a birthday gift from his mother! He's heartbroken. Find it, now!" The high fever made my brain sluggish. It took me a few seconds to process her words. "Can it wait until morning?" I mumbled. "No! Get up and go now!" My whole body ached as I sat numbly on the edge of the bed, fumbling for my slippers. Isabelle thought I was deliberately stalling and her temper flared. "Evan, I never knew you could be so cruel, deliberately bullying someone younger than you." The sheer injustice of her words made me tremble with a rage that cut through the feverish haze. I gritted my teeth, pulled on my pajamas and slippers, and followed her back to the restaurant. We waited there until ten the next morning before she finally got the jacket back. She let out a sigh of relief, only then seeming to notice my thin clothes and flushed face. But before she could say anything, I passed out. When I woke up, Isabelle was sitting by my bedside. She immediately stood up, looking tired and a little guilty. "Evan, you fainted from the fever. Are you feeling any better? What would you like to eat?" I just gave her a cold, empty look and said nothing. Knowing she was in the wrong, Isabelle spoke softly. "You have to eat something. I'll go get you some soup." She turned and left the room. The sleep hadn't been long, but it had cleared my head completely. 3 I pulled out my phone and started scrolling. It didn't take long to find a new post from Leo. "Brothers, it's true: a good woman will always stand by you. I told my girl the jacket was a birthday gift from my mom, and she was so worried she found it for me first thing in the morning! Even after I told her the truth, she couldn't bring herself to be mad at me! Plus, she brought me my favorite croissants and pastries." I glanced at it and scrolled on without a second thought. I opened up my client's order information. It was in the final payment stage. Once they confirmed receipt, I would get my commission. The door clicked open, and Isabelle walked in with bags of food. Croissants, pastries, savory muffins—nothing I actually liked. I glanced at the bags and didn't move. Isabelle looked at me, nagging, "You're just starting to recover. You should eat something." I was double-checking the client's information, focusing on a few key numbers, and my brain automatically tuned her out. Isabelle's hand, which had been about to serve me food, froze. She stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly snatched the phone from my hands. "What are you looking at that's so—" Her voice died in her throat. Her usually cool expression was replaced with pure shock. "You changed your phone's password?" For the five years we were together, my password had always been a combination of her birthday digits. But after what happened at the club, I changed it immediately. Isabelle looked at me with a complex expression, turning my phone over and over in her hands. "You changed the wallpaper, too… Evan, you don't love me anymore." Her tone was so close to a pout that it almost made me gag. I took a quick sip of water to force the feeling down. Seeing my indifference, Isabelle's temper began to rise. A thought seemed to strike her, and her voice turned cold and accusatory. "Why did you cancel the tuxedo fitting? Didn't you like the one we picked?" A strange feeling washed over me. In the two years since we'd been engaged, Isabelle had never shown the slightest interest in the wedding details. Why the sudden concern about my suit? "It was ugly," I said casually. "I didn't want it anymore." "With your pathetic sense of style?" Her arrogance and condescension resurfaced as she looked down on me. "That suit was a custom design from Paris. There's a limit to how much of a scene you can make, Evan. Don't push it, or you'll be the one who ends up embarrassed." For a moment, I felt a dizzying sense of disbelief. How spineless must I have been in the past for her to be so confident that I would never leave? But she didn't give me a chance to argue. She stood up and hurried out, her rushed steps almost looking like she was fleeing. The thought was almost funny. My work was wrapping up. Over the next few days, I shipped my belongings home in batches. On my last day, Isabelle called. "Evan, come to the office. I need to talk to you." Her voice sounded urgent. I had no intention of seeing her again, but after a moment's thought, I decided to go. I took a cab to her company. It was noon, when everyone should have been leaving for lunch, but the lobby was eerily quiet and empty. Suspicious, I pushed open the main doors. The next second, dozens of party poppers exploded above my head, showering me with confetti. Before I could react, a group of people rushed forward, smearing cake all over my face and hair. I was completely covered, struggling to breathe. Then everything went black as I tripped over something and fell to the ground. I waved my hands frantically, trying to make them stop. But a figure holding an ice bucket ran towards me, laughing as they dumped its contents all over my head. I was a complete, sopping mess. Leo, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit with his hair impeccably styled, laughed out loud. "Happy birthday, Evan!" he cheered, snapping pictures of me with his phone. The other employees seemed to sense the strange atmosphere and fell silent. Isabelle helped me to my feet and handed me a gift box. "Evan, are you happy with your birthday surprise this year? Go on, open your gift." I stood there, drenched and humiliated, a clown in her circus. And she had the audacity to ask if I was happy. I violently slapped the box out of her hands. 4 I turned and stalked towards the bathroom. Isabelle's face contorted in anger. "Evan, don't be so ungrateful!" she yelled at my back. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and tried to clean myself up in a stall. A few moments later, some of her employees came in. "That Leo guy did that on purpose, right?" one of them whispered. "Who smears cake all over someone's entire head? And suggesting that ice water thing… I can't believe Ms. Lin actually agreed to it." "Yeah, and look at him, all dressed up like a prince, while he made Evan look like a beggar." The voices faded. I took a deep breath. Once I had cleaned up as best I could, I walked out, filled an empty mop bucket with dirty water from the janitor's closet, and headed back to the lobby. Leo was in the center of the room, putting on a show for everyone. Isabelle was at the piano, smiling as she played his accompaniment. Some of her fangirl employees were even fawning over them as a couple. I walked straight up behind Leo. Before he could react, I dumped the entire bucket of filthy water over his head. In an instant, his proud, preened appearance was transformed into that of a drowned rat. Leo stood there, stunned, before letting out a furious curse, his face twisting into an ugly snarl. Isabelle immediately took off her own blazer and wrapped it around him. "Evan, have you lost your mind?" I cut her off, my voice calm and steady. "We're done." She started to say something, but her eyes fell on my neck. Her expression changed. "You're having an allergic reaction." Isabelle moved towards me, grabbing my shoulders to get a closer look at the red rash breaking out on my skin. The cake had contained almond flour, which I'm severely allergic to. If I hadn't washed it off immediately, it could have been much worse. I violently shoved her hands away, stumbling back several steps to put distance between us. The rejection clearly stung her; her face went blank for a second. She looked at me, hurt. In her mind, she had been trying to make peace for days, even planning this party for me. And here I was, publicly humiliating her again and again. But the sight of the rash on my skin seemed to bring her back. She forced a smile and picked up the gift box I had knocked to the floor. She opened it. Inside was a mechanical watch, exactly my style. It was the most generous and thoughtful gift she had given me in all the years we'd been together. But looking at it, I felt nothing. A flash of jealousy crossed Leo's eyes. He put on a pained, conciliatory expression. "Evan, don't be mad. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have suggested such a crazy idea." He looked pathetic, yet he was the one backing down, playing the part of the victim. Isabelle didn't even look at him. Her eyes were locked on me. My phone buzzed. It was HR, telling me to come sign my final papers. As I turned to leave, Isabelle blocked my path. "We need to talk," she said stubbornly. "You don't answer my calls, you don't reply to my texts. I have no idea what you're thinking." I glanced at my watch, unwilling to waste any more time here. "Fine," I said slowly. "Come to my place tonight." Isabelle visibly relaxed. She opened her mouth to say something else, but I was already walking away. What I'd said was a lie, just to get her off my back. That night, I was flying to Silver Creek. After finishing up at HR, I went straight home to get my luggage. Isabelle, for once, sent me a text to let me know her plans. I'll be home in about two hours. What do you want to eat? I'll pick it up on the way. I looked at the plane ticket in my hand. "Whatever," I typed back. An hour later, she sent me a picture of the sunset. It was something we used to do when we were first in love, a habit that had slowly faded away. But even seeing it now, I felt no flicker of emotion. Half an hour later, Isabelle called. "Evan, you won't believe my luck. I'm stuck in traffic. I might be a little late." At that exact moment, an announcement echoed through the airport terminal, calling for passengers on my flight to begin boarding. There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line, then her voice, sharp with disbelief. "What was that sound? Evan, where are you?"
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