Three days ago, Paul bought me an engagement ring. Last night, at the birthday party of the woman he never got over, he knelt and slid that same ring onto Crystal’s finger. It was too loose. When she curled her fingers, it fell and clattered to the floor. In the video, Paul’s face flushed with embarrassment. He picked it up, voice thick with rehearsed emotion: “Crystal, I’m still waiting for you. Come back to me.” He even squeezed out a few pathetic tears—a performance worthy of an award. My drama-loving best friend spammed me with the videos, adding: “Lol, isn’t it hilarious? The guy you chased for eight years is acting like her lapdog.” Her words were pure salt in the wound. She wasn’t wrong. The boy I’d have shielded from any harm was groveling at another woman’s feet. Every year I loved him, he spent begging for her. That ring was my last hope for us. Now, he’d used it to propose to her. I took a slow breath, and the knot in my chest finally loosened. I typed back calmly: “Who’s Paul? I don’t know him.” … Paul and I grew up together. He was my ideal—quiet, steady, grounded. Chasing him for eight years had been an exhausting marathon. Then, three days ago, he came home reeking of whiskey, pulled me into an uncharacteristically tight embrace, and whispered in my ear, “Let’s get engaged. We’ll pick out a ring tomorrow.” To say I was ecstatic would be an understatement. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. That night, Paul was different. The usual rough, perfunctory intimacy was replaced with a slow, lingering tenderness. As his breathing grew ragged against my neck, he began to murmur a name, over and over. “Crystal… Crystal…” My heart seized. My body, which had been moving in sync with his, went completely still. My eyes flew open in the darkness. He thought I was her. In the most intimate moment a couple can share, the man I loved was calling out another woman’s name. There is no greater humiliation. The love was a lie. The tenderness was a lie. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a convenient stand-in, a body to use when the one he truly wanted was unavailable. I spent the rest of that night with cold, silent tears tracking into my pillow. The next morning, Paul was in high spirits, completely oblivious to the arctic chill emanating from my side of the bed. He went about his routine—showering, dressing, whistling a tune. Before he left, he leaned in, a bright smile on his face. “Aria, meet me after work. We’ll go pick out that ring.” He sealed the promise with a lingering kiss on my forehead. Looking at him then, he was still the man I had loved for so long. Time had been kind to him, leaving no trace of the years on his handsome face. Maybe getting engaged means he’s finally ready to move on, I told myself, a desperate internal monologue. He’s trying to let go of Crystal, right? I forced a smile onto my face, trying to inject some life into my numb features. But reality has a way of slapping you back to your senses when you least expect it. Watching that video now—Paul’s adoring gaze, the ring on Crystal’s finger—the whole thing felt like a sick joke. That ring was a one-of-a-kind custom piece, registered to his ID. A man could only ever order one. I remembered him leaning over the counter, meticulously discussing details with the jeweler. At the time, it had looked like pure devotion. I had even tried to haggle over the price, but Paul had waved it off with uncharacteristic ease. “No need. We’ll take it.” Of course he was quick to pay. It was never meant for me. I started packing a suitcase, my mind replaying our history. Except, it wasn't my suitcase. It was his. The apartment was in my name. For years, he had been a freeloader, never contributing a dime to rent, utilities, or groceries. He’d been shameless, and I’d been a fool. It was time for him to go. I threw all of his belongings into a cardboard box and left it by the door. On top, I tossed the cheap teddy bear he’d won for me at a carnival five years ago for my birthday. It had cost him maybe five dollars. It’s strange how love works. When you’re in it, even the most worthless trinket feels like a treasure. When it’s gone, the most precious memories just look like clutter. Paul hadn’t sent me a single message. My friend, on the other hand, had sent dozens, each one a little jab of pity-laced schadenfreude. I ignored her and sent Paul one final text: “Engagement’s off. We’re done.” Then, I began the purge. Block on social media, delete contact. Block number, delete from call history. I even changed my privacy settings to prevent him from adding me again. If I was going to be ruthless, I was going to do it right. Wednesday. A normal workday. As a seasoned corporate drone, the crushing pressure and frantic pace of my job were a welcome distraction. There was no time to wallow. The office was buzzing with unusual energy. My colleague and best friend, Chloe, saw me and expertly slid her chair over to my desk, handing me a beautifully wrapped box of chocolates. "Wedding favors from the marketing team next door," she said. "Everyone got one." Then she nudged her phone toward me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You have to see this." Chloe and I had been through college and the corporate trenches together. We were battle-hardened best friends. She knew every sordid detail of the Aria-Paul-Crystal love triangle. I opened the message. It was a photo of Crystal getting into a Porsche with an older, balding, and distinctly sleazy-looking man. They looked very familiar with each other. Chloe explained that she'd snapped the picture last night. The man was nouveau riche, his family having made millions when their neighborhood was bought out for redevelopment. He was a known quantity in their old neighborhood. The implication was clear: Crystal was a gold-digger, playing the innocent maiden to keep Paul on a string while she chased after real money. "Paul is such an idiot," Chloe seethed, fiercely protective. "He can't tell a good person from a snake." I just smiled, closed my phone, and handed her the work files I’d prepared. "Forget it. Let's get to work." A month ago, this news would have sent me into a spiral of vengeful glee. The irony of Paul making a heartfelt declaration to a woman who was simultaneously being wined and dined by her sugar daddy was almost poetic. But now… I didn't care. Her life was her problem. Our company had just landed a massive client, and the entire marketing department was drowning in overtime. The only break we got was a brief lunch. On my way to the restroom, I ran into Crystal. In college, she was a year below me in the same program. Paul first saw her when he came to find me at a networking event. He’d told me then, with a desperate, pleading look in his eyes, that he had never felt this way about anyone before. He begged me to help him, or he would regret it for the rest of his life. So, in a moment of noble, self-sacrificing stupidity, I gave him her number. A few days later, they were "official" on social media. Now, we worked in the same building. I was on the fifth floor, she was on the second. For her to come all the way up to my floor to use the restroom… her motive was painfully obvious. The moment she saw me, her neutral expression sharpened into a look of smug superiority. As I stepped toward the restroom door, she shoved past me. "I was here first," she sneered. "Get out." I couldn't be bothered to argue with an animal. But then she brought up the ring. "Paul gave me a ring at my party yesterday." She pulled it from her pocket, her smile twisting into something ugly. "It's a little loose, though. I can't really wear it. You want it?" She dangled it in front of my face. "The quality is a bit cheap, but for you… it's probably just right." This was her victory lap. It wasn't the first time she'd gloated. I remained calm, about to deliver a retort, when a voice boomed from the doorway. "Did someone take a dump in here? Why does it smell so bad?" It was Chloe. She marched right up to Crystal, theatrically sniffing the air around her. Then she turned to me with a look of mock discovery. "Aria, I found it! It's the smell of two-faced bullshit!" Crystal’s face contorted with rage, and she raised a hand to strike Chloe. I caught her wrist in a vise-grip, my voice dropping low and sharp. "You want to get physical? You're not even worth the effort. Since you clearly never learned any manners, let me teach you a lesson." I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "By the way, that ring? It is trash. And trash is the perfect accessory for a girl like you." Her wrist turned red under my grip, but I didn't let go. Mercy to your enemies is cruelty to yourself. Crystal, accustomed to always getting her way, was stunned by my aggression. She struggled, calling me a psycho, a monster. I just thought to myself how exhausting it was to always be the bigger person. Sometimes, being the villain was so much more fun. Chloe snorted, linked her arm through mine, and we swaggered out. "I can't stand her," she fumed. "That felt so damn good! One minute she's playing the innocent victim with Paul, the next she's letting some old creep paw at her. Girl's got an appetite, I'll give her that." I laughed, a real laugh this time. "My appetite's pretty good too," I quipped. "But for eight years, I chose to eat garbage." Crystal must have run crying to Paul. The second I walked out of the office building that evening, he was there, blocking my path, his face a thundercloud. "Aria, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his fingers digging painfully into my arm. I almost laughed. What a devoted knight in shining armor, rushing to defend his damsel's honor. It was pathetic. And even more pathetic was the fact that I had loved this man for eight years. Eight whole years. "I have nothing to say to you," I said, my voice devoid of the warmth he was used to. "We're done." The ring had been the final straw. Paul's brow was furrowed, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. A rough stubble was starting to appear on his chin, a sign of neglect for a man who was usually so meticulously groomed. His grip on my arm didn't loosen, and my patience snapped. "Paul, we're adults," I said, my voice sharp. "You have the right to chase your own happiness. And so do I. I'll admit, you gave me hope. But do you know what's worse than having no hope? It's the crushing despair that comes after it's snatched away. If you don't love me, stop pretending!" The words poured out of me, eight years of frustration and quiet humiliation finally given a voice. I had followed him, worshipped him, made him the center of my universe. Even when Crystal came along, I had maintained my dignity, my respect. I remembered his birthday, how I’d shown up at his dorm with a cake I’d spent all day baking, only to find him locked in a passionate embrace with Crystal. He had pulled away, his face glowing, and rested his forehead against hers. Crystal had seen me, and with a sickeningly sweet smile, took the cake from my hands. "Wow, Paul always said you were an amazing baker, Aria! I'm so lucky. I'm so clumsy, I can't do anything right." I don't remember much else, except for the adoring look in Paul's eyes as he gazed at her, gently stroking her hair. He never once thanked me. Instead, he looked at Crystal and said, "If you like it, I'll have Aria make you one every day." The jealousy had been real. The feeling of being worthless had been real. He had treated me like a personal chef, a maid, someone who should be grateful for his scraps of attention. I was done with that life. Paul looked as if I had physically struck him. His face went pale, the light in his eyes dimming. His lips parted, but no words came out. We stood there in a tense stalemate for several minutes until Crystal emerged from the building. "Paul, darling! You came to pick me up!" she trilled, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. Marking her territory. How amusing. When she saw me, her sunny expression clouded over. She sagged against Paul's shoulder, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate, practiced motion. "Paul, Aria was so horrible to me today. She said the ring you gave me was ugly… that it was trash… It hurt my feelings so much, knowing it was a gift from your heart…" For a moment, I was struck by her sheer stupidity. She knew it was a gift from him, but she had no idea it was supposed to have been my engagement ring. At the mention of the ring, Paul’s head snapped up. A flicker of realization crossed his face, and the hardness in his eyes softened. "Aria…" he began, his voice trembling. "I… I…" He only ever called me by that nickname during our most intimate moments. It used to make me feel special. Now, it just sounded grating. If it weren't for those videos, I might still be lost in the fantasy of our life together. Paul, I thought with a grim sense of finality, you really took me for a complete fool. Crystal tried to continue her performance, but Paul was unresponsive, lost in his own thoughts. She tugged at his sleeve, desperate for his attention. I turned to leave, just as a black Mercedes G-Wagen pulled up smoothly to the curb. The passenger window rolled down, and a two-liter bottle of iced green tea came flying out, thrown with considerable force. It missed Crystal's head by inches. What a pity. Amidst Crystal’s shriek of surprise and Paul’s stunned silence, Chloe, sitting in the driver's seat with a pair of dark sunglasses, yelled, "Get in!" After only a moment's hesitation, I grinned. "You got it!" I hopped into the passenger seat, buckled up, and with a roar of the engine, we sped away. In the rearview mirror, I saw Crystal stomping her foot in fury. And Paul… Was he watching me?
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