Chapter 3: Before the Fall

Rachel and I met in the university drama club.

She was the princess on stage; I was the tree she leaned on.

If she hadn’t slipped off the platform and I hadn’t caught her—breaking my arm in the process—someone as ordinary as me would never have crossed paths with a girl from her world.

It was opening night for some obscure American playwright, the kind of show only college kids attempt. The campus quad was lit up with string lights, students sprawled on picnic blankets, the air buzzing with cheap beer and end-of-semester nerves. Rachel, in her sparkling costume, tripped on the edge of her skirt and tumbled right into my arms. I ended up in a sling for a month, but the look on her face when she visited the ER—wide-eyed, apologetic, determined to make it up to me—was burned into my memory.

While I was in the hospital, she visited often, and over time, we got together.

Back then, Rachel was playful and spoiled—a classic rich girl. She’d drag me out for late-night milkshakes at the campus diner, order extra fries just because, and talk about her dreams of playing at Lincoln Center. She was loud, bright, impossible to ignore.

It’s hard to reconcile that with the cold, decisive CEO she is now.

When did she change?

Probably senior year, when Rachel’s dad suddenly brought home a son from another relationship.

For the first time, Rachel, who always got her way, felt threatened. She realized that, just because she was a daughter, her father didn’t see her as fit to inherit the family business.

Rachel felt a crisis she’d never known. She didn’t want to share her father’s love, let alone the family’s assets, with anyone else.

At the Millers’ holiday party—catered finger food, ugly sweaters, awkward family photos by the fireplace—her half-brother stood proudly beside Mr. Miller, being introduced to all his business partners. Rachel was sent off to gossip with the other women.

That night, she came to my dorm in a designer dress, heels in hand, mascara streaked down her cheeks. The December air was brutal—so cold her breath fogged in the lamplight. I wrapped her up in my college hoodie, feeling helpless but fiercely protective.

She sobbed and swore to me that night:

“I’ll never let that jerk take everything from me! I’ll show my dad—even if I’m a girl, I can make something of myself!”

From then on, Rachel transformed from a carefree girl into a driven entrepreneur.

But starting a business is tough—especially for someone who studied music. After repeated failures, she realized her cello performances at Carnegie Hall couldn’t save her company.

Mr. Miller scolded her for goofing off and tried to set her up with a suitable young man, prepping her for a business alliance.

Rachel threatened her father and fought for one last chance to prove herself. She promised if she failed, she’d give up and marry whomever he chose.

So when she started her company, Rachel wasn’t just fighting for pride—she was fighting for freedom. For us.

I can’t deny Rachel loved me deeply then. To give our relationship a future, she stood up to her father and carved out a space for us.

So I devoted myself to her business without hesitation.

Sometimes I wonder how Rachel and I ended up like this. We wanted the same things, worked so hard for a future together. But after seven years, our relationship still crumbled.

When Derek came back and started sending me those suggestive messages, I was angry and jealous at first. But after a few fights with Rachel, seeing her indifference and complaints that I was making a fuss, it felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

It wasn’t just Derek’s presence—it was Rachel’s attitude that made me feel she didn’t love me anymore.

Her attitude wasn’t new. Derek’s return just ripped away the last fig leaf in our relationship.

Sitting in the Uber, city lights blurring by, I finally let go.

They say every relationship faces a seven-year itch. Maybe Rachel and I were only meant to last this long.