Chapter 4: Playing the Outsider

Julian came home a bit drunk. He stumbled through the door, tie askew, cheeks flushed. I could smell the whiskey on his breath from across the room.

Even though he said I didn’t need to wait up, I still made hangover soup and sat in the living room, ready to hug him when he got home. The soup simmered on the stove, filling the apartment with ginger and scallions. I curled up on the couch, pretending to read a book.

Julian smiled at me, loosening his tie with one hand, his features soft for once. His eyes crinkled at the corners, a real smile for the first time in ages. My heart fluttered, despite everything.

Since we got back together, this was the first time he smiled at me like that. It felt like a small victory, a tiny crack in his armor. Maybe things could be different.

I felt a bit dazed, like I was back to when we first met. I remembered our first date—how he’d made me laugh, how easy it was to be with him. For a moment, I let myself hope.

I sighed to myself: If only life could always be like the first meeting. But I knew better. Fairy tales don’t last. Not for girls like me.

He picked me up, kissed my neck, his breath growing heavy. His hands were warm, his touch familiar. I closed my eyes, letting myself forget the rest of the world for a little while.

“So good, so obedient. After you left, I thought about this moment so many times—you waiting at home for me, just like before.” His words were soft, almost tender. I tried to believe them, tried to let myself fall back into that old dream.

I smiled with my lips, but my eyes were cold. I’d learned how to fake it—how to give him what he wanted without giving too much of myself away. Survival mode.

From his point of view, I was the obedient one waiting for him. I wondered if he’d ever see the truth, or if he was content with the illusion. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

But Julian, do you know how much anxiety and sadness I felt every night, waiting for you to come home? I wanted to scream at him, to make him understand. But I swallowed the words, letting them burn in my throat.

You didn’t reply to my messages, didn’t answer my calls. I knew you had another, more exciting world without me. I pictured him out with Savannah and the others, laughing, drinking, living a life I’d never be part of.

I would quietly cry on the couch for a while, check the clock, sneak a look at your Messenger step count and Savannah’s Instagram stories to guess how much longer until you came back. It was pathetic, but I couldn’t stop.

In my mind, I’d imagine breaking up with you, then you begging me not to leave—but I couldn’t bear to end it just like that. I played out every scenario, but I always ended up staying. I was addicted to the hope that things would get better.

I hated how humble I was, but I couldn’t help myself. It was like a reflex—apologize, forgive, repeat. I hated myself for it.

All because I loved Julian, but he never saw it, never cared. I wondered if he ever would, or if I was just another possession to him.

“Can you reward me? Little hint, I’m a bit short on cash lately.” I slipped back into my role, batting my eyelashes, voice playful. “You know I’m always grateful for your generosity.”

I hid the coldness in my eyes, leaned against Julian’s chest, and focused on getting what I could from him. I let him hold me, let him think he was in control. It was easier that way.

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close, warmth passing between us. For a moment, I let myself believe the lie—that we could be happy like this.

“Are you satisfied with this amount?” His phone buzzed, and a notification popped up—transfer complete. I glanced at the number, trying not to let my relief show.

He transferred the money, just as his phone automatically shut down. The screen went black, the moment broken. I slipped out of his arms, heading for the kitchen.

I counted the zeros, grinned, and went to the kitchen to heat up the hangover soup. The number was more than enough to cover payroll for the month. I let out a shaky breath, stirring the soup with a little more energy.

“My phone’s out of battery—let me use yours to call my assistant,” Julian called from the living room. I wiped my hands on a dish towel, grabbing my phone from the counter. “Sure, here you go.”

I handed it over. I didn’t think twice, trusting that everything was locked down. I went back to the stove, humming under my breath.

There was no sound for a long time. When I came out with the soup, I found him sitting on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, his face stormy. My stomach dropped.

He held up the phone to me, and I realized he’d discovered the AI reply assistant in my Messenger app. The app icon was still open, my secret exposed. I froze, soup bowl trembling in my hands.

He cursed and smashed the phone hard, making a loud bang. The sound echoed through the apartment. I jumped, heart pounding in my chest.

“So you’ve been brushing me off this whole time?” His voice was raw, angry. I opened my mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come.

His eyes were red as he grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. He shook me, his grip tight. I met his gaze, refusing to look away.

“Why are you always so distant? What am I to you, in your heart?” His words hung in the air, heavy and desperate. For the first time, I saw the fear behind his anger—the fear of losing control, of losing me. But I didn’t know how to answer. Not anymore.