Chapter 1: Anniversary Lies and Shattered Trust

On our seventh anniversary, my girlfriend looked at me and said she had something to do that night, that she wasn’t coming back. Not tonight.

Right after she said it, a sick knot twisted in my gut. I tried to shrug it off—told myself maybe she was planning a surprise, or maybe she just needed a night to herself. Still, the silence in our apartment was heavier than usual. Even the air felt tense, like the walls were holding their breath. I caught myself thinking, what if I’m just being paranoid?

I looked up. A black Cadillac was pulling up—not far away. My girlfriend was inside. My heart skipped, and for a split second, I just stared, not really believing what I was seeing.

It was the kind of car that didn’t belong in our neighborhood. Sleek lines, tinted windows, purring like a big cat in the dark. My heart thudded against my ribs. For a second, I just froze—then I ducked instinctively behind the hedge, peeking out as the passenger door swung open. This couldn’t be happening, right?

The car started rocking. Just like that. No subtlety, no shame.

My brain scrambled to make sense of it. The suspension dipped and swayed, unmistakable. My stomach dropped—hard. Shit. I heard muffled laughter—hers. Bright, carefree, that laugh I used to think was just for me. Suddenly, I felt cold all over, like someone had cracked open a window in the middle of December. My jaw clenched. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

"Baby, what do you want for dinner tomorrow? I’ll have my husband cook it for you!" Her voice drifted out, teasing, way too familiar. My ears burned. I could see her smile in my mind—the one that crinkled the corners of her eyes, the one I thought was mine.

"Forget it, your husband’s cooking is awful."

The guy’s voice was rough, cocky. The kind of voice that fills a room, even when he’s not trying. I gritted my teeth, recognizing the swagger—somebody who thinks the world owes him. The kind of guy who always gets his way.

"I want you. Wear those black stockings tomorrow."

Right then, my coworker—another real estate sales guy—yanked me down to crouch with him behind the gazebo. He was way too into the scene, like he’d stumbled onto some late-night reality show. The sharp smell of cheap aftershave clung to his jacket, and his breath came quick, shallow. "Dude, you seeing this?"

"Isn’t that the guy looking to buy a house from you? No wonder he looked familiar."

He whispered, like he was breaking some celebrity scandal. I felt my face flush—embarrassment and anger tangling up, burning hot in my chest.

Damn. She really wore those black stockings. Guess rich folks really do play wild.

He shook his head, half in awe, half disgust. "Man, I guess money really does buy you anything."

Getting it on right at the entrance to the gated community. Seriously? Who does that? I wanted to punch something. My hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms. Did they even care who saw them?

My coworker rubbed his chin and let out a low sigh, like he was watching some wild movie. Like this was entertainment, not my life falling apart.

"Tyler, did you see that?" he said, almost impressed, like he was reviewing a film. I shot him a glare, hoping he’d take the hint and shut up. But he just kept watching.

The woman in the car was still wearing her ring. Even from here, the ring caught the streetlight—a little flash of gold. My chest tightened up. That ring was supposed to mean something. At least, I thought it did. For a second, I remembered slipping it onto her finger. Had that all been a lie?

Seems like her husband really loves her. Even cooks for her. The irony hit hard. I’d spent hours in the kitchen, trying to get her favorite recipes just right. I remembered her smile when I brought her breakfast in bed, the way she’d curl up next to me on the couch after dinner. Was any of it real?

"What a shame, he’s ended up getting cheated on."

My coworker shook his head, voice dropping into a weirdly sympathetic murmur. I almost laughed at how clueless he was—if only he knew the truth.

My legs were numb from squatting, so I switched to the other leg and said quietly, "The guy getting cheated on? That’s me."

Everything froze for a second. My coworker’s voice just cut off. I could feel his eyes on me, realization dawning. The silence between us was thick and awkward. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the gazebo and disappear.

"That mansion is mine too."

I let the words hang in the air, heavy as lead. My chest ached, every breath sharp and shallow. I pressed a hand to my ribs, trying to steady myself. How did it come to this?

Clutching my aching chest, I sighed and called my dad to come clean.

The phone felt slippery in my sweaty hand. My thumb hovered over Dad’s number for a second before I hit dial. My heart pounded in my ears. I felt like a kid again—scared, small, desperate.

"Dad, I want to come home."

My voice cracked. I hated how small I sounded, like a kid asking to be picked up from a sleepover gone wrong. I stared at the ground, biting my lip.

"Shouldn’t have fallen out with the family over a woman."

Dad’s voice was gruff, but under the disappointment, I could hear something else—relief, maybe. Or just that old, stubborn love.

"Hmph, finally figured it out?"

He sounded almost smug, but not unkind. Like he’d been waiting for me to come to my senses. There was a long pause, and then he let out a sigh.

"I’ll come pick you up myself in three days."

His words were final, no room for argument. Three days—just enough time for everything to really hit me. I nodded to myself, even though he couldn’t see it.

"Come home and take over the family business, and do it right."

The old man’s tone softened, just a touch. I pictured him sitting at his desk, lamp burning late, waiting for his stubborn son to come home. I let out a shaky breath.

After hanging up, I asked my coworker for a cigarette.

He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack and offering me one with a shaky hand. The lighter clicked twice before the flame caught. I took a long drag, the smoke burning my throat.

I almost never smoke. This was only the second time.

The first was when my mom died in a car accident. That memory hit me like a punch to the gut. I stared at the glowing tip, the world suddenly muffled and gray. I missed her so much it hurt.

My coworker was so embarrassed he couldn’t look at me. "Quit joking, Tyler."

He tried to laugh it off, but his voice wobbled. He stared at the ground, shuffling his feet, like he wanted to disappear.

"Everyone knows you and your fiancée are tight. You’ve been working your butt off, overtime every day, just to buy a house and get married."

He rattled off my life story like it was a script, desperate to convince himself this was all some big misunderstanding. I almost wanted to believe him. Almost.

"Man, you even gave her your mom’s keepsake."

His words stung. That locket meant everything to me. I felt the absence of it like a bruise just beneath my collarbone. Why did I ever let it go?

I gave a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. It echoed in the quiet night, and I wondered if I’d ever laugh for real again.

"Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you."

My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found her name—Savannah. My thumb hesitated for just a second before I hit call. My chest tightened.

A shrill ringtone echoed through the shaking car. The sound was jarring, slicing through the night like a siren. I could see the glow of her phone screen inside the Cadillac. My heart pounded.

"Hello? Babe, I’m out running, can’t talk now, ahh~"

Her voice was breathless, fake. I could hear the lie in every syllable. My jaw clenched, anger and humiliation fighting for space inside me. God, she was really doing this.

I didn’t want to hear the rest. I thumbed the screen, ending the call before she could say anything else. My hands trembled, and I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming. The taste of blood grounded me, barely.

Swallowing my urge to curse, I hung up on her.

My coworker stared at me, dumbfounded, then looked at me with pity, like I was the world’s biggest fool. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. The pity in his eyes made me want to break something. I hated it—hated how small I felt, how helpless.

He patted my shoulder. "Don’t be upset, man. Come on, let’s go catch them in the act!" His hand was warm, grounding. He meant well, but the idea of confronting them made my skin crawl. I shook my head, staring at the dying ember of my cigarette.

I shook my head, eyes down as I stubbed out the cigarette. "Forget it."

The guy Savannah was cheating with was named Leonard Brooks.

His name was familiar, the kind that floats around in business circles but never really lands. I remembered seeing it on a gift basket at my dad’s office years ago. Back then, he wasn’t even in the same league as us.

But now, things were different. I was just a nobody, broke and powerless. The tables had turned, and I was the one left out in the cold. I felt the sting of it in my bones.

I didn’t even have the right to confront him.

If I tried to confront them, I’d probably just get laughed at harder. Anyway, my dad would be here in three days. When that happens… well. I let the thought hang. Three days. I could make it.

But my coworker thought I was just scared. "At least get your mom’s keepsake back, right?" His voice was insistent, almost pleading. He didn’t get it. That locket was more than just jewelry—it was the last piece of my mom I had left.

My mom’s keepsake was a locket.

After she died in the car accident, I’d worn it close to my skin every day. It was a small silver heart, engraved with her initials. I used to run my thumb over it when I was nervous, like it could anchor me to the world.

But I loved Savannah so much back then.

When she agreed to be with me, I gave it to her without hesitation. Looking back now, what a fool I was.

I said, half-sarcastic, "No need. She’ll be back soon enough."

The words tasted bitter. I wanted to believe them, wanted to believe she’d come running back. But deep down, I knew better.

She wouldn’t leave me—the guy who’s been supporting her all this time. If she really wanted to go, she’d have left long ago. I tried to convince myself, clinging to the last shreds of hope. But the truth was already staring me in the face, cold and merciless.

My coworker was furious at my passiveness. "Are you even a man? Your girl’s sleeping with someone else and you just take it?"

He glared at me, fists clenched. I could see the frustration in his eyes. He wanted me to fight, to make a scene. But I was too tired, too broken. What else could I do? Go up there just to get humiliated again?

I said nothing.

I sat in that gazebo all night, just listening. The wood was cold and rough beneath me. I watched the stars blink out one by one as dawn crept in, my mind replaying every moment with Savannah on a cruel loop.

The longer I listened, the colder my heart got. The laughter, the moans, the whispered promises—they all felt like knives, carving away at what little hope I had left.

Savannah and I had been together for seven years. Since freshman year of college, right up to graduation. We’d never spent a day apart. We were inseparable, the kind of couple everyone envied. Or so I thought. I remembered late-night study sessions, road trips, the way she’d fall asleep on my shoulder during movies.

I thought we’d overcome my dad’s objections and get married without a hitch. Never imagined she’d stab me in the back so suddenly. Thinking back, when my dad cut me off financially, I’d sworn up and down that Savannah would never betray me.

Now, I’m just a joke.

Heh.

The new security guard at the gated community looked down on us real estate salespeople. He was young, cocky, always smirking as we came and went. He acted like he owned the place, like the gate was his personal kingdom.

When his shift ended at night, he deliberately locked the gate to make things hard for us, wouldn’t let us out. My mansion keys had been taken by my dad, who was furious with me. I couldn’t get inside to rest.

So I just sat there, forced to listen to the whole sordid scene in the car.

I watched as they tossed out a used condom—one I’d bought, too. The sight made my skin crawl. I felt sick, bile rising in my throat. I wanted to scream, to break something, but all I could do was stare. My fists trembled.

I closed my eyes in despair, feeling like a boulder was crushing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Not until dawn, when the car finally drove away and the security guard changed shifts, did my coworker and I, exhausted, finally leave the gated community.