: I Don't Want You Anymore

After ten years together, Warren Vaughn still had no intention of marrying me.

I couldn't help but ask him if he was still going to marry me.

He was perfectly calm, giving a vague, noncommittal answer as if he were just handling business.

I looked down at the photo on my phone.

His newly hired secretary was wearing the diamond ring known as "True Love" and dressed in a one-of-a-kind wedding gown.

She was smiling, nestled in his arms, while he gazed back at her, his eyes full of tenderness.

Suddenly, I no longer wanted a future with him.

...

The new secretary was a very lively girl.

As we were getting off work, she smiled and struck up a conversation.

"Is your fiancé coming to pick you up today too, Sienna? I'm so envious of you two. You've been dating for ten years, but you're still as sweet as if you'd just started."

My rival, Yara Linden, scoffed, her words dripping with sarcasm.

"Dating for ten years and still not married? Isn't it obvious he has no intention of marrying you? And you still call it love. How pathetic."

My friend, Luna Leighton, retorted angrily.

"I bet you don't know that last month, President Vaughn paid a fortune at auction for that diamond ring symbolizing true love. And I heard from people inside his company that a year ago, he traveled all the way to France to have a famous designer custom-make a one-of-a-kind wedding gown."

Yara Linden's expression instantly soured. As if to save face, she tossed one last remark over her shoulder as she left.

"If you don't believe me, just you wait and see."

Luna Leighton wanted to fire back, but I held her back and softly told her to just let it go.

'Yara Linden wasn't actually wrong. It really did seem like Warren Vaughn had no intention of marrying me.'

Only after I walked out the company's main entrance did I realize it had started to snow. A bitter wind cut through my scarf and against my neck, chilling me to the bone.

I scanned the area but didn't see the familiar black Cayenne. I glanced at my phone.

The flood of messages from him, once a familiar sight, was long gone. For a while now, they had been reduced to just one or two formulaic notifications.

I'm working late today. Get a taxi home.

I took a deep breath and called him back.

After a long thirty seconds, someone finally, slowly answered.

"Hello? What is it?"

His voice was unnaturally hoarse, and in the background, I heard a flirtatious woman's voice, though it was cut short as if she had been abruptly silenced.

I pretended not to notice and asked, "What are you doing?"

I heard the RUSTLE of fabric from the other end of the line, and Warren Vaughn's tone grew hurried and impatient.

"Working. If there's nothing else, I'm hanging up."

"Wait," I interrupted him. "Do you remember that today is our tenth anniversary?"

The other end of the line fell abruptly silent. Before he had a chance to hesitate or refuse, I spoke again.

"Come pick me up. I'll be waiting for you at the office."

Then, I hung up.

While I waited for Warren Vaughn, I watched the new secretary smile and say goodbye, then turn and run toward the boyfriend she was always complaining about.

His cheeks were flushed red from the cold, but he was still smiling as he pulled a roasted sweet potato from inside his coat.

She had told me they were living on a tight budget, but love, it seemed, had never been something measured by wealth.

I remembered the years when Warren Vaughn and I were at our poorest—they were also the years we were most in love.

Back then, whenever Warren Vaughn came to pick me up, he would always bring me a treat. Sometimes it was candied hawthorn berries; other times, grilled cold noodles.

I would chide him for wasting money.

He would just give me a silly grin and say:

"When I see these things, I just have to get them for you. I want you to be able to eat your favorite things every day."

Back then, sitting on the back of his bicycle, I felt so happy—even though we had no money, and even though I had to put up with so much unfairness at work.

: How Easily a Lover's Heart Changes

Later, Warren Vaughn's cars got fancier and fancier, but he never brought me anything again. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he just didn't care.

It's only a little over ten minutes by car from his company to mine.

But I waited in the biting wind for two whole hours.

When he finally arrived and saw me waiting by the entrance, his tone was sharp. A flicker of irritation crossed his face.

"It's freezing out here. Couldn't you have waited inside? Why did you come out?"

'Was he worried about me?'

'Or was he just annoyed that I'd asked him to pick me up and ruined his fun?'

I couldn't tell.

"I just thought you'd be here soon," I said calmly.

He froze. He seemed to recall something, and his gaze darted away, unable to meet mine. He looked at me, a hint of guilt in his eyes.

"Sorry, the traffic was bad. I'm late. It won't happen again."

He reached out and opened his overcoat, about to pull me into an embrace.

I raised a hand, stopping him. The moment he'd gotten close, I'd smelled it: a mixture of unfamiliar body wash and a cloyingly sweet perfume.

I said coolly,

"Let's just get in the car. It's too cold."

Ignoring his frozen posture, I turned and got into the car.

When Warren Vaughn got in, he handed me a box. It was the ruby necklace he'd bought at auction last month, the same one where he'd gotten that ring.

"Come on, don't be upset. I had your gift ready for a while. I've just been so busy lately that I forgot about it."

He said it so casually, as if I were a petulant child throwing a tantrum over a present.

"Warren Vaughn, let's go out for our anniversary this year."

In previous years, he would always prepare the ingredients in advance and cook a huge spread. Even during our poorest years, the meal might have been smaller, but he never forgot the sense of occasion.

His eyes fixed on the road ahead as he started the car. He answered me dismissively, "Sure. Where do you want to go?"

'He agreed so quickly. Then again, this would save him more time to go appease *her*.'

"How about The Crimson Pot?"

The car suddenly skidded. I pretended not to see the way his fingers had unconsciously tightened on the wheel and said coolly,

"It started snowing. The roads are getting slick. You should slow down."

"Mm."

His expression was as composed as ever, betraying nothing. He asked, as if it were a casual thought,

"Why there, all of a sudden?"

"The new secretary at the office recommended it. She said their hot pot is amazing. Why?"

I asked, feigning ignorance.

Warren Vaughn let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

"No reason."

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

'I knew what he was nervous about. The girl is young; she likes things like hot pot and bubble tea. And that particular restaurant was one of her regular spots.'

I'd seen her check in at that very restaurant on her social media feed more than once.

In those photos, I could always make out a blurry figure in the reflection of the window across from her—the reflection of the man who had been with me since we were young, the man I knew better than anyone.

When we arrived, the place was packed. Despite the crowd, the owner greeted Warren Vaughn warmly. His smile faltered for a second when he saw me, but he quickly replaced it with an even wider, more enthusiastic one.

"You come here often," I said to Warren Vaughn.

"Some clients like to discuss business in this kind of setting," he explained.

'I couldn't help but marvel at how the ups and downs of the business world had made him so mature and reserved, so good at hiding his emotions. If I didn't know him so well, I never would have noticed the guilt hiding beneath that unflappable poker face.'

: Everyone Knows About Their Relationship

The waiter led us to the private room they frequented. Every room in this restaurant has a different design, which is its signature feature. This particular room was where Maya Linden often took her photos.

Warren Vaughn ordered a dual-flavor hot pot.

Perhaps the manager was held up, or maybe the waiter just wasn't paying attention.

They brought a spicy red-oil hot pot to our table.

Warren Vaughn's face instantly darkened. He hurriedly asked someone to switch it for a dual-flavor hot pot. In the meantime, he shot several glances my way, only relaxing once he saw that my expression was unchanged.

Warren Vaughn has never been able to handle spicy food, not even as a child. Whenever we ate together, I always made sure to order a few mild dishes for him.

But on Maya Linden's social media feed, every photo she posted was of bubbling red oil. I remember the caption she wrote:

"My crush can't handle spicy food, but he came with me anyway."

"I heard that a while ago you bought a ring called 'True Love,' and that wedding dress you had custom-made in France a year ago… were they for me?"

I spoke unexpectedly. At my words, Warren Vaughn's hand shook, and he dumped all the shrimp paste onto my side of the pot.

"No, it was for a client."

He called the waiter over and ordered another serving of shrimp paste.

A forced smile touched my lips. I couldn't hold back any longer. Looking up at him hopefully, I asked:

"Warren Vaughn, are you still going to marry me?"

He didn't even look up, replying perfunctorily in a detached tone:

"Of course. I promised you."

He poured me a drink, perhaps sensing I was in a bad mood, and tried to comfort me:

"Sienna, don't overthink things. A wedding requires a lot of preparation, and I don't want to rush it. After all, it's a once-in-a-lifetime event."

I lowered my head and said nothing, staring at the photo on my phone that Maya Linden had sent me just hours before.

She was wearing the diamond ring known as "True Love," dressed in a one-of-a-kind wedding dress, smiling as she nestled in his arms while he gazed back at her, his eyes full of affection.

Warren Vaughn had said something similar a long time ago. Back then, he had no money. His friend, afraid I'd leave him for being poor, told him he should just get the marriage license with me right away.

He was the same way back then, saying it hadn't been easy for me to be with him.

He said he was determined to give me a wedding that would be the envy of every girl in the world.

'But I knew he didn't want to marry me anymore.'

I took out the photo and placed it in front of him. "The client you mentioned… is it your secretary?"

'I thought that with the evidence right in front of him, he would panic, become anxious, or just admit it outright.'

However, he just lit a cigarette, took several long drags, and only then spoke, his voice low.

"Maya Linden's boyfriend died in a car crash. She said I look a lot like him and begged me to take a photo with her, just to fulfill a dream of hers.

"There's really nothing going on between us."

My eyes stung at his words, and a sharp, prickling pain filled my chest.

"Warren Vaughn, do you know? If you really love someone, you notice every single change in them the moment it happens.

"I've always known it was you eating hot pot with Maya Linden. So many times, I could smell the strong scent of it on you when you came home."

"And there was always that cloyingly sweet scent of perfume on you, too."

Warren Vaughn lifted his sleeve to sniff it, his face instantly darkening.

"You never used to smoke in front of me."

Warren Vaughn stared at me, stunned. He immediately crushed out the cigarette in his hand. It was only then, as if the realization was just dawning on him, that he looked at me in a panic:

"Sienna, let me explain…"

"You're going to hear me out first."