On the day of our engagement, my boyfriend—who had always shunned the trappings of fame—abandoned me to attend the Best Director Award ceremony. When I finally rushed to the event, my heart raced with excitement and fear. But all hope shattered the moment I saw him on stage, passionately kissing Cynthia Pope beneath the unforgiving spotlight.

Backstage, I overheard their conversation, and my breath caught in my throat. He buried his face in her neck, his voice dripping with tenderness as he murmured, "She’s just your stand-in. If you ask, I’ll cancel the engagement immediately."

In that instant, the memories of our eight years together flooded my mind—the laughter, the tears, the countless ups and downs. My heart shattered, yet an unexpected laugh escaped my lips, mingling with my tears. If this was truly what he wanted, who was I to stand in his way?

When the day of our supposed wedding arrived, I chose a different path. I left with a plane ticket in hand, heading home for a blind date instead.

But Jimmy Russell wasn’t ready to let go. His eyes burned with desperation as he reached out to every connection he had, pleading, "Please, don’t leave me…"

——

On stage, he and Cynthia shared a kiss, an image broadcast nationwide as the perfect love story. I shut my eyes, trying to block out the pain, knowing he had chosen to leave me on our engagement day.

After Jimmy answered the phone, he left without even glancing back. The voice on the other end was a woman’s, playfully saying, "Jimmy, I heard you won the Best Director Award! I came all the way here just to present it to you!"

In all the eight years we’d been together, I had never seen Jimmy so rattled. He was in such a rush that he didn’t bother to offer a single explanation, leaving our engagement party as if it meant nothing. I was left alone, standing there to face the questioning looks and probing comments of our relatives.

Over the years, many women had set their sights on Jimmy, yet he never wavered. He had always stayed firm, never tempted by their advances. So, I never thought he would fall for someone else. Before coming here, I foolishly assumed this new woman would be turned away like all the others.

But the moment I laid eyes on Cynthia, I knew I had lost. She wasn’t just anyone. She was the Cynthia Pope, the heroine of Jimmy’s debut film. A rule-following director paired with a rebellious leading lady—at their age, this kind of romance was bound to burn brightly, destined to be intense.

On stage, the two clung to each other as if they wished they could merge into one, releasing years of suppressed longing. The intensity of their embrace was palpable, and it made my eyes burn with emotion. I had always known Jimmy as a man who avoided public displays of affection. He was conservative, old-fashioned, and never one to show intimacy in front of others.

I remember the time when fans at the airport shouted, "Kiss me!" I was mortified, my face burning with embarrassment. Unable to stand the awkward silence, I made the first move, trying to reach out to him, but he coldly pushed me away, a look of disgust in his eyes. Now, here he was kissing Cynthia on live television, for the entire nation to see. The painful truth sank in—he just didn’t love me enough.

My stomach churned with nausea, and I hurried backstage, needing a moment to compose myself. After spending half an hour in the restroom, I stepped out and overheard Jimmy and Cynthia’s conversation around the corner.

The sharp smell of cigarette smoke filled the air. Cynthia, with a teasing smirk, raised an eyebrow and taunted him:

“Look at you, old-fashioned as ever, smoking now! Weren’t you the one who made me quit in the first place?”

As she spoke, she stepped closer and lifted the hem of Jimmy’s shirt, revealing his sculpted abs. The sight, coupled with their easy familiarity, twisted the knife deeper into my heart.

Cynthia bent down and pressed a lingering kiss on Jimmy’s abs, then glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Eight years have passed, and I’ve kept my figure pretty well, don’t you think?"

Jimmy froze, a soft hiss escaping his lips, but he still wore a fond smile.

"Don’t make trouble," he warned playfully, "what if someone sees us?"

My heart sank. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. The man I had known for years—so rigid, so strict about boundaries—was allowing this to unfold, and in public, no less. My mind raced, hoping he would push her away. Just like he had pushed me away, without hesitation, without care.

But Cynthia held on tight, not letting go. Her voice, sweet and laced with concern, pierced through the smoke-filled air.

"Why did you start smoking? Is work stressing you out that much?" Cynthia asked, her voice a mix of concern and teasing.

Jimmy lowered his gaze, a shadow passing over his features, as if lost in a memory. "Work doesn’t matter to me that much anymore," he replied, his voice soft and distant. "I only smoke late at night when I really miss you. It helps ease the longing."

Cynthia’s face brightened with a triumphant smile, as if she had won a secret victory. "Oh right, I forgot—you’re the rich, young master! Always with your little vices to cope."

Jimmy chuckled softly, but the laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the unspoken truth lurking just beneath the surface.

I clenched my fists tightly, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions. Unwillingness, betrayal, and grievance surged through me all at once. How could this be happening? The man who always prided himself on being honest, on never bending to whims, now stood here, allowing himself to change for her. For years, Jimmy insisted on truth in everything, as a director, and as a man. Yet here he was, breaking all his own rules.

During a tough period, Jimmy was blacklisted by powerful figures in the industry. His parents, hoping he’d give up his dream and inherit the family business, offered no help. Despite the mounting pressure, he remained stubborn and refused to yield.

For his sake, I—once sheltered and pampered—had to adapt quickly to a world I barely understood. I learned how to flatter and appease those who held power over his career, navigating the treacherous waters of influence and ambition. Nights blurred together as I drank with influential figures, uttering every charm I could muster to smooth ruffled feathers and ease their tempers.

The worst day came when I found myself juggling seven or eight different groups, each demanding my attention. The toll was unbearable. I pushed myself so hard that I collapsed, suffering from stomach bleeding, and was rushed to the hospital.

When I woke up, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and there he was—Jimmy—standing by my bed, his expression a tumultuous mix of concern and guilt.

"Why are you pushing yourself so hard?" he asked, his voice low and troubled.

I mustered a weak smile, though it felt fragile against the weight of my exhaustion. "Directing is your dream, and I want to help you realize it."

I fainted again soon after. When I woke up, I saw him by the window, surrounded by cigarette butts. At first, I thought he was stressed about his career. But then it hit me—he wasn’t thinking about work. He missed Cynthia.

While I fought for his dream, he stood there, consumed by thoughts of her. My love had become a joke.

In that moment, an overwhelming need for an explanation surged through me—for the eight years I had devoted to him. Without thinking, I rushed over and instinctively hooked my arm through Jimmy’s.

"My dear, Mom asked me to call you to the engagement party," I said, striving for a calmness I didn’t feel.

But the moment he laid eyes on me, his expression flickered with fear. Was he scared of being caught, or was he anxious about how Cynthia would react? Did he worry I’d discovered his betrayal, or was he concerned that she’d find out about our engagement?

I didn’t have to wonder for long. With a swift motion, he threw my arm off, his glare slicing through the air like a knife.

"Who told you to follow me here?" He snapped, his voice sharp. "What are you saying in public?"

His gaze darted to Cynthia, who stood frozen, her face pale and wide-eyed with shock. Panic rippled through him as he turned back to me, his voice edged with irritation.

"Do I have to go to the engagement party? Can’t you handle these things yourself? Why can’t you be more mature?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as memories flooded back. I recalled the anxiety I had felt meeting his parents, meticulously preparing to make a good impression. Now, all those efforts felt utterly worthless.

For several nights, I watched them interact, a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak churning inside me. Finally, he took the phone away, distressed and unable to convince her any longer. His eyes, usually so warm, burned with fierce determination as he said,

"Honey, can you try to rely on me? If you have to deal with everything on your own, then what's the point of having me as your husband? Huh? Be good. I’m here for you."

That phrase—“I’m here”—had been my anchor year after year, but this time, it struck a different chord. Without a second glance, I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard a loud slap—a resounding crack that echoed in the charged air. Cynthia had struck him. A bright red mark blossomed on his cheek, but instead of anger, his expression was filled with concern for her.

"Does your hand hurt?" he asked softly, his voice almost a whisper.

Cynthia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she pointed at me, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "Jimmy, I want you to say it. If you want me, do you still want her?"

Without a moment's hesitation, he replied, "I want you! She’s just a substitute. I can cancel the engagement for you anytime!"

He thought I was far enough away not to hear him, but his words pierced through the distance like shards of glass.

After I left, I finally received an unexpected call.

“Girl, you lose.”

It was my grandfather on the line. He had always disapproved of Jimmy, convinced that we wouldn’t find happiness together. Despite his warnings, my love for Jimmy had blinded me to all opinions but my own. This stubbornness led to a bet that had defined the last ten years of my life. I had wagered that Jimmy would never fall for anyone else. If I lost, I promised to return to blind dating; if he lost, he would give me a sea-view villa as my dowry.

Now, with Jimmy and Cynthia kissing live on the Internet, it was impossible for Grandpa not to know about it. I took a deep breath before responding, the weight of defeat heavy on my chest.

“Yeah, I’ll go back to blind dating, but not for another month.”

His voice erupted, thunderous and full of frustration, as if I could hear him blowing his beard in anger. “What? You haven’t given up yet! You still want to give him a chance, right?”

I understood Grandpa's protectiveness, his urgent desire to pull me away from this painful situation as quickly as possible. But the truth was, my sorrow had morphed into a relentless fire inside me. I wanted to repay the pain others had inflicted upon me, piece by piece, until I felt whole again.

The engagement party had ended abruptly, overshadowed by the absence of its main characters. I sat alone in the wedding suite, surrounded by twinkling decorations and an air thick with unspoken promises, waiting from three in the afternoon until three in the morning for Jimmy to return.

Finally, I heard the sound of a car engine rumbling to a stop downstairs.

When he opened the door and saw me, surprise flickered across his face, and he touched his nose guiltily.

"Why aren’t you asleep yet?" he asked, attempting to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him.

I stepped forward and hugged him tightly, just as I always did.

"I can’t sleep without you," I replied softly, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within me.

Seeing that I wasn’t bringing up the day’s events, he sighed in relief. But then, my gaze caught on the bulge in his trouser pockets—something that didn’t belong there. A flash of red lace peeked out, and a faint, lingering sticky smell filled the air, wrapping around my senses like a noose.

Suddenly, Jimmy pushed me away, as if I had shocked him.

"I... I need to go to the bathroom," he stammered, backing away, his eyes darting.

Curiosity piqued, I pressed my ear against the bathroom door and overheard his hushed conversation with Cynthia.

"What are you doing? You had to let me wash your things, and she almost discovered them!"

Cynthia replied with a mocking lilt, "I’ll let you wash it. It’s stained with your things!"

The reality of his betrayal hit me hard, like a punch to the gut.

“Besides, it’s better to be discovered. I just want to show her who the man you are!” Cynthia's voice echoed in my mind, laced with contempt. Jimmy chuckled, clearly caught off guard by her audacity, a weak smile gracing his lips.

“Your... your…” he trailed off, and I pretended not to hear, the weight of his words pressing down on me.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he found me painting on the bedside table, deliberately focused on my work to hide the turmoil roiling inside me. I pulled him over eagerly.

“Draw with me!”

Perhaps feeling guilty about what had transpired that day, he seemed unusually talkative. He nodded and settled beside me, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic mess I had created. A mix of amusement and frustration danced in his eyes as he gently patted my head with a pencil.

“Stupid!” he teased lightly.

He took my hand instinctively, guiding my strokes with his, his touch sending a shiver down my spine.

“Look, if you draw this line like this, the curvature will be natural…”

I found myself entranced, my focus drifting to the intensity of his jawline, captivated as always by his seriousness—the very quality that had drawn me in after eight long years together.

With the final touch, our painting was complete—a small garden with a family of three nestled beside it. I held it up, grinning despite the tears threatening to spill.

“How about we arrange the garden like this in the future?”

His expression softened for a fleeting moment, a wistful smile creeping onto his lips as he looked at me, lost in thought.

“Good…”

I lowered my eyes, hiding the cold calculation brewing within me. After eight years, I knew him better than he knew himself.

Once I leave, this painting will one day become a sharp blade that pierces his heart—a reminder of everything he lost.

What unfolded on the day of the award ceremony quickly became a viral sensation. Cynthia and Jimmy, once the couple everyone adored, had reignited their romance, and the applause echoing in the halls was thunderous. Yet, earlier that morning, news of my engagement to Jimmy had also made headlines, sparking a whirlwind of mixed reactions.

Suddenly, an army of zealous fans stormed my comment section, unleashing a torrent of insults.

"Bitch, the mistress is the one who isn’t loved! If you had any shame, you’d leave Director Russell now!"

"Get lost! Our dear Cynthia and Director Russell are the perfect match. You toad spirit, just clear out!"

"Why aren’t you dead yet? If you kick the bucket, make room for me, Pope!"

The vitriol was unbearable, a relentless assault on my heart. Meanwhile, beneath my posts, they updated their travel statuses in real time, documenting their adventures together. In a desperate bid to make up for eight years apart, Jimmy and Cynthia seemed to explore the world hand in hand, leaving me to grapple with the wreckage of our shattered dreams.

Photos flooded in of them in breathtaking locations: the setting sun casting golden hues over the Carson Desert and the sky melding seamlessly with the ocean’s vibrant blue. Every image captured the two of them in intimate embraces, portraying them as the perfect couple.

They naively believed their words would irritate me, but I was merely counting the days, calculating how long it would take for Jimmy to tire of this new chapter with Cynthia.

Days turned into an agonizing blur, and finally, Jimmy noticed the online chatter. He rushed home that very night, the weight of guilt etched across his face.

"Cynthia and I—" he began, but before he could finish, I cut him off, my voice steady and unwavering.

"Help me choose which wedding candy we should use."

He paused, momentarily confused by my unexpected question. I tossed a few photos of the wedding hall at him, feigning irritation.

"You choose! You’ve been so busy working every day while I’ve been nearly exhausted!"

Realization dawned on him that I might not have seen the online commotion, and relief washed over his face. He stepped closer, squeezing my shoulders with sincerity that felt almost foreign.

"Thank you for your hard work, my wife. Come on, I’ll handle the rest. You just relax."

As I leaned back on the sofa, a twinge of sarcasm danced within me, watching him take charge of such seriousness. It was almost comical how he tried to maintain this façade while navigating the mess he’d created.

The wedding he meticulously arranged became all the more fulfilling to witness as it crumbled around him. In the days that followed, he dove headfirst into planning every detail of the wedding, just as he had promised. But this newfound dedication led to several heated arguments with Cynthia. Their personalities clashed frequently, making their quarrels seem almost routine. Even during their travels, the photos fans sent me revealed Jimmy's dissatisfaction, captured in every subtle microexpression.

After eight years together, I understood him better than anyone else. To him, Cynthia was merely a fleeting novelty, a contradiction that would soon wear thin. Once the initial excitement faded, boredom would inevitably creep in.

I could hear them arguing from the bathroom.

"Are you done yet? This is simply unreasonable!" Jimmy's voice rose, laced with frustration.

"Try fucking saying something to me again!" Cynthia shot back, her tone equally sharp.

His patience was wearing thin. "Can’t you communicate without being rude? You spew filth every time you speak, and I can’t take it anymore!"

"And don’t think I don’t know that you led the internet to bully Maya. Stop using such underhanded tactics, Cynthia!"

In the following days, their relationship devolved into a cold war, each retreating to their corners, simmering in their unresolved tensions. The atmosphere in the house thickened with animosity, and I found myself watching their interactions unfold like a slow-motion train wreck, feeling a mix of satisfaction and sorrow.

Levi, my long time friend, soon realized that he had been neglecting me, prompting Jimmy to buckle down and prepare seriously for the wedding. He had always believed I was oblivious to his relationship with Cynthia, which allowed him to act without any psychological burden. However, as the wedding date approached, Jimmy's demeanor shifted; he grew increasingly panicked.

"Maya, why has your family been so quiet lately? You still haven't prepared a guest list for the wedding!"

In reality, my entire family blocked him the day he abandoned me at the engagement party. I scrambled for a flimsy excuse.

"I have a lot of family members, and preparing invitations is too troublesome. They'll just come when the time comes."

He leaned closer, worry etched across his face. “Maya, why isn’t your engagement ring on your finger?”

I shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I don’t know where it fell.”

His lips quivered as he proposed, “Let’s buy another one. We can go right now.”

I brushed his hand away, feigning indifference. “Forget it; it’s too late for that.”

Panic crept into his demeanor, and he pulled me into his arms, his kisses urgent and insistent. “Maya,” he murmured, unease lacing his voice, “our wedding is still on, right?”