On the morning of Valentine's Day, just as my boyfriend left, I received a bouquet of roses.

“See you at the usual spot tonight, sexy. —T”

I furrowed my brow, an uneasy feeling settling in as I stared at the familiar handwriting on the card. My boyfriend never spoke to me like this. Before I could think much further, my phone buzzed. “Amara, did a bouquet of flowers just show up at your place?”

“Don’t touch it, whatever you do. It was meant for my boss, and I sent it to the wrong address by mistake.”

I kept my tone steady, replying, “It just got here; I haven’t touched a thing.”

——

As I folded the card and placed it back, Trevor Harris came rushing through the door, his face flushed and breathless as if he’d sprinted all the way home.

He paused, taking in the scene with a cautious glance before smacking his forehead, clearly regretting something.

“Look at me,” he sighed, “I’ve been so swamped at work that I mixed everything up.”

A moment of silence passed, thick with unspoken words. I remained quiet.

Realizing the shift in the atmosphere, Trevor hurried to explain, “Amara, please don’t misunderstand. I really ordered this for my boss, Mr. Tatewell. You can check my WhatsApp if you want. He gave me the instructions yesterday at 6:30 p.m.”

Unlocking his phone, he offered it to me, his face full of sincerity. “I’m not lying.”

Mr. Tatewell... "T." My eyes briefly flickered away, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you.”

Hearing that, Trevor’s hand froze for a moment before he smoothly pulled his phone back, his expression softening. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around me and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“Don’t overthink it. Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. Once things settle at work, I’ll make it up to you.”

But as my mind lingered on the words from the card, I pulled away from his embrace. He blinked in surprise, staring at his empty hands.

“I might have to work late tonight, I—” He stopped, then added, “Forget it. No matter how busy I am, I’ll be back to spend the evening with you.”

He flashed a smile, pinching my cheek before leaning in for another kiss.

I turned my head slightly, trying to play it cool. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?"

"Alright, see you tonight.”

With a swift grab of the bouquet, he hurried out the door to get going.

If someone had told me Trevor was seeing someone else, I’d have laughed it off. But the moment he left, something felt off. He didn’t go to the office as he’d said. Instead, he headed straight for the south side of town.

An hour later, I checked my phone’s location tracker—and there he was, at a hotel in South City.

Once doubt took root, it began to grow, winding its way through my thoughts.

To clear up any potential misunderstanding, I quickly shot him a message on WhatsApp: [Did you make it to the office?]

Within a minute, he replied: [Just got here.]

[No worries, I wasn’t late.]

My heart dropped like a stone, sinking to the bottom of my chest.

But I clung to a fragile thread of hope, convincing myself there must be a reason he couldn’t share.

Then, out of nowhere, Trevor sent a voice message.

Without even bothering to listen to his voice message, I sent him a screenshot of his location.

The app we had downloaded when we first started dating, meant for sharing locations, now served a purpose I never anticipated.

Inside, I still hoped for a logical explanation that would calm my racing thoughts.

The words “The other party is typing...” flickered on the screen, dragging on as if time had slowed. Finally, his message appeared: [It’s not what you think.]

Five words. A hollow attempt at reassurance that felt more like an excuse than the truth.

A heavy knot formed in my chest, fear settling deep as I dared not imagine the truth.

The next thing I knew, he was calling me on video, his flustered expression giving him away. "Amara, I—"

I didn’t wait for him to finish. “That bouquet this morning, and now you're at a hotel. Tell me, what part of this isn’t what I think it is?"

“None of it!” he said quickly, his voice strained. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I’m here with Mr. Tatewell at the Silverwood Hotel for a business meeting. I didn’t go to the office. And this morning, you seemed a little off, so I didn’t want you to overthink it, which is why I didn’t tell you.”

Trevor’s voice lowered, a hint of resignation creeping in. "You know how it is in our field. When the boss speaks, we don’t get to choose where we go."

Seeing his eyes cast down, my heart softened, reluctant to keep pressing.

He seldom shared much about his work with me. Despite the impressive pay of his role as the CEO’s assistant, he always felt it wasn’t a job of pride, always at the beck and call of someone else.

And I couldn’t blame him. With a degree and just a year or two of experience, securing a role like his was no small feat in today’s competitive market.

As I stood there, lost in thought, a voice cut through the stillness from off-screen. "Assistant Trevor, the boss is waiting for you."

There was a teasing tone as the voice added, "Oh, is your girlfriend checking up on you?"

The screen shook for a split second, and I caught a brief flash of something bright before Trevor abruptly ended the call.

Not long after, another message from him popped up. [Amara, whatever your doubts, don’t doubt my love for you.]

[Please.]

[I’ll explain everything tonight.]

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but Trevor’s brief vulnerability didn’t completely sway me.

Some things couldn’t be brushed aside; they needed to be confronted directly.

A relationship tainted by doubt could never stand the test of time.

Just as I was about to wait for Trevor to explain, a friend request from an unfamiliar name flashed across my screen.

The following message read: [I’d like to talk to you about Travis.]

I hesitated for a moment before accepting the friend request, replying with a simple question mark.

But there was no response.

Driven by a mix of fear and curiosity, I clicked on her profile. Her latest post was barely five minutes old, an image of a bouquet of blooming roses and two hands tangled together.

The caption read: [Wishing to be with my love forever.]

The roses matched the ones that had arrived this morning. And that hand, unmistakably, was Trevor’s.

My thoughts went blank, my chest tightening with an unbearable ache.

In the blink of an eye, she updated her profile with another photo, this time, a hand, glittering with a diamond ring, resting on the side of a man’s face.

The caption read only: [I do.]

The sequined silver dress she wore gleamed in the picture, the same glint of light I’d seen in Trevor’s video call just moments earlier.

It was like a slap to my face, a sharp sting that burned my cheeks. The softness and understanding I had felt for him now seemed nothing more than foolishness, a cruel joke at my expense.

It didn’t take long for more messages to flood in:

[He’d rather cross half the city to be with me than spend Valentine’s Day with you.]

[Love doesn’t care who was there first. The one unloved is the true outsider.]

[Miss Falconridge, Trevor and I are very happy together. I hope you’ll back off.]

Then came a video file, thirty minutes long. The thumbnail alone was enough to make my heart stop. I didn’t have the courage to press play.

Trembling, I held the phone, tears blurring my vision and dripping onto the screen. How could this be happening? How could Trevor betray me like this?

Wiping away my tears, I fumbled and accidentally hit play. The screen immediately filled with an obscene scene, the sound of their voices, hers and Trevor’s, grating against my soul. Then, I heard it. That all-too-familiar "baby."

In that instant, my heart broke into a thousand pieces.

Until that very moment, I had desperately hoped it was all a misunderstanding, just a coincidence. But the truth was undeniable: after comforting me that morning, Trevor had turned around and gone straight to a hotel with someone else.

The nausea rose in my chest.

I wanted to confront her, but every message I sent was met with a glaring red exclamation mark; she had already blocked me. It seemed her only purpose was to declare war.

A noise behind me snapped me from my thoughts. Quickly, I turned off my screen and tried to compose myself.

“What are you watching?” My bestfriend, Scarlett, teased, leaning in closer. “It’s Valentines today! Studying for a surprise to blow Trevor away?”

She gave me a playful nudge. “I’ve got to hand it to you, you really know how to pick ’em! Trevor’s got it all, the looks, the body, and he’s totally head over heels for you. Men like that, when can I get one?”

A “perfect catch,” huh?

I forced a smile, but all I could see was Trevor’s face from that video.

I was six years older than him. Five years ago, I had returned to my old university to visit a professor, and that was when he fell for me, head over heels, at first sight.

Back then, he was a sophomore, and I had already been worn down by three years of the grind in the real world.

I didn’t take his pursuit seriously at first. Young love was often just infatuation with looks, how much of it was genuine? With my background, I’d never been one to believe in intense emotions. Love was a luxury: nice to have but hardly essential.

Even after we started dating, I never thought we’d last.

When I fell sick on a business trip to Canada and needed surgery, he wasted no time booking the earliest flight to be with me. As dawn broke and the first light filled the sterile hospital room, he gently held my hand and whispered, “Don’t be afraid, I’m here with you.”

His smile was comforting, and he added, “I’ll stay with you forever.”

Looking back, that smile was so genuine, full of the kind of young love that pours from the eyes, raw and unfiltered.

“I swear, I’ll treat you well for life,” he promised, sliding a soda tab onto my ring finger, making a vow that we would be together forever.

With the Canadian breeze brushing against us, I could hear his heartbeat, and at that moment, I began to picture a future with him.

Later, after he graduated, he turned down an overseas study opportunity without even telling me, choosing to start working right away.

Furious, I grabbed his ear, demanding an explanation. He simply chuckled, brushing a hand through my hair and pulling me into a tight embrace, saying, “I didn’t want to wait that long. I wanted to start earning so I could build a home for you.”

I hesitated, asking, “And if you regret it one day...”

Before I could finish, he placed a hand over my mouth, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, and teasingly scolded, “Don’t say that. This is my choice, and I’ll never regret it. Trevor loves Amara, and that will never change.”

His warm gaze softened something deep inside me. His tenderness melted away my doubts, and I began to believe in us more.

Six months into his first job, the industry hit a rough patch, and his company shut down, leaving him without work. I held him close, murmuring reassurance, telling him it was okay and that better opportunities would come.

That night, he held me tightly, his face pressed against my neck, his tears staining my shirt.

He spoke with a cracked voice, helpless and choked, whispering, “What should I do, Amara? How can I make more money, build us a home?”

I leaned into him, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

At that time, my art studio was beginning to bloom, and I teased that I could support us. He didn’t say a word, only holding me tighter as if his silence spoke volumes.

From then on, he poured himself into job hunting, working around the clock. To climb the ladder faster, he studied non-stop outside of work, even finishing a part-time Master’s. Every night, he came home exhausted, falling into my arms.

I urged him to take a break, but he only flashed a mischievous grin, leaning in for a kiss. “How could saving for you ever wear me down?” His eyes shone with an unshakable resolve.

At that moment, I believed without a doubt that this young man would give up everything to protect me.

But when did the man who vowed to love me forever transform? In those stolen moments with another woman, did he recall the promises he made to me?

I came home that evening, setting the takeout I’d grabbed on the way in front of me. The soft, yellow lights cast a peaceful glow over the room, and I sat there, unusually calm.

A half-hour later, Trevor walked in, wearing a smile that was as if nothing had happened.

"Amara, happy Valentine's Day," he greeted, his voice full of affection.

My eyes were drawn to the bouquet of sunflowers he carried in his hands.

He came toward me with excitement as though showing off a rare treasure. "Please don’t scold me for wasting money. A single bouquet won’t buy a house, and it’s a rare occasion. Your happiness means more than anything."

But all I could think about was how tiny this bouquet looked compared to the extravagant roses from earlier that morning.

Back when we first started dating, Trevor loved showering me with gifts. He hadn’t graduated yet but worked part-time for months to afford a necklace I’d casually mentioned liking.

I would always tell him he was being wasteful, but deep down, I couldn’t hide how much I adored it.

What woman didn’t appreciate thoughtful surprises? But I always felt bad for him, so I’d often return the gesture with a gift of equal value. Over time, though, his habit of giving gifts faded.

My thoughts snapped back to the present as Trevor leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "I wasn’t honest about today’s meeting. I upset you, so I’ll punish myself by sleeping in the study. Will you forgive me?"

I turned off my phone screen. I had originally planned to confront him head-on, but seeing him now, acting like a child apologizing for a small mistake, I decided to wait. I wanted to see how far he would take this act.

When I remained silent, Trevor pressed on, his voice soft but pleading. "Please don’t be mad. I swear, I was only picking up the flowers for my boss this morning. Who even gives roses anymore? They’re so cliché. I’m married to a future art master! How could I have such bad taste?”

He flashed a smile. “Did you like the sunflowers I got you?"

I subtly shifted away from his embrace, offering nothing more than a cool "Hmm."

The smile on Trevor’s face faltered, his expression dimming.

“I picked each one by hand,” he whined. “My hands even got pricked, and you’re not concerned about me?”

“Amara.”

“Wife.”

His voice was soft, full of affection as he kissed my cheek. I turned my face, distancing myself from him.

The sting in my eyes grew, and my hands, clenched in frustration, paled.

Every time he messed up in the past, this act worked, and I caved every time.

But not now.

I fought to keep the tears at bay, forcing myself not to cry as I turned the conversation.

“Let’s eat.”

His tense shoulders slowly softened, and I ate quietly. After a while, I noticed him staring off, lost in thought.

"Does the food not suit you? Or did you eat your fill before coming home?"

"Huh?" He looked up, confused, setting down his spoon and fork.

I met his innocent gaze, and at that moment, the walls I’d built around myself started to crumble.

"Trevor," I said. "Do you remember when we first started dating? We promised, no matter what, we wouldn’t go to bed with doubts or secrets between us."

Before he could respond, I hit play on the video, thrusting it in front of him. The air filled with the nauseating sounds of moaning and groaning. I watched his face crumble, my sneer widening as sarcasm laced my voice.

“You’re not hungry because you’ve already had your fill outside?”

Trevor froze his hand on the table, shaking uncontrollably.

I met his eyes, pushing further. “I asked you a question. Isn’t this little secret of yours thrilling?”