My partner and his alleged "sibling" were apprehended during an anti-prostitution operation at a local inn.

Upon arriving to secure his release, I noticed his neck was covered in love bites, and he was consoling her as she wept.

"Her residence was unsecured, and she felt unsafe, so I kept her company," he explained.

Previously, I would have become enraged and demanded explanations.

This time, however, I chose not to play the role of the jealous, irrational girlfriend.

I quietly completed the release documents without uttering a word.

A colleague from the task force inquired, "Relatives?"

I shook my head and replied, "Just neighbors."

Then I glanced down and messaged my mother.

[Regarding that prearranged marriage you mentioned? I agree to it. Allow me three days, and I'll return home.]

——

As we exited the police station, Gwyneth Averill, still teary-eyed, settled into the front seat of my vehicle.

Lacking the energy to protest, I started the engine. Just as I grasped the steering wheel, she clutched my arm.

However, her gaze was directed at my boyfriend Gerard Morgenthal instead.

"I'm anxious. I dislike riding in unfamiliar vehicles," she whimpered, her eyes brimming with tears and her nose reddened. She embodied vulnerability.

I removed her hand from my arm. "Then exit the car."

The atmosphere inside the vehicle instantly chilled until Gwyneth's tears began to flow freely.

From the back seat, Gerard's voice rang out sharply.

"Yvaine, must you always be so callous? You're aware of her distress due to her brother's predicament. Can't you show some empathy?" he chided. "Get out. I'll take the wheel."

Before I could respond, he exited, forcefully opened my door causing it to shake, and allowed the frigid air to rush in.

I shivered but remained motionless, simply staring at him.

The typically composed Gerard was suddenly rough and impatient. He actually unfastened my seatbelt and pulled me out of the car.

I stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to regain my balance.

Without acknowledging me, he slid into the driver's seat and gently stroked Gwyneth's hair. "There, there. I'll take you home first."

"Oh, Gerard, you're so kind!" Gwyneth exclaimed, flashing me a triumphant look.

Before departing, Gerard left me with these words: "You're a grown woman. Find your own way home. I'll return after I've dropped her off."

I stood there, immobilized, as their vehicle sped away. Before they turned the corner, I witnessed that woman lean over and kiss his cheek.

At that moment, my phone vibrated, and I answered with stiff fingers.

"Darling, have you seen Glenn's picture?"

Glenn London—the man my mother wanted me to wed.

Tall and handsome.

On the other end, my mother sounded relieved.

"Oh, sweetie, you're finally maturing. Your father is getting older. Over the years, he's been furious about your leaving home. It's good that you're coming back."

I gazed up at the insects swarming around the streetlight, my thoughts scattered.

I had run away all those years ago to avoid this kind of life.

Then I met Gerard, and for a while, I believed I had struck gold.

Seven years. I supported him through thick and thin.

But whenever I broached the subject of our future, he'd respond, "It's too early." I had quietly terminated pregnancies because of that. Multiple times.

I was so foolish, believing his love would suffice.

But now, I've reached my limit.

Eventually, I took a taxi home.

Gerard must have felt remorseful because he arrived shortly after.

He entered just as I was packing my belongings. Clothes were strewn about—most already stuffed into bags.

"Why are you packing your clothes?" he asked, looking perplexed.

"Spring cleaning," I replied monotonously, hoping he'd just take a shower.

The overpowering scent of perfume on him made me feel sick.

He paused for a moment, oblivious to anything amiss, and continued talking to himself.

"You know, misplacing it might not be the end of the world. After we tie the knot, we could always purchase another one. Or perhaps even move to a more spacious residence. What are your thoughts?"

Gerard appeared to be seriously contemplating our future together. He kept casting furtive glances my way, gauging my response. I noticed, of course, but pretended to be oblivious.

Usually, I'd be ecstatic—probably shedding tears of joy. But now? I couldn't muster even a single teardrop for him.

My lack of enthusiasm dampened his spirits. He sensed my displeasure, but made no attempt to rectify the situation. The fact that he'd made any effort tonight was already unusual.

When he went to bathe, his mobile started buzzing incessantly. The sound was irritating me, so I picked it up and took a peek at the screen.

Gwyneth had sent him numerous images—wedding pictures of the two of them. Some in traditional attire, others in contemporary styles.

A dull, heavy ache settled in my chest.

So, this was how things stood. His enthusiasm was reserved solely for her.

I recalled the times I'd eagerly dragged him to browse wedding attire with me. But he found excuses to avoid it every single instance.

"It's all identical. Just choose something," he'd grumbled.

That scowl of his remains etched in my memory.

His impatience with me? That was genuine.

And the affection evident in those numerous photos? That was authentic, too.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Abruptly, steam billowed in as Gerard burst out of the bathroom, yanking the phone from my grasp. He pulled it so forcefully that I tumbled onto the bed.

"Don't you understand the concept of privacy?" His face was flushed from the hot shower, but his tone was glacial, sending shivers down my spine.

I glanced at my hand. His grip had left a scratch, which was now bleeding.

Truthfully, even if he hadn't caught me, I wouldn't have scrolled further. I'd already seen it all before—the countless flirtatious messages. I'd perused them all during one sleepless night, from dusk till dawn.

By the time I finished, my eyes were puffy, but I still had to feign normalcy, pretending I'd just woken up.

Who would have guessed? Seven years together, and our exchanges always consisted of me—nagging, begging, trying to ignite a spark. Occasionally, if he felt inclined, he'd toss me an emoji as a reply.

I was nothing more than a fool.

"I apologize," I muttered, lowering my gaze. "I won't touch your phone again."

He halted, taken aback by my reaction.

"Those photos... Gwyneth mentioned that trying on wedding gowns is tiring, so I... I just assisted her in trying some on. That's all," he stammered. "You know her brother passed away. I was merely doing this for him. Don't misunderstand."

I remained silent, allowing him to fumble through his feeble excuses.

Kurt, Gwyneth's brother, had been Gerard's friend. When Gerard was struggling to launch his business, Kurt rushed to deliver a flash drive to him but ended up in a vehicular accident.

He was rushed to the emergency room but didn't survive.

Before his death, he made Gerard vow to look after his sister.

And Gerard honored that promise. He cared for her exceptionally well.

What began as a distant concern evolved into him involving himself in every minute aspect of her life.

I sniffled. There were only a few days left before my permanent departure. I saw no reason to hold anything back anymore.

"Don't worry about me misinterpreting," I said quietly. "Honestly, if you and Gwyneth were to marry, I think it would be a suitable match..."

Before I could finish, his hand struck my face, the slap resonating sharply.

"What's wrong with you?" he shouted. "Gwyneth only views me as a brother! Do you think she's as cheap as you?"

The sting on my cheek burned fiercely.

Indeed, Gwyneth isn't like me. She didn't throw herself at him like some desperate fling.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but before they could fall, I caught a flicker of panic on his face.

His tone softened. "I... I didn't mean that. I apologize."

For a moment, I wanted to reveal everything. "Gerard, I'm getting..."

But his ringtone interrupted me.

He answered, and a woman's voice echoed through the silent, chilly bedroom.

"G-Gerard! I had a nightmare! I dreamed about my brother... I'm... I'm so frightened..."

"Don't worry, I'm on my way," Gerard said, his voice filled with concern as he hastily dressed, preparing to leave.

He paused at the doorway, suddenly remembering something.

"What were you going to tell me before?"

But I had already buried my feelings. "It's nothing. We can discuss it when you return."

The following day, I awoke to find his side of the bed untouched.

With my departure looming, I decided to resign from my job. Most of the clothes I'd packed the night before were destined for charity anyway. As I carried the bags out to meet the courier, a commotion across the hall caught my attention.

The apartment was bustling with workers bringing in new furnishings.

Amidst the chaos, I immediately spotted Gerard. He had his arm around Gwyneth, directing the movers as they positioned the furniture.

His meticulous nature was unmistakable.

When we first moved in together, he'd done the same—taking time off to personally oversee everything.

"A home should feel perfect," he'd said then.

Now, our shared space barely showed any signs of his presence.

"Ma'am? Excuse me, ma'am? Your tracking number?" The courier's voice jolted me back to reality.

The noise must have drawn their attention too because as soon as the courier left, Gwyneth came bounding out.

"Hi," she chirped. "I've been having awful dreams, so Gerard bought this place for me. We're neighbors now!"

She leaned in close, exaggerating her wide-eyed, innocent look. Her excessive blinking was almost laughable.

Try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to like her.

As I turned to leave, she suddenly stumbled backward, as if pushed by an unseen force.

She collided with a worker moving a cabinet, her lower back hitting the edge.

"Ouch!"

Her pained cry was filled with tears, and Gerard rushed out at the sound.

He quickly helped her up, gently rubbing the spot where she'd been hit. His worry was palpable.

"Yvaine, stop acting like a jealous child," he said, his disbelief as hurtful as his words.

Gwyneth looked faint and began waving her hands feebly.

"Gerard, don't... don't be angry with her. This... This is my fault," she stammered. "I shouldn't have moved in and caused problems. I just... don't belong here."

"Don't say that," Gerard replied. "You're my sister!"

My head throbbed. Witnessing their "family bond" for the umpteenth time was sickening.

Before I could shut my door, Gerard blocked it. "Yvaine, apologize to Gwyneth!"

I couldn't contain myself anymore. "Why should I apologize for something I didn't do?"

"You've done worse before!" he retorted.

I let out a sarcastic laugh. He always believed what he wanted to believe.

Gwyneth, meanwhile, shook her head like a saint. "Please don't argue because of me. I'm sorry—it's my fault for not standing properly..."

Gerard held her hand and glared at me as if I were the bad guy.

"I can't believe I never saw you for who you really are," he said. "So petty, so cruel—you can't stand even the smallest things."

His words hurt more than I cared to admit.

But I still refused to apologize.

Gwyneth kept complaining about the pain, so Gerard picked her up and carried her downstairs.

As I watched him walk away, I suddenly remembered my own hospital appointment.

I'd been struggling with sleep for ages, unable to pinpoint when the insomnia began.

After exhausting bottles of sleep aids, I finally decided to seek professional help.

The hospital wasn't too busy today, and I received my prescription quickly.

But on my way out, I spotted them again.

It wasn't unexpected—this was the nearest hospital to our place.

Gwyneth was in Gerard's arms, held like royalty, while he carried her medication in one hand. Passersby couldn't help but stare enviously as they walked by.

"Look at her boyfriend," I overheard a pregnant woman say, nudging her partner.