He grabbed my arm and dragged me roughly toward the door.

"Marilyn, what the hell are you doing?"

"If there's something you want to say, why can't we talk about it in private? Why did you have to make a scene in front of Stacy?"

I looked at him, unable to hold back any longer, and slapped him across the face.

Stacy stumbled back a step, pulling out her phone and pointing it at me, her voice trembling with tears.

"Marilyn, I'm calling the police! How could you hit someone?"

"Miles, are you okay? The police will be here soon—they'll get this crazy woman out of here."

We stayed locked in that standoff until the police arrived.

The officer in charge surveyed the wreckage I'd made of the apartment, then looked at the three of us.

"What's going on here?"

I wrenched my arm free from Miles's grip. My voice shook, but I forced the words out.

"I'm his girlfriend. We've been in a long-distance relationship for four years. He cheated on me."

Before I could say anything else, Stacy's voice cut in.

"She's lying. She's just an old classmate of Miles's. She showed up out of nowhere and started causing trouble—she's the one who smashed all our things."

The officer raised an eyebrow and turned to me, his tone flat.

"If you're just an old classmate, you'll need to compensate them for everything you damaged."

"We are a couple! I have proof!"

I fumbled for my phone, desperate to explain.

But when I opened my chat history with Miles, the words died in my throat.

The screen was filled with messages—all from me. His replies were always the same few words:

"Busy." "Mm." "Okay."

Not a single "babe." Not even one message that showed he cared.

I stood there holding my phone, cold seeping through my entire body. My hand went still.

The officer glanced at the screen. The corner of his mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"This constitutes disturbing the peace. You'll have to compensate them for the damaged property. If the circumstances are serious enough, you could also face detention."

Stacy jumped in immediately.

"Officer, please lock this crazy woman up! She just hit my boyfriend—she's completely out of control!"

The officer turned to Miles, waiting for his response.

Miles frowned. He was silent for a few seconds, then hesitated.

"Detention isn't necessary. Just have her pay for what she broke."

He paused, his gaze falling on the shattered pieces scattered across the floor.

"That mug... it was my girlfriend's favorite."

In that moment, something inside me went numb.

All the grievance, the rage, the injustice—it was like a balloon that had been punctured. Everything just deflated.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth. I didn't argue. I didn't cry or scream. I just said, my voice hoarse:

"I'll pay."

But Stacy wouldn't let it go. She clung to Miles's arm, her voice turning coy and petulant.

"No way. She came into our home and made this huge scene—smashing things, hitting people. I was terrified."

"You can't go soft on her just because she's an old classmate! She needs to be detained. We can't just let this slide."

I looked at Miles and let out a bitter laugh. What would he choose this time?

Miles avoided my eyes. He frowned but didn't push back. He just said quietly to the officer:

"Follow standard procedure."

That one sentence pushed me over the edge into the abyss.

I thought detention would just be a simple punishment. I had no idea that walking into that holding cell would be the beginning of my nightmare.

I hadn't been inside long before a group of women surrounded me, looking me up and down, their eyes full of mockery and contempt.

One of the women—a bleached blonde with a sneer to match—looked me up and down.

"So you're the homewrecker trying to climb the ladder?" She let out a sharp laugh. "How pathetic."

"Caught red-handed by the wife and tossed in here with the rest of us." She clicked her tongue. "Absolutely shameless."

My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

"I'm not a homewrecker!"

But my denial only made them laugh harder.

The next second, the blonde moved first.

She shoved me—hard.

Something snapped inside me. I lunged at her, eyes burning, and we collided in a tangle of fists and clawing hands.

Her friends jumped in immediately, yanking my hair, landing blows wherever they could reach. More fists rained down on my body, my face.

Pain radiated through my limbs, but the ache in my chest cut deeper.

The guards finally heard the commotion and rushed in, pulling us apart. We were all written up and warned—next time, the consequences would be severe.

After that, they didn't touch me again. But the mocking glances never stopped. The snide comments. The whispered insults.

I ignored all of it. Found a corner. Curled up. Waited.

Five days.

Five days I survived.

Walking out of that detention center, every step sent pain shooting through my battered body.

Miles was standing at the entrance.

When he saw me, he froze.

Then he rushed over, reaching for me but hesitating—like he was afraid of hurting me further.

"What happened? Where did these injuries come from?"

I didn't look at him. Didn't answer. Just kept my eyes down and walked forward, one agonizing step at a time.

How did I end up like this?

The man I'd loved with everything I had for four years—how could he let me fall this far?

What a joke.

He followed behind me, his footsteps quickening, his tone sharpening with impatience.

"Marilyn, how long are you going to keep this up?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Slowly turned to face him.

"Miles. Am I the one causing problems here?"

His mouth opened. Closed. Not a single word came out.

The silence stretched on until he finally managed:

"You should have told me you were coming."

"And about Stacy—I can explain everything."

Before I could respond, he kept going.

"My mother has always wanted me to marry someone from a suitable family. Stacy fits the bill."

"What you saw between us? It's all an act for my family. Once this charade is over, I'll marry you. I promise."

My gaze dropped to the bracelet on my wrist. I said nothing.

I stared at it for a long moment. Then I slipped it off.

"This one is fake, isn't it?"

Miles's eyes darted away. He stumbled over his words.

"When we get married, I'll give you the real one."

"The one Stacy's wearing—my mother forced it on her. There was nothing I could do."

Before I could refuse, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the car.

"Hospital first. We'll talk about everything else later."

I sat in the passenger seat, every part of me resisting.

But I knew I couldn't gamble with my own body.

At the hospital, X-rays, examinations, one procedure after another—by the end, I didn't even have the strength to lift my arm.

The doctor returned with the films.

"Two broken ribs. Multiple soft tissue contusions. You'll need to stay for observation."

Miles took the X-rays, his brow furrowing. When he turned to me, guilt crept into his voice.

"Marilyn, I'm sorry. I let you suffer like this. I'll make it up to you—I promise."

The words had barely left his mouth when his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted instantly. He answered in a rush.

"Stacy? What's wrong?"

Her voice came through the line, broken and tearful.

"I had another nightmare about Marilyn. She broke into our home and smashed everything."

Miles soothed her patiently, though his brow furrowed deeper with each word.

"It's okay, baby. Don't be scared. I'm coming home right now."

"I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

He hung up, set the X-ray films on the bench beside me, and shoved a bank card into my hand. Then he turned and bolted toward the hospital exit.

I sat there, watching his figure disappear, and finally looked away.

For the next week, Miles never came back.

No calls. No messages. As if I had never existed in his world at all.

The doctor came by every day for rounds, asking why my family hadn't visited. I just shook my head and told him not to worry about it.

I changed my own bandages. Fed myself. Gritted my teeth through the pain every time I turned over in bed.

Slowly, something in me settled into place.

A man like Miles. A relationship built on lies and betrayal. It wasn't worth another moment of my time—and certainly not worth my tears.

The day I was discharged, the sky hung low and gray.

I slipped the bracelet off my wrist and left it in the doctor's office.

"Please give this to Miles Gilbert."

Then I bought the earliest ticket home.

Stacy's mood had finally stabilized. The nightmares that had plagued her every night began to ease.

Miles sat on the sofa beside her bed, his fingertips absently tracing the edge of his phone. His gaze was distant, unfocused.

Something nagged at him—a feeling that he had forgotten something important.

Even when Stacy spoke to him, his responses came slow and hollow.

She noticed. She pouted and complained that his mind was somewhere else. He managed a thin smile and brushed it off with a few empty words.

It wasn't until evening, after Stacy had fallen asleep, that it finally hit him.

He had left me at the hospital.

The color drained from Miles's face. Panic and guilt crashed over him in a wave.

Without another thought, he rushed out the door—didn't even stop to change his shoes.

He tore through the hospital, burst into my room—

And found it empty.

His chest seized. He grabbed a passing nurse, his voice frantic.

"Excuse me—the patient who was staying here, Marilyn Swanson. Where did she go?"

The nurse glanced at him, thinking for a moment.

"Oh, Marilyn? She was discharged days ago. Three or four, maybe."

"Actually, she left something behind when she checked out. Asked us to give it to someone named Miles Gilbert."