Emma had posted a photo with the caption, "Starting a new chapter!"

She was leaning against a white wall, posing for a selfie. Behind her hung an abstract painting—one I had personally bought at a Sotheby's auction for 30 thousand dollars.

That painting hung in my apartment in Bellemont District.

My blood ran cold. Still, logic tried to reassure me—Matthew couldn't have done something that outrageous.

The next morning, Matthew showed up right on time.

"So, who were you helping move last night?" I asked casually as I climbed into the car.

"My college roommate. His lease was up, and he needed a hand relocating," he replied without hesitation.

"What a coincidence. Emma moved yesterday too. She didn't ask for your help?"

"Nope," he said, eyes on the road. "Pretty sure she hired movers. Trust fund girls don't usually call their friends for manual labor."

His tone was even and convincing. I let my suspicion simmer down for now.

…

On Saturday morning, I carried a new set of curtains from Bergdorf Goodman, ready to do a little redecorating. "Let's swing by the apartment in Bellemont District. I got some new decorations I want to put up."

Matthew froze for half a second.

"It's scorching today. How about a picnic at Crown Park instead?"

"It's November in Udrana City. It's not exactly picnic weather."

He grabbed my hand. "Or... how about lunch at Bellamy, followed by a show at the Haven Arts Theater? Just the two of us?"

Bellamy was a Michelin three-star restaurant, where the average meal cost over 500 dollars per person. Matthew usually hesitated to spend even 50 dollars on dinner, let alone 500.

"Matthew, that place requires a three-month reservation."

"I… I've got a friend there. He can get us in," he said quickly. "Darling, we haven't had a proper date in ages."

I smiled and let him run with it.

The lunch bill came to 1,200 dollars. When I saw his hand trembling as he signed the bill, I almost laughed.

At 10:00 pm, after confirming he had driven off in his Mercedes, I called an Uber straight to my apartment in Bellemont District.

Standing at the door of my apartment, I entered the keypad code. "Access denied."

I tried the code a few more times, but the door still wouldn't open.

Someone had changed the passcode to my apartment. Thankfully, I always kept a spare key in my purse.

The moment I pushed the door open, I froze.

The minimalist aesthetic I had so carefully curated had been completely destroyed. A cheap faux-fur throw was draped over my Eames lounge chair. My Bang & Olufsen speakers were covered in Hello Kitty stickers.

Takeout boxes were piled across the imported Belvarian marble dining table like some kind of trash altar.

The abstract painting was still on the wall—but now surrounded by a collage of Emma's selfies.

I pushed open the master bedroom door and found Emma lounging on my 80-dollar Hastens mattress, wrapped in the custom linen bedding I had custom-made in Parisvale.

She was startled awake, but instead of panicking, she looked pissed.

"What the hell, Sophie? Ever heard of knocking? This is trespassing."

I took a deep breath, doing everything in my power not to lunge across the room and tear her apart.

"Emma, get a grip. This is my apartment."

"Matthew said I could stay here. So technically, it's mine now. He let me move in, so you don't just get to barge in whenever you feel like it. Didn't your mother teach you anything about respecting people's privacy?"

I snapped, "Did your mother ever teach you what respect means? You trashed someone else's home and acted like you owned it!"

I pulled out my phone and called Matthew. "Get to the Bellemont apartment. Right now. I mean it, Matthew—now."

He picked up, and from the hesitance in his voice, I knew he had already figured out what had happened.

"Sophie, calm down. It's just temporary. I offered Emma a place to stay while she recovers. Do you really have to overreact like this?

"You're the one being unreasonable. I'm just trying to help a friend who's injured. She can barely get around—it's not safe for her to be living alone.

"And honestly, the apartment's usually empty anyway. At least now someone's here to look after the place."

Emma smirked from the bed. "Even if you drag him here, so what? He's the one who told me I could stay. And honestly, it's not even certain who the future lady of this apartment is going to be."

I ended the call and turned to her. "If you're so confident, then why hasn't Matthew proposed to you instead? You two have known each other for years. By that logic, I'd be the third party here—yet somehow, he chose me."

I let out a cold laugh. "Last I checked, you dropped out of high school and work as a waitress at Hooters. Your parents live off government assistance, and you're drowning in 50 thousand dollars of credit card debt.

"As for me? I have a law degree from Haward. I'm a partner at the most prestigious law firm in Avalon District, and I paid for this place in full. Any man with common sense would know exactly who he should be building a life with."

Emma's face twisted with rage. "Matthew's just blinded by your money. Once he sees your true face, you'll be the one getting dumped."

The front door burst open, and Emma suddenly threw herself to the floor. "Please, Sophie! I'm sorry! Don't hit me! I'll leave. I'll pack up now."

Matthew rushed inside and grabbed her by the shoulders. "What the hell, Sophie? You hit her?"

"First of all, I didn't lay a single finger on her. Second of all, even if I had, she earned it."

He looked around the apartment, taking in the chaos. "Emma, what did you do to Sophie's apartment?"

"You told me I could decorate how I wanted!" she cried. "The original decor was so sterile. I just wanted to make it feel more like home. I even spent my own money on everything. I was just trying to help."

Matthew sighed, rubbing his temples. "Sophie, I agree—Emma shouldn't have changed anything in your apartment. But that doesn't mean you can hit her. Just apologize, and let's pretend this never happened."

I laughed—a quiet, sharp kind of laugh that only came when I had been pushed right past my limit.

I snapped, "Are you blind, Matthew? She's clearly faking it, and you don't see it. Tomorrow was supposed to be the day we got our marriage certificate at the City Hall. But you know what? Go with her instead."

I spun around and stormed off.

He caught up and grabbed my arm. "Sophie, don't be so emotional. Emma's young and impulsive. Why let it get to you? I'll have her move out immediately. I'll have the place back the way it was by tonight."

"No need," I snapped, yanking my arm away. "She's already contaminated the space. I don't want it anymore. I'm listing the apartment for sale first thing tomorrow."

"Fine, fine. We'll sell it. We'll buy another one. Whatever you want."

Emma suddenly shrieked from behind us, "Why are you letting her get away with this, Matthew? She hit me first!"

He barked, "That's enough, Emma! I should never have let you move in."

She burst into tears and ran out the door.

Matthew glanced toward the door, panicked. "It's late. She shouldn't be out there alone. Sophie… I'll meet you at the City Hall tomorrow at 9:00 am. I promise."

My eyes burned with unshed tears. Logic told me I should end things with him right away, but emotion kept me hesitating.

The next morning, I arrived at City Hall by 8:30 am. By 10:00 am, Matthew still hadn't shown up.

I called him more than 20 times before he finally picked up.

"Emma spiked a fever this morning. I had to take her to the ER. Getting married isn't something we have to rush. Let's just pick another day."

Before I could respond, he hung up.

Another day? I was stunned he had the nerve. It was downright ridiculous.

I opened our chat and typed just two words. "We're done."

Then I blocked him on everything.

But since I was already there, I wasn't leaving empty-handed.

I dialed David's number. "Wanna marry me? If you do, get to City Hall right now. I'm not kidding."