The next morning, I broke my routine and didn't make breakfast. I left early, something I'd never done before.

In the past, I would prepare breakfast and coax Cynthia to wake up.

She had a terrible morning mood, and I had to tread carefully, half-pleading and half-begging her to eat.

I would wait until she finished before eating her leftovers.

But not this time.

At work, I enjoyed a nutritious breakfast and started my day calmly.

Not long after, I received a call from Cynthia.

She was furious, accusing me of not waking her up and making her late for work.

She demanded I transfer her 5,000 dollars as compensation for her tardiness.

After listening, I paused and simply replied, "Next time, remember to set your own alarm."

Then came the silence.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes. Finally, Cynthia, growing impatient, shouted into the phone, "Liam, are you even listening? Are you mute? Transfer the money, or I swear I won't forgive you!"

Her voice was loud, drawing the attention of a few colleagues.

I quickly hung up.

How could Cynthia say such things?

She hadn't even explained her situation with Eric but was quick to blame me.

I pressed my fingers to my forehead, trying to calm my emotions.

A colleague nearby chuckled, teasing, "Your girl is like a thorny rose; not everyone can handle her! But, to be fair, she has her charms!"

I laughed it off, but inside, I felt bitter.

My hometown in the northwest was barren, where roses couldn't even grow in the desolate desert.

I understood that loving someone was like nurturing a flower, so I took great care of my girlfriend, this delicate bloom.

She was like a rose—beautiful, spirited, and sharp.

If she were just a girl with a bad temper, I could accept that.

I understood that the prettier the girl, the prouder she was.

From the first day we started dating, I had prepared to pamper her for life.

But what if she wasn't loyal?

What if she betrayed our love? Could I still accept that unconditionally?

I felt restless, barely making it through the workday.

Before heading home, I texted her, but the reply was a glaring message: [Sorry, you are not on the other person's friend list.]

Cynthia had deleted me unilaterally.

Whenever she was upset, she would delete me.

I would plead with her, thinking that if she deleted our chat history, everything would be forgotten.

I couldn't bear to lose those little moments.

If she really couldn't stand me, she could just block me.

So, she would block me, waiting for me to transfer money before unblocking me.

But this time, she had been so ruthless.

Blocked on iMessage, and she wouldn't answer my calls.

I opened Eric's chat, wanting to ask if he knew where Cynthia was, but accidentally clicked on his social media.

Moments ago, he had posted a video.

The lighting was dim, with a sultry red glow.

The camera shook wildly, and in the last few seconds, Cynthia reached out to cover the lens, her face flushed and shy, "Stop filming!"