Seeing that I was silent, she tilted her head slightly, carefully studying my face.

"I've wanted to say this since the first time we met—don’t you think we look very much alike, little sister?"

In that moment, I had never felt such humiliation and disgrace. Under her triumphant gaze, I could only flee in panic.

Back in the private room, my colleagues' warmth began to thaw my icy blood. Just as I was about to cast aside that unpleasant encounter, the door to the room swung open.

Seeing the two full tables of people, Ethan froze for a moment, then locked eyes with me. I could see the restrained anger in his gaze, though I couldn’t understand why.

He clenched his fists before finally calling my name, ordering me outside. Puzzled, I followed him out, only to be met with a hard slap in the corridor.

It was the first time he had ever hit me.

As I stared at him in disbelief, he showed no sign of guilt or hesitation—just pure fury.

"Why did you push Amanda? You knew she had a twisted ankle! I told you I’d explain things when we got back, but you just had to handle it so harshly?"

My cheek burned with pain.

In the distance, Amanda hobbled toward us, her shirt rumpled, stained with water and dirt. Just as I opened my mouth to explain, she fell to the ground with a dramatic thud.

Without a second thought, Ethan pushed past me and rushed over, cradling her in his arms.

"I told you I'd bring her over to apologize to you. Why did you come out here?" he said.

Though his words sounded reproachful, his voice was filled with tenderness.

With tears in her eyes, Amanda shook her head at him. "It’s not a big deal; she didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t be so hard on her."

"If her brother finds out you hit his sister, it might hurt the bond between you two," she added.

At the mention of my brother, a strange expression crossed Ethan's face, but his resolve returned as he looked back at Amanda.

"Her brother entrusted her to me, so it’s my duty to correct her when she’s in the wrong," he said firmly.

I laughed bitterly and couldn’t resist asking, "What exactly did I do wrong? Even in court, you need solid evidence to convict someone. Haven’t you thought about how unfair it is to judge me and even lay hands on me without understanding the truth?"

Ethan clenched his fists, glaring at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom, so you thought you could act without consequence."

I felt both amused and stung by the injustice.

"If there are no cameras, then how can you be sure it was me?"

"Why would Amanda wrongfully accuse you? She must have a reason, right? Besides, I've known her for years—she’s not the kind of person who lies."

"And I am?" I asked, my voice barely hiding the bitterness.

After seven years together, I thought he would trust my character, if nothing else. But I was wrong. In front of Amanda, even seven years meant nothing.

One word from her was all it took to convict me, leaving me without a chance to defend myself.

It was blatant favoritism, a glaring display of partiality. And I, in the end, was nothing more than a stand-in, a replacement with nothing to offer.

Seeing no point in arguing further, I turned to leave, ignoring Ethan’s furious commands to stay.

With the mark of his slap still on my face, I didn’t want to ruin my colleagues' mood, so I chose not to return to the private room. Instead, I went to the front desk, paid the bill and sent them a message:

"Something urgent came up, so I had to leave. Enjoy the meal and drinks—it's on me!"

Dragging my exhausted body back home, I took a long, detailed look at this place where I’d lived for the past seven years.

Every corner held memories of Ethan and me—once so beautiful, now stabbing into my heart like a thousand sharp blades.

I found a large cardboard box and, unable to sleep, spent the night erasing those remnants of happiness.

There were slippers with our "cat and dog" love diary design, the matching couple mugs that fit together, the keychains that sensed each other within ten meters and a whole box of photos and portraits. These were once the only proof of our relationship, especially in those times when I felt insecure.

Now, there was no need for any of it.

Ethan didn’t come home for half a month. In that time, apart from finishing my design drafts, I nearly cleared out the entire house. I even disposed of the furniture I’d chosen myself, leaving the place as it was when I first moved in—black and white, so minimalist that you could see the entire room in a single glance.

The night before I left, I thought I should at least say something to Ethan, so I called him. But every time I dialed, he kept rejecting my calls. After a while, he sent me a message.

“If you haven’t realized your mistake and aren’t genuinely ready to apologize to Amanda, then I don’t think there’s any reason for us to speak.”

I smiled bitterly. Well, if that’s the case, then we won’t speak.

Early the next morning, I headed out with my suitcase for my flight.

As I left what was once my warm and cherished home, I felt nothing but overwhelming relief.

Just before boarding, my phone buzzed with countless birthday messages. Some wished me great success, some wished me peace and happiness and some wished me a blessed marriage with a wonderful partner.

After replying to each one, I turned off my phone.

As the plane took off, I thought to myself: I will be happy! With so many blessings, I knew I would be.