It was their third anniversary. Dominic Grant had just made their relationship Instagram official, posting a picture with a heartfelt caption.

Stella Johnson, his girlfriend, hesitated briefly before quietly liking it. Right then, before she could even set her phone down, Dominic's buzzed loudly.

She picked it up without a second thought and was greeted with his sharp voice. "What the hell is going on? Why did you go looking for her?!"

A few months ago, Stella might've crumbled at the sound of his angry clamor. She would've cried, maybe even begged for an explanation, but not this time.

This time, she felt nothing at all. It was just a hollow, empty space where hurt used to be.

She wasn't broken. She was done with him.

In fact, she was already making plans. Plans to marry someone else. Someone who wouldn't make her second-guess every move she made.

...

"Pete, I told you I'd go back and honor the family arrangement,” Stella said to her brother as she tapped the 'like' button on his post.

On the other end of the line, Peter couldn't resist teasing her. "Oh, so now you're coming around? Weren't you just swearing up and down that you'd stay in New York with your little boyfriend? You've been together for years and still haven't brought him home to meet us. Doesn't sound like the most trustworthy guy to me."

A bitter smile twisted Stella's lips, but she remained silent. Her mind was somewhere else entirely. She refreshed her feed and saw that Dominic had already deleted the post.

Before she could process it, the doorbell rang. She sighed, hanging up the phone and walking toward the door.

The moment she opened it, a slap landed across her cheek. It stung her in surprise, causing her to freeze on the spot. With her head spinning, she looked up at Dominic in disbelief.

"Stella!" he shouted. "Who told you it was okay to mess with Celine like that? Do you have any idea what she's going through? She has depression, for God's sake!" His rage was palpable, his fists clenched at his sides. "You better get yourself together. Just because you're my girlfriend doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. If anything happens to Celine, I'll make you pay for it!"

Then, his phone buzzed in his hand.

A muffled sob came through the receiver.

It was Celine's voice.

Dominic's expression softened instantly, a flicker of concern crossing his face. Without glancing at the untouched food or the delicate anniversary cake on the table, he turned to leave. Quickly, his entire focus was now on the call.

Stella stood there, still stunned. The sting on her cheek faded into something worse, driving it down her chest; she blinked, fighting back the tears building up for so long. But no matter how hard she tried, the tears began to fall.

Her phone buzzed again, this time relentlessly. It was Celine, posting one photo after another on the fan group page—Dominic cooking for her, Dominic laughing as he peeled apples, and then them kissing.

Then came a story on Celine's own account.

It was a picture of her playing with Dominic's hair, captioned:

[Why is it always the same? When I start crying, you rush to give me everything you think will make me feel better?]

In the photo, Dominic's face was soft. His lips curved into a helpless smile as he looked down at her. He looked nothing like the angry man who had just slapped Stella.

Her chest constricted, a knot of betrayal tightening around her heart. Without a second thought, she left the fan group and blocked Celine.

The memories began to flood back five years ago, back when everything had seemed so simple.

It was her second year of high school when Peter first brought Dominic home. One look and Stella was hooked. She called him "Dom," like her brother, Peter, "Pete." It had always been playful and familiar.

Dominic would always smile, ruffle her hair affectionately, and tease her with little jokes. It was their thing—a bond built on comfort, shared moments, and unspoken understanding.

When Stella reached her senior year, and Dominic had already graduated, she decided to stay in New York instead of going back home to Florida despite her family's objections. She used Peter's connections to move into Dominic's place. It wasn't long before they became a couple.

At first, Dominic had treated her like she was the only woman in the world. She'd felt like the happiest girl alive.

But then, there was that day.

The day Dominic had jokingly said, "If your brother finds out I'm dating his sister, I might be in for a beating.”

Stella kept her relationship with Dominic hidden, a secret affair that kept her away from home for four long years. She had convinced herself she could live with the secrecy, distance, and constant waiting. But after a year, things began to change.

Dominic started staying out all night. His phone's password, once her birthday, was now a code she couldn't crack.

It wasn't until two weeks ago, when Stella accidentally stumbled upon a message thread on Dominic's phone, that the truth came crashing down.

Celine Montgomery, Dominic's first love, was back in town.

At first, Stella refused to believe it. She'd convinced herself she was overthinking it and that it was nothing. But her curiosity got the best of her, and she added Celine on social media.

And there it was, laid out in front of her:

Celine's Moments—photos of her and Dominic, laughing, hugging, kissing.

It wasn't a fling. It was real. It had been going on for over a year.

The moment Stella saw those photos, the truth hit her. She wasn't his girlfriend. She was just a placeholder. Dominic found her when bored and his real love wasn't around. He'd used her as a distraction until Celine came back.

It took her two weeks to process everything. Two weeks to mourn the future she thought they'd have. Two weeks to admit to herself that she had been a fool. But even then, the hardest part was realizing how easily she had been replaced.

Stella forced herself to eat, though her appetite had vanished. She glanced at the cake in front of her—"Happy Third Anniversary" scrawled across the top—and a pang hit her chest.

Without thinking, she grabbed the cake and threw it in the trash. Inside it was the engagement ring she had been holding onto so desperately.

She'd kept a sliver of hope, a tiny spark that maybe, if she waited long enough, Dominic would choose her. But that slap earlier had destroyed that hope completely.

...

At midnight, Dominic finally staggered through the door.

He was barely standing, half-dragged in by Celine, reeking of alcohol. His shirt was untucked, his eyes bloodshot.

Celine smirked at Stella, a gleam in her eye. "You must be Stella, right?" she said sweetly, her voice laced with something else—victory, maybe. "Nicky talks about you all the time. You're such a good, obedient girl."

She would always call Dominic, 'Nicky', as if they were still together. With that, barely glancing at Celine, Stella took Dominic's arm, trying to close the door behind them.

But Celine quickly blocked it with her foot.

"Don't mind me," she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Nicky's always felt sorry for me. I've been dealing with depression, and he's been keeping me company. If I'd known he had a girlfriend, I would never let him do this."

Her tone was syrupy, but her smile was smug, almost gloating.

Stella's stomach churned. "Are you done?" she asked, her voice flat and cold.

Celine seemed momentarily taken aback as if expecting more of a reaction—maybe anger, maybe tears. But Stella gave her nothing. She didn't even flinch.

Without waiting for a reply, Stella slammed the door shut.

She moved into the kitchen and started preparing some sobering soup for Dominic, setting it on the counter in front of him.

As she watched him slowly begin to come around, a heavy weight settled in her chest. She'd done what she needed to do for him, as always.

But this time, it felt different.

She turned to leave, planning to head to her room, but Dominic grabbed her wrist, pulling her into his lap.

"Are you angry?" he slurred, his voice rough, his fingers grazing the swollen side of her face. His touch was almost tender like he was petting a wounded animal.

"Sorry, Stella. I shouldn't have hit you."

She pulled back slightly, her heart heavy but her expression unreadable.

"It's fine," she said, her voice distant. "I understand."

There was no bitterness in her words, no anger—just resignation.

To stand up for someone you love, to be indifferent or even violent toward those who don't matter—it was human nature, after all.

Dominic, oblivious to her detached response, smiled in relief. "You're amazing, Stella," he said, his voice softening. "Let me show you the gift I got you."

He pulled out a shiny necklace and fastened it around her neck.

Stella froze. The necklace was beautiful, but something in her chest twisted. She hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Happy third anniversary, babe," Dominic said, grinning like he'd just won a prize.

In the past, that would've been enough to make her feel like the luckiest girl alive. She would've cried, laughed, kissed him.

But now, all she could think about was seeing the exact same necklace around Celine's neck just ten minutes ago.

She smiled bitterly to herself.

Was this really what she was worth?

Was this how the "stand-in" was treated?

In the past, when Dominic had mentioned how much he liked dark green hair, Stella had dyed her hair in dark green waves, even though she'd loved her black hair. When he'd said he wanted her to wear spaghetti straps, her entire wardrobe had been filled with them.

Whenever they went on a date, Dominic insisted on Italian food, even though Stella had never been fond of it.

But none of it mattered now. None of it was enough.

Stella found herself resenting everything Celine liked, including the necklace Dominic had just given her. It felt like a symbol of someone else's love—someone else's devotion—something she no longer wanted. Standing there, she lowered her gaze, subtly distancing herself from him.

With a long, tired sigh, she finally spoke. "It's late, Dominic. I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

Behind her, she heard his voice soften, still pleading. "Stella, you know Celine has depression... please, try to understand."

His words hit her like a dull ache. They were a reminder of everything she had sacrificed.

Dominic continued, attempting to soften the blow. "Once Celine gets better, I'll be able to be with you all the time."

Stella swallowed hard, the bitterness rising in her throat. "There won't be a future."

...

The next morning, Stella woke early, the weight of the previous night still lingering. She didn't waste any time overthinking it. Instead, she headed straight to the hair salon.

The dark green waves that had once been Dominic's request—his preference—were gone. She was back to her natural black, straight hair. The hair she had always loved, the one that felt like her.

She spent the rest of the day shopping for clothes she liked—clothes that made her feel like herself, not someone else's idea of who she should be. No more spaghetti straps. No more pretending to fit into a mold that was never hers.

It felt liberating.

But then, as she scrolled through her phone, her stomach sank when she saw a notification for Celine's live stream. She froze. She knew exactly what it meant.

More of Dominic, Celine, and everything she was trying to forget.

With a resigned sigh, she canceled all the accounts related to Celine. The streams were always the same—Celine, with Dominic by her side, always playing the part of the perfect couple. He'd even declared Celine his "personal assistant," promising to protect her from anyone who might hurt her.

But to Stella, the most painful part wasn't the promises. It was the way Dominic would always talk about her.

"I'll take care of you. You don't need to work," he'd say. The words cut deeper than any betrayal.

Stella shook her head, pushing those thoughts aside. She was done with Dominic. Done with Celine.

Or so she thought.

...

As she turned a corner in the mall, she nearly bumped into them.

There they were—Dominic and Celine—laughing together as they shopped. Dominic was carrying several shopping bags, his eyes soft with affection, his smile warm and easy.

And Celine? She was live-streaming, of course, beaming at the camera, looking every bit the picture-perfect couple.

Stella's stomach twisted. She glanced down at her phone, her thumb scrolling absent-mindedly.

Ten minutes ago, Dominic sent her a message:

[I'm working, I'll bring you something delicious tonight.]

'Working? Shopping with Celine, eating, live-streaming?' Stella huffed in frustration

The absurdity of it all hit her in a wave, and she couldn't help but laugh—bitterly and loud enough to draw attention.

Celine noticed her first, waving at her with a wide smile as if she hadn't just witnessed Dominic comforting Stella earlier.

Dominic faltered for a moment, and then his expression hardened. He frowned. "Why did you dye your hair back?" His voice was laced with disapproval, though it sounded more like a complaint than genuine concern.

Stella didn't even glance at Celine's camera. She wasn't about to be part of their little performance. "I like it this way," she said flatly, keeping her tone neutral, her heart completely detached.

Without waiting for a response, she added, "I won't disturb your live-stream," before turning on her heel and leaving them behind.

Dominic watched her leave, his gaze darkening for a moment. But as his eyes moved to Celine, his expression softened. He smiled almost reassuringly.

"It's fine. Stella won't mind," he said, though the words seemed more for his own benefit than anyone else's.

Celine, who had already turned off the stream, looked up at Dominic, her eyes glistening with feigned concern.

"Nicky, Stella seems upset. It's all my fault." Her voice wavered, dripping with needy desperation. "But... I only have you. You can't leave me."

Dominic, as always, softened at her pleas. He pulled Celine into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "It's okay, Celine. Don't worry, I'm here for you."

Stella stood there, watching the scene unfold from afar. It felt like a punch to the gut. For a moment, she couldn't even tell who was supposed to be Dominic's real girlfriend anymore.

But, honestly? It didn't matter.

Soon, she wouldn't be anyone's girlfriend at all. And Dominic, she realized with a sudden clarity, wasn't worth her love.

...

A week later, as she prepared to return to the capital, Stella decided it was time to pack up her room—time to remove the last remnants of the life she was leaving behind.

Her room was filled with things Dominic had chosen for her and things he'd bought. The small spaghetti straps he'd insisted she wear. The luxury gifts he'd given her...