On New Year's Eve, I sat on a train for five hours to reach my boyfriend's city, wanting to surprise him.

What I didn't expect was that his apartment—where he was supposedly working overtime—would be filled with people and laughter.

Through the glass window, I saw him at the center of a crowd, standing beside a girl I'd never seen before.

The girl had drawn a "truth" card in whatever game they were playing. The people around her teased and cajoled until her cheeks flushed pink.

Kevin James stepped in front of her, his tone casual, almost bored.

"Same rule as always—I'll trade a secret about Millicent Simmons instead. That work?"

My hand froze on the door handle.

His voice drifted through the glass, light and careless, every word perfectly clear.

"She was assaulted. A long time ago."

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

1.

Inside, the room erupted.

"Holy shit, that's insane!"

"Wait, aren't girls who go through that supposed to become, like, super conservative? But Millicent's always done up, posting selfies every day—doesn't seem like the type."

Someone snickered.

"Maybe that's because she was always easy. Didn't Kevin say she only buys lacy lingerie?"

"If she were as innocent as Camille, this never would've happened to her."

Camille. Camille Harding.

I knew that name.

She was Kevin's secretary.

Whenever we talked, he'd mention her without even realizing it. I'd never questioned it. I trusted him.

Now, hearing her name, I watched her tilt her head, her voice soft and syrupy.

"Don't say that. Maybe Millie just... cares more about looking pretty."

"Camille, you're too naive. Not everyone's like you. Some girls are wild behind closed doors."

"Right, Kevin?"

Kevin took a sip of his drink.

He didn't deny it.

The filth kept coming, wave after wave.

My hand trembled on the suitcase handle.

Kevin had introduced me to these people before. Back then, they'd crowded around me too, calling me "sister-in-law" with wide smiles.

Now they sat there inventing the worst versions of me, tearing me apart for sport.

"Alright, that's enough."

Kevin frowned slightly, and something flickered across his face—something that almost looked like discomfort.

Even through the pain splitting my chest open, a tiny spark of hope flickered to life.

Maybe he'll stop them. Maybe he'll tell them I'm not like that.

Then he opened his mouth again, and the hope died.

"She's still technically my girlfriend. If this gets out, I'm the one who looks bad. So let's drop it."

Not defense. Just damage control for his own reputation.

"Wait, you're seriously still going to marry her after all that?"

Camille pressed closer to him, tugging at his arm with a pout.

"What about me? I'm not going to be some mistress."

"If you don't give me an answer soon, we're done."

"That's not going to happen!"

Kevin's composure cracked. Panic flashed across his face.

My fingers curled into fists.

He had never once lost his cool like that for me. Not once.

"Why should I be the one stuck cleaning up someone else's mess?" His voice turned cold, dripping with contempt. "If my parents weren't always nagging me to 'take care of her,' I would've ended it ages ago."

As he spoke, his expression shifted—disgust settling over his features like a mask he'd finally stopped hiding.

I couldn't move. My arms dropped to my sides.

So this is how he really feels about me.

Then why didn't he just say so?

All those years together—the gentleness, the patience—was any of it real?

"After the holiday, I'll go home and set things straight."

Kevin turned and pressed a kiss to Camille's cheek, his voice soft and sweet.

"Then I'll introduce you to my parents."

The room erupted in cheers. Everyone raised their glasses.

"Congratulations in advance to Kevin and the future Mrs. James!"

Inside, the celebration roared on—laughter, clinking glasses, warmth.

I felt like I'd been plunged into ice water.

I don't know how long I stood there before the world came back into focus. My vision had blurred. Tears, I realized.

My fingers were numb from the cold. I typed out the words, one character at a time.

[Let's break up.]

Inside the room, a WeChat notification chimed.

Kevin picked up his phone, glanced at the screen, and tapped out a voice message.

"Mom, Dad—I've got an overseas project I need to handle. I really can't make it back today."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll let you know as soon as I've locked in a return date."

He set down the phone. That was it. No other response.

I waited.

And then it hit me.

I wasn't just missing from his pinned contacts—he'd muted me entirely.

A thousand miles apart, and he'd routinely take a full day to reply to my messages. I'd told myself he was busy with work. I'd made excuses for him.

Turns out, he simply couldn't be bothered.

Tears splashed onto my screen, one drop at a time.

Desperate, I called him.

This time, Kevin looked at his phone.

Then he silenced it and tossed it back onto the table.

He pretended he hadn't seen. Pulled out a deck of cards and started dealing to the others.

"Who's that?" someone asked.

"Millicent." He didn't even look up. "She calls me every damn day. It's exhausting."

Someone sounded confused. "So why not just reject the call?"

Kevin kept dealing, his tone utterly indifferent. "If I reject it, she'll just blow up my texts. I'll let it ring, then tell her later I was too busy to notice."

"Haha! Classic Kevin. You've got her wrapped around your finger."

I couldn't listen anymore.

I stumbled away, my legs barely holding me.

Spring Festival was days away. The streets buzzed with life—clusters of people, couples arm in arm, families laden with shopping bags.

I dragged my suitcase through the crowd with no destination in mind. A ghost among the living.

A young couple passed me, carrying bulging bags of groceries. A long scarf wound around both their necks, binding them together.

The girl looked worried. "It's just the two of us tonight. Think we can actually pull off a New Year's Eve dinner?"

The boy ruffled her hair. "If we can't, we'll order takeout. As long as we're together, who cares what we eat?"

That was exactly the scene I'd imagined for myself. For us.

I still couldn't understand.

Why was Kevin doing this to me?

We used to be so good together. So good.

I'm twenty-eight years old this year. We've known each other for twenty-eight years.

At four, on the first day of kindergarten, he grabbed my hand.

"Millie, when we play house, you're the only one I want as my wife."

At twelve, too young to understand love, he'd rush to my desk the second class ended. At that age, when reputation meant everything, he ignored the teasing and the jeers.

At fifteen, in the thick of adolescence, his face erupted in acne. His grades hit rock bottom. His parents were disappointed. He doubted everything about himself.

"Millie, what do I do? Do I even have a future?"

I held his hand and, trying to sound casual, told him something I'd never told anyone.

"I almost gave up once. For real."

"But I got through it. And after, I realized it wasn't such a big deal. You'll get through this too."

The shock in his eyes. The way his face crumpled when he understood. How he pulled me into his arms and sobbed—I can still see it like it was yesterday.

On my eighteenth birthday, the moment the clock struck midnight, he confessed.

"Millie, I'm going to spend my whole life being good to you."

Later, we both got into universities in Capital City.

He was on the south side. I was on the north.

Four hours by bus, round trip. Every single week, without fail, he made that journey—just to see me.

Even after graduation, our relationship stayed strong. He remained in Capital City to start his business while I went back home to find work.

This year, our families had already begun discussing wedding dates.

I'd resigned before the New Year specifically so I could move to Capital City afterward and find a job here. We'd never have to be apart again.

Now, all of that had turned to ash.

Kevin had found another girl—one he wanted to bring home to meet his parents.

He'd even started to despise me.

The words I'd once spoken to comfort him, tearing open my own wounds in the process—he'd turned them into jokes to share with someone else.

Darkness fell. The streets emptied.

I found a random hotel nearby.

I'd barely settled in when my phone lit up.

A message from Mom.

Sweetie, have you eaten yet? Dinner here is amazing!

A photo of the New Year's Eve feast followed.

Relatives crowded around the table, laughing, radiant.

A draft slipped through the hotel window and crept up my sleeves. I shivered.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced my voice to sound normal:

"The food's all ready! We're about to dig in. Don't worry about me."

I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't let my parents spend New Year's Eve worrying about me.

I found a random photo of a holiday dinner online and sent it to them.

Then, without thinking, I glanced at my chat with Kevin.

Empty as always.

At midnight, firecrackers erupted outside the window.

The celebration was so loud I couldn't sleep.

Like picking at a wound, I opened Kevin's social media, searching for any trace of his betrayal I might have missed.

He'd hidden it well. He'd kept her completely shielded.

I scrolled back and forth, over and over.

Finally, in a screenshot of a work group chat, I spotted Camille's username.

A distinctive name.

Something clicked. I searched for it across every platform I could think of.

Among dozens of accounts with similar names, I recognized her instantly.

The profile picture was painfully familiar—it was the matching half of Kevin's avatar.

When Kevin had changed his profile picture, I'd been so happy. I'd searched for the matching one and set it as my own.

His expression had soured.

He said it was just a random image. He didn't want to flaunt our relationship in front of friends and family.

In the end, he'd practically forced me to change it back.

Camille's account had only a handful of followers.

But hundreds of posts—chronicling her love story with Kevin.

It had started last May. That's when the first hints appeared.

Poor boss has been stuck at the office for a month straight, eating nothing but takeout. I brought him some homemade chicken soup today, and he actually teared up. Makes you wonder what kind of girlfriend he has.

That was when Kevin's father had broken his leg.

To let Kevin focus on the company without distraction, none of us had told him.

I'd taken a full month off work. I'd run myself ragged caring for Ronald until he was discharged.

Afterward, my supervisor had quietly removed my name from the promotion list.

Boss pushed back so many projects just to take me on business trips—basically a paid vacation! Being spoiled feels incredible.

That was our ten-year anniversary. It was also my birthday.

I'd pulled an all-nighter to finish a project, scraped together three days off, and planned to surprise him.

He'd told me he had an important business trip. He simply couldn't get out of it.

Boss bought me a designer bag! The charm that came with it was kind of ugly though, so I'm leaving that for him.

I froze.

My eyes drifted to my phone case.

An identical charm dangled there—Kevin's belated birthday gift to me.

I'd treasured it for so long. I'd even covered it with a protective film.

It took me two hours to get through every post on Camille's account.

When I finished, I felt nothing but cold.

Not a single photo showed Kevin's face clearly.