Melanie Summers brought her paralyzed childhood friend home to take care of him, putting him first in everything.

She didn't care how I felt. She even made me wash his feet, empty his bedpan, and clean up after him.

Six months later.

I brought home a homeless disabled girl.

"She has mental health issues and no one to look after her. She'd get hurt out there on her own. I couldn't just leave her."

Melanie, who always preached about being generous, lost it.

"Valentine Gilbert! Have you lost your mind?!"

"You brought another woman home? A mentally ill one, no less? Are you really that desperate?"

...

I met Melanie's interrogation-room glare with a frown.

"Can you drop the filthy assumptions? Can you show a shred of compassion? Would you rather stand by and watch a living, breathing person die?"

Six months ago, Melanie's childhood friend Boyd James was in a car accident. She spent a full month at the hospital caring for him, then insisted on bringing him home.

I objected.

Melanie shot back, "Boyd has no one else in this city. I can't just abandon him."

"Be a bigger person, would you? Show some compassion. Stop making everything into a problem!"

Now I'd done the exact same thing.

"That's completely different!"

Melanie's fists clenched at her sides. "I'm going to the hospital to pick up Boyd. When I get back, I don't want to see that woman here."

She slammed the door on her way out.

She thought a cold shoulder would make me fold.

Instead, I turned to the girl with a smile. "Sylvia, let me run you a bath and get you some clothes."

"Thank you, Valentine."

Sylvia Henson leaned on her crutch and nodded, quiet and well-mannered.

She'd been filthy before, her face caked with grime. It wasn't until after her bath and a change of clothes that I actually saw what she looked like.

Delicate features, striking bone structure. The kind of face that would turn heads anywhere.

But she was painfully thin, all sharp angles, like a branch about to snap.

So I ordered her a full meal to put some food in her.

That was when Melanie wheeled Boyd back in. The second she saw Sylvia sitting on the couch eating, her expression froze over.

"Valentine Gilbert!"

"What is this? Bad enough you didn't get rid of her, but now she's wearing my pajamas? That's disgusting. Do you have any idea how unsanitary that is?"

Her reaction was explosive, like a cat whose tail had been stomped on.

"I'm sorry, I'll take them off right now."

Sylvia shot to her feet, panic written across her face. "Please don't fight because of me."

"Don't."

I caught her wrist and kept my eyes forward. "It's a set of pajamas. What's the screaming about? I'll return them tomorrow. I'll buy Sylvia her own."

I still remembered when Boyd first moved in and took a liking to my only custom-tailored suit, one I reserved for important events.

Melanie didn't bother asking me. She put it on Boyd herself. Then Boyd soiled it.

I was furious.

Melanie couldn't have cared less. "God, you're cheap! It's just clothes. Boyd didn't do it on purpose. Wash it yourself and get over it."

The next day, she went out and bought Boyd five custom suits without blinking.

I was so angry my vision blurred.

"Melanie, don't blame Valentine. It's my fault for overstaying my welcome. He's upset, so he hired some actress to get under your skin." Boyd's voice was thick with guilt.

"I'm nothing but a burden. I'll move out tonight. You two shouldn't be fighting over me."

His eyes rimmed red, and the moment he finished speaking, he steered his wheelchair toward the door.

I glanced at Melanie.

I wanted to see exactly how she'd react.

No surprises there.

Just like every other time, Melanie rushed over and threw her arms around Boyd, murmuring softly, "Boyd, you've never been a burden. You're one of the most important people in my life."

Then she shot me another look, dripping with provocation.

"You're truly despicable."

"Trying to force Boyd out by bringing home some filthy scheme like this."

With that, she was done.

She wheeled Boyd into the master bedroom.

That room used to be mine and Melanie's, but Boyd claimed he had "claustrophobia in small spaces."

So once again, without a word to me, Melanie handed it over.

She even set up a cot beside the king bed.

Then she laid down the rules: Monday through Saturday, she'd stay in the master bedroom to take care of Boyd. Sundays, she'd sleep in the guest room with me.

I'd tried talking to her about it.

I'd argued. I'd lost my temper.

But every single time, Melanie said one thing and did another.

That night.

After I got Sylvia settled in, I went to the study. Around midnight, a scream tore through the house.

"What the hell?!"

"Valentine, you sick freak! You're insane!"

Melanie stormed into the study seconds later.

She was wearing a lace negligee, black stockings, full makeup, and perfume.

That was when it hit me.

Today was the weekend.

"Valentine, you gave the bedroom to some random woman off the street."

Her brows were pinched tight with fury.

"Sylvia's in a terrible state. You really expect her to sleep on the floor, or in here?"

I didn't turn my head. My eyes stayed on the computer screen.

Those were the exact words Melanie had once used on me.

She froze for a few seconds, then let out a sigh and walked over, settling herself onto my lap.

"Honey, stop this, okay? Just send that homeless girl away."

"Once Boyd's a little better, I'll have him leave too. Deal?"

Have him leave?

Melanie had said things like that plenty of times before.

And every time, she never brought it up again.

It was nothing but a tactic to keep me quiet.

When I didn't respond, she looped her arms around my neck and leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear.

"Just say yes. Please?"

"It's the weekend. Our time together. Don't let outsiders ruin the mood."

For as long as I could remember, my feelings for Melanie had been both physical and emotional. A complete, consuming kind of love.

All she ever needed was the slightest touch, and my resolve would crumble.

But after more than six months of this, I felt nothing. Not a ripple. Not a stir.

Only something close to revulsion.

Before I could turn her down, Boyd's agonized groan echoed from down the hall.

"Melanie, come help me..."

One second.

That was all it took. Melanie shoved me aside, sprang to her feet, and bolted out of the study.

"Boyd, if you need the bathroom, just call me! You don't have to do it yourself."

"Look at you, falling like that."

Her voice carried through the walls, loud and frantic, overflowing with concern.

I remembered last month. I'd stepped out of the shower, slipped on the wet tile, and cracked my knee open. Blood ran down my shin.

I called for Melanie several times. She never answered.

Later, she'd looked me up and down and sneered, "You're a grown man who can't even walk without tripping. Embarrassing."

Boyd had been right there, stoking the fire: "Val, I'm not trying to steal Melanie from you. We're just friends."

"So there's no need to hurt yourself on purpose just to compete with me for her attention."

Melanie heard that and immediately turned on me, calling me pathetic and childish.

That night, something inside me shattered. I didn't sleep at all.

A while later.

A message from Melanie lit up my phone: Boyd took a fall just now. I'm worried something might be wrong, so I'll stay with him tonight.

This wasn't the first time.

Every weekend, without fail, Boyd would suddenly feel unwell here or uncomfortable there, clinging to Melanie and refusing to let her go.

And Melanie always said yes.

The next morning.

Sylvia and I were eating breakfast.

The moment Melanie stepped out of the bedroom, her brow furrowed. "Where's mine and Boyd's?"

"You want to eat, make it yourself."

I didn't even look up.

What?

Melanie's temper flared. She slammed her palm on the table. "You've completely lost your mind over that woman."

"Ignoring your own wife for some stranger."

Sylvia scrambled to her feet. "I'm sorry, Melanie. Here, take mine."

She picked up her untouched bowl of soup noodles and held it out.

"Get lost!"

Melanie swatted the bowl out of her hands.

"Ah!"

Scalding broth splashed across Sylvia's body.

The skin on her arms turned an angry red almost instantly.

"Melanie."

"What is wrong with you? Sylvia offered you her food out of kindness, and you knock it all over her?"

I berated Melanie while digging ice out of the freezer to press against Sylvia's burns.

Melanie stood frozen, watching the scene.

A vein throbbed at her temple. She screamed, "Valentine, listen to me."

"It's either her or me in this house."

"Pick one!"

I'd been this hysterical once, too.

But Melanie, secure in how much I loved her, had barely reacted. She'd said, "Can you grow up? You think I can't survive without you?"

Now I felt about the same level of nothing.

Before I could respond, Boyd wheeled himself out of the bedroom.

"Valentine, Melanie, are you two fighting because of me again?"

"If I'm the reason you end up divorced, I'll never forgive myself."

"Maybe I should just leave."

His face was a picture of guilt.

On the surface, he seemed concerned for both of us. In reality, he was stoking the fire.

"Boyd, this has nothing to do with you. It's all because this man is too petty."

Melanie comforted Boyd with a few words, then turned a cold gaze on me.

"Boyd just reminded me. If you insist on going against me, then let's get divorced."

"I'll have the papers drawn up today."

And with that,

she pushed Boyd's wheelchair toward the door, calling out smugly, "Come on, let's go have a nice dinner out."

"Melanie, please don't misunderstand. There's really nothing between me and Valentine."

Sylvia shouted after her, but Melanie didn't so much as glance back. Sylvia turned to me, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, Valentine. I caused all this trouble. It's my fault."

"Maybe you should just send me back to the hospital."

Melanie paused mid-step. Through gritted teeth, she muttered under her breath, "Conniving little fox."

"You barely escaped that place. You're not going back." I steadied my voice. "Stay here. This is your home now."

I gave Sylvia's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "As long as I'm here, nobody's going to push you around."

The words had barely left my mouth

when Melanie let out a sharp scoff and walked out without looking back.

I didn't go after her. Once we finished eating, I took Sylvia to the mall to buy some clothes.

That was when I spotted Melanie and Boyd in a luxury watch store.

Melanie was holding a watch, fastening it around Boyd's wrist.

Their eyes locked, lingering with an intimacy so thick it was almost tangible.

I recognized that watch. Around fifteen thousand dollars, a model I'd been eyeing for a long time.

But whenever I brought it up, Melanie always said the same thing: "A watch just tells time. Why waste that kind of money? We should be saving for our future kids."

And now here she was, buying it for Boyd.

She'd been covering his medical bills for the past six months, too.