The necklace was my grandmother's gift for my eighteenth birthday.

When Lance went bankrupt, I took the necklace and its matching earrings to the pawnshop, trading them for cash to ease the financial crisis that had come crashing down on us.

He saw the hesitation in my eyes as I handed it over, and he pulled me close, his arm around my shoulders. "Lucy, this is from your grandmother. Why don't you hold onto it?"

Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head, refusing his suggestion.

At that point, our phones were ringing non-stop with calls from creditors. Day and night, the relentless sound of debt collectors pushed me to the brink of collapse. And then there was Lance, already sinking into depression.

His hand trembled on my shoulder as he watched me cry, promising me through the tears that once he got back on his feet, he would buy the necklace back.

But a year had passed since. I'm twenty-nine now, and his promise remained unfulfilled.

The necklace, sealed away in the pawnshop for a year, had finally come back to light. But I still didn't have the means to buy it.

The auctioneer's voice rang out, full of energy, "The starting price for this item is 1.5 million. Each bid must be at least thirty percent higher than the last."

The room buzzed with excitement as people raised their paddles, eager to outbid one another. The air felt charged, as if everyone in the room had their sights set on this particular piece of jewelry.

In just a minute, the price had climbed to 13 million, driven by the crowd's feverish energy.

When the number was announced, a wave of disappointment spread through the room. Most people shook their heads, accepting that 13 million would be the final bid.

"13 million, going once."

Silence fell over the hall.

"13 million, going twice."

The silence persisted, thick and heavy.

Just as the auctioneer raised his microphone for the third call, a paddle lifted slowly in the air, accompanied by a voice I knew all too well.

"14 million."

The hammer struck down with a resounding thud. "Congratulations to Mr. Ford for acquiring tonight's star item!"

As the auctioneer's enthusiastic voice echoed through the hall, a wave of applause followed.

For a moment, I thought I had misheard.

The man who raised his paddle stood up from the VIP section, and the woman clinging to his arm rose with him.

Even then, I was still trying to explain it away. Maybe the voice just sounded like his. Maybe it was only a similar silhouette. Maybe it was all a coincidence.

Besides, wasn't he supposed to be in his therapy session? He couldn't be sitting here in the VIP section and casually bidding 14 million.

But when the camera zoomed in on the pair, I couldn't deny the truth any longer.

The man on the screen, larger than life, was Lance.

I hadn't been wrong. That fleeting figure I'd glimpsed earlier, disappearing into the crowd—it had been him.

The auctioneer, with a professional smile, addressed him. "Mr. Ford, would you mind sharing why you decided to raise your bid and secure this set of jewelry?"

The microphone was passed to Lance, and his voice, warm and indulgent, filled the room as he glanced at the woman beside him. "My beloved wanted it, so I bought it. It's not that much money."

The woman at his side smiled sweetly for the camera, her cheeks slowly turning pink. "It's because I like it that Lance made the purchase," she said softly. "He's my first love, and I'm his."

The crowd stirred, a wave of astonishment rippling through the room. Many wore expressions of shock.

The auctioneer maintained his smile. "Really? If I'm not mistaken…" He paused for dramatic effect, letting the moment hang in the air.

He didn't need to say more. Anyone who had followed the news even a little would know that Lance was a married man. His wedding had been a spectacle of such grandeur that it was still hailed as the "wedding of the century," known by all.

And here this woman was, blushing and shyly declaring to everyone that this married man had spent a fortune casually to make her happy.

Wasn't this, in every sense, a public admission of his infidelity?

The wealthy crowd didn't seem shocked by his presence here, as if they had long known something I hadn't.

So was the bankruptcy a lie? A deception spun by the world to me?

At that moment, my mind was foggy, as though I had lost the ability to think.

Numb, I sprinted toward the lounge outside the auction hall, my legs screaming with prickling pain, but I didn't stop.

My hands trembling, I fumbled for my phone in the pocket of my discarded work clothes and quickly sent a message to Dr. Phie.

His reply hit me like a ton of bricks. He told me he'd left the country for a month-long training program last week and wasn't even in the country right now. He also revealed that Lance hadn't seen him for therapy since last year.

The words on the screen blurred as I collapsed to the floor, my body sinking, my breath shallow and erratic. My mind went blank.

Lance had been lying to me all along!

But why?

If he had a lover on the side, we could've just divorced. Why lie to me? Why pretend he had depression? Why go through the elaborate act of staging a financial downfall?

I used to live a life of luxury—untouched by hard labor, never worrying about anything. But since the day he started acting poor and pretending to have depression, I've been working myself to the bone, taking up odd jobs and part-time gigs just to support our household.

My once fair, rosy skin had been tanned, and my well-maintained hands were now rough and calloused—all of it because I believed I was caring for a man battling a made-up illness.

I had endured this grueling life for a year. In the past year, not a single person told me that it was all a farce.

I vividly recalled the humiliation I suffered while looking for jobs to help him "heal." And all the while, he stood on high, watching me panic and struggle for the sake of a sickness he had fabricated.

I couldn't understand it. I couldn't comprehend why he would do something so cruel.

My fingers moved on their own as I scrolled through my contacts and dialed Lance's number. It rang twice before the call was abruptly cut off.

A second later, his messages popped up on Telegram.

I opened the chat and read through, finally witnessing the extent of his deception firsthand.

"Sorry, honey. Dr. Phie's therapy sessions are too expensive. I don't want to waste any consultation time, so I hung up on you. I'll call you right after it's over.

"Oh, and by the way, you mentioned wanting some beef the other day. I'll pick some up from the supermarket after I'm done here. When I passed by earlier, I heard they were offering a 12% discount."

The phone kept vibrating, one message after another, all laced with lie after lie.

Lance, what game are you playing?

*

As I stepped outside, I was immediately confronted by the manager.

He stormed toward me, launching into a tirade. "Are you trying to slack off here? If you don't want to work, then just don't! No one's begging you to stay!"

His sudden outburst shocked me into silence, leaving me frozen in place.

In my daze, he shoved me a couple of times.

Wearing towering heels, I struggled to maintain my balance. Just when I felt I was about to fall, I collided against a broad chest.

Before I could react, a low, amused voice echoed above me. "Miss, how long do you plan to lean on me?"

Snapping back to reality, I sprang away like a spring, my face flushing hotter than fire. "I—I'm so sorry."

The manager, who had initially been impatient, shifted to a fawning demeanor upon seeing the newcomer. He pulled me aside and quickly addressed the man standing next to him with a forced humility. "Mr. Mendez, when did you return to the country? This server didn't hurt you, did she?"

Michael Mendez smiled warmly, shaking his head as his gaze settled on the manager's face.

"Isn't it because you pushed her that she bumped into me?"

Though his smile remained, there was an edge to it that made it clear he wasn't as friendly as before.

The manager, sensing he'd overstepped with this influential figure, forced a couple of awkward chuckles before deflecting the blame back to me. "My staff wasn't diligent enough, so I just had to give her a little reprimand."

He then turned to me, his tone now commanding. "What are you standing there for? Get back to work!"

After the auction ended, I unexpectedly stumbled upon a post on social media titled, "The Man Who Once Pursued Me Is Married, But I Regret It."

The cover photo featured a ring adorned with a small wave pattern. It was the very ring that Lance kept hanging around his neck, day and night.

Intrigued, I clicked on the post. The second image was a selfie of the poster.

I immediately recognized her as the woman who had been by Lance's side today.

The third photo appeared to have been taken recently. It showed their clasped hands adorned with the rings, the backdrop unmistakably that of the auction venue from earlier.

The caption read: "The man who once pursued me is now married. Now that I'm back in the country, I find that he's still willing to spend a fortune on gifts for me. Do we perhaps still stand a chance?"

In the comments, some users condemned her as a mistress, to which she replied, "We were lovers to begin with; I just went abroad. That woman used underhanded tactics to force my boyfriend to marry her. In the end, she's the real third party, right?"

Her words sparked a flood of responses, with hundreds criticizing her for being shameless. The repetition grew tiresome, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of fatigue.

All these years, Lance had clung to the token of his first love. What a testament to the vows of eternal love—what a repulsive tale of love-struck fools.

*

Lance returned to our small rented apartment long after midnight.

Since he had started pretending to be poor and sick, he had never come home this late.

I sat on the floor of the living room, eyes glued to the television. When I heard the sound of him entering, I didn't even bother to glance his way.

He seemed surprised, perhaps wondering why I wasn't rushing to greet him or inquiring about his health.

He placed his keys on the coffee table and bent down. As he did, I caught a whiff of something rare—there was a faint scent of alcohol mingling with the fresh fragrance of shower gel.

Perhaps he had indulged in a few drinks after meeting the first love he had longed for. As for what might have had happened next, well, as adults, we all knew.

He put the bag of beef he had brought home into the refrigerator and then walked toward me.

Sitting beside me, his voice carried a hint of guilt. "Sorry, I've been busy with my part-time job," he said. As he spoke, my gaze remained fixed on the television.

Suddenly, I was reminded of the month after our bankruptcy. During that time, he had been utterly dispirited, losing weight noticeably in just a few weeks. Out of necessity, I had taken him to the hospital for a check-up. Dr. Phie told me he had depression.

Since he had fallen into this state after our financial ruin, I had taken on all the responsibilities of making a living.

It seemed that a man's pride would not allow him to languish indefinitely while relying on a woman to support him. That was why he had found a part-time job, but even that was a lie.

I turned to look at him, searching for any hint of guilt in his eyes. Just a trace would do.

If I could see even the slightest glimmer, I wouldn't feel that all these years together had been for nothing.

Unfortunately, I saw nothing.

My gaze slowly drifted from his face down to his chin, neck, collarbone, and chest, finally settling on the ring on his left ring finger.

A sudden smile crept onto my lips as I raised my hand to push aside the collar of his shirt that obscured his neck. "Where's your necklace?"

Lance froze, caught off guard by my question. When he regained his composure, he began to evade my eyes, his right hand instinctively covering the ring on his left hand.

"The red string broke while I was working today... so I took the ring off and put it on my finger," he said, keeping his head lowered, clearly avoiding my gaze.

I had expected that by asking him this question, I would give him an opportunity to confess everything. Instead, he chose to mask one lie with another. But now, seeing his guilt and his reluctance to reveal the whole truth, my patience wore thin.

I withdrew all my affection and sense of responsibility, then spoke firmly, "Lance, let's get a divorce."

When I said this, it seemed he hadn't fully grasped what I meant. The smile on his face remained, though it faded as he began to comprehend my words.

His grin gradually stiffened, the corners of his mouth dropping until he wore an expression of disbelief. "Wh... what?"

My tone was resolute. "I want a divorce."

His breathing quickened, panic rising in his voice. "Why?"

Why? How dare he even ask?

Anger bubbled within me, and I couldn't help but laugh, bitterly. "Lance, how many times have you seen Dr. Phie this year for psychological counseling?"