Chapter 1

Tags: Betrayal, Separation Anxiety, Caught in the Act, Regretful Ex, Female Revenge

Ever since my fiancé, Ethan Vance, rescued my best friend Chloe from a mudslide, she claimed she developed severe separation anxiety.

He had to drive her to and from work every day. He had to hold her purse while shopping.

She even demanded that he stand outside her bathroom door while she showered, claiming the sound of water triggered panic attacks and made it impossible to breathe.

Whenever I showed the slightest frustration, Chloe would drop to her knees, sobbing:

"I'm so sorry, Elena. I can't control it... I'm so useless..."

Ethan would sigh, wrap his arms around me, and reassure me over and over again:

"I'm only helping because she's your best friend."

"I just saved her life, Elena. There is nothing between us."

Because of Chloe’s supposed trauma, I compromised again and again.

Finally, I managed to get Ethan to sit down and discuss our upcoming wedding timeline.

We had barely taken our seats when Chloe rushed in, clutching her chest, claiming another anxiety flare-up.

And Ethan actually sat there, letting Chloe rewrite and change every single detail of our wedding.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I excused myself to the restroom to fix my makeup.

On my way back, I saw Ethan coming out from paying the bill.

Chloe had her fingers hooked into his tie, pulling him down into a passionate kiss.

And his hands were wrapped tightly around her waist, his eyes dripping with tender affection.

Right then, I knew.

There would be no wedding.

Seeing me standing there, Chloe pulled Ethan even closer and flashed me a smug, triumphant smirk.

In that instant, the truth hit me like a slap in the face. She had been faking her illness the entire time.

I used to have nightmares about losing Ethan and Chloe—the two people I loved most. I would wake up in tears.

Every single time, Ethan would wake up, pull me against his chest, and whisper sweet reassurances until I fell back asleep.

Yet now, watching him slip away with my own eyes, I felt an eerie, unprecedented calm.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo as evidence, and quietly walked away.

Back in my car, I scrolled through my gallery and permanently deleted nearly fifty thousand photos of us.

Staring at the empty album, a dull, delayed ache throbbed in my chest.

I drove straight to our newly purchased bridal house. The moving truck I had booked was already parked out front.

While the movers bustled around loading up my belongings, I wandered aimlessly through the rooms. My feet led me into the study, where my gaze fell upon an old, worn poetry anthology on the desk.

This was the very first gift Ethan gave me after returning from abroad, back when he fell for me at first sight.

At the time, I wasn't interested in him at all. I treated him like thin air.

Yet, after discovering my passion for poetry, he took writing workshops for six straight months, filling this notebook with 108 handwritten love poems just for me.

Alongside the poems, I had scribbled little notes in the margins, recording every sweet, touching thing he had done since we started dating.

Only four blank pages remained at the end. I had cherished this book so much that I hesitated to write on them.

Now, as I flipped to the very back cover, my entire body froze.

There was a faint, printed line:

[All poems generated by AI. Do not take seriously.]

A bone-chilling cold instantly washed over me.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Ethan finally realized I was gone.

"Elena? Why did you leave without telling me? Are you feeling sick?"

My throat felt parched. "No."

He let out a relieved breath, his tone laced with mild complaint.

"Good. You have no idea—Chloe had another panic attack right after you left. I had to run around catering to her, buying her favorite boba and taking her to a movie."

"She cried all over my shirt. Honestly, if she weren't your best friend, I wouldn't bother putting up with her."

He sounded like he was complaining, but the sheer adoration and pampering in his voice were impossible to hide.

The old Ethan wouldn't even buy her a drink. Whenever Chloe got too close, he would hide behind me and scroll through his phone in annoyance.

Back then, I had to nudge his foot under the table just to get him to take off his AirPods and greet her.

Once Chloe walked away, he would scoff:

"She's way too manipulative, Elena. Keep your guard up around her."

After the accident, Chloe claimed she couldn't survive without Ethan by her side.

Ethan had refused at first. It was me who kissed him, comforted him, and spent a whole week convincing him to help her.

I thought it was a chance to clear his prejudice against my best friend.

That was why I had never, not even once, suspected they were sleeping together behind my back.

Lost in bitter memories, I stayed silent.

Click. He hung up on me.

A sharp pang hit my chest.

Ethan once told me that the last call his late mother ever made was cut short because he was too impatient as a child. Ever since, he swore he would never hang up on me first.

Turns out, promises have expiration dates.

I opened my contacts and dialed a number I hadn't called in months: Professor Catherine.

"Professor, is that research spot in your fellowship program still open? I'd love to join your team."

I had previously turned down the prestigious offer because of the wedding and settling down. But now, all I wanted was to run far, far away.

Within seconds, she sent over a business-class flight ticket. Then came an excited voice note:

[I cannot wait to see you in London in two days, Elena.]