Chapter 2

"Have some of this and try to sleep. We can catch a film tomorrow. The January releases are supposed to be excellent," William remarked, his voice overly cheerful.

Too tired to protest, I muttered, "Okay."

"I'll see if my folks want to come along," I added nonchalantly.

"Don't bother," he swiftly replied. "Those movies aren't for their generation. It's best if it's just us younger folks."

The following day, I was running behind after gathering a few items. When I finally approached the vehicle, I was stunned to see Anne already occupying the front seat.

Blankly, I gestured at her and inquired, "Why are you in the front?"

That's MY spot. She must know that.

Anne looked at me, her face instantly adopting a helpless, guiltless look. "Claire, I get motion sickness. I've always needed to sit up front to avoid it," she said sweetly, even reaching for the door as if to exit. "I'll switch with you right away."

Before she could, William halted her, grasping her arm. "You get carsick, so you should stay there. Claire doesn't."

"Get in already," he added impatiently. "We'll be late for the movie."

I observed the interaction in frigid silence, said nothing and got into the back.

The entire journey was wrapped in an uncomfortable, stifling quiet. No one spoke.

At the cinema, the film turned out to be excruciatingly boring. As it dragged on, my eyes grew heavy and I started to doze off.

As someone nearby got up to use the restroom, they accidentally nudged me. I turned my head instinctively—and there it was again. Concealed by the dim theater lighting, William and Anne were kissing passionately, completely absorbed in each other.

After the movie concluded, I headed straight for the bathroom. Anne followed me in.

The fury and shame I had been containing for so long finally burst forth. I couldn't restrain it anymore.

Fixing her with a burning stare, I demanded, "Why are you fooling around with William behind my back? What's wrong with you?"

She met my gaze with an unsettling composure, a trace of arrogance in her eyes. "You two can't marry," she said, her tone harsh and unapologetic. "He's already been unfaithful. Even if he claims to love you, a man like that will never be loyal."

Her words ignited my rage. My voice rose as I yelled, "And who's to blame for that? If it weren't for YOU, he wouldn't have become like this!"

Blinded by anger, I reached out and seized her hair, pulling hard as we tumbled into a heated scuffle.

Hearing the disturbance, William rushed into the restroom. His eyes darted between us, his brows creased in irritation.

"What on earth are you two doing?" he snapped. Grabbing my arm, he pulled me back.

"Claire Loft, look at yourself! You're behaving like a complete madwoman. Do you realize how mortifying you are right now? You look like nothing but a shameless harpy!"

His words struck like a blow, leaving me speechless as my anger clashed with a deep, gut-wrenching ache.

My hand froze mid-action and it was only then I noticed the glaring red mark on her face.

When we arrived home, my family naturally inquired about it. Anne, in a hushed voice, dismissed it, "Oh, I got scratched while feeding a stray cat."

William didn't give me a chance to react. He seized my arm and dragged me into the bedroom, his tone filled with exasperation and reproach.

"Claire, what's the matter with you lately? Why are you always targeting Anne?"

Before I could even begin to explain, he interrupted me, "Stay here and reflect on your actions."

With that, he grabbed his jacket, left with Anne and rushed her to the hospital. He didn't return that night.

I lay in bed, my mind swirling with recollections. I thought about the loving words he used to say, the tender moments we had shared, the way he once cared for me. Looking back now, it felt like a ridiculous charade—none of it was genuine.

We had been together since my second year of university. To be with him, I had made sacrifices. I declined a far better job offer and relocated to his city, believing wholeheartedly that it was the beginning of our happiness.

But now, it was painfully evident: it had all been a deception. He had been lying to me all along.