Sorry, I’m Done. You Broke Me.

I grew up thinking Wilmer and I were meant to last forever. We were engaged at birth, never apart, not even for a single day.

But everything started to change the day the fire broke out. He had gone into the stables, and when the flames spread, the smoke nearly suffocated him. He would have burned alive if not for her… Madonna, a servant girl. She dragged him out, coughing and halfconscious, her arms blackened with soot. From then on, everything went wrong.

His father said; “If you want to marry Lucille, you must keep Madonna by your side until the favor is repaid.” And Wilmer agreed. For me. For our future. That is what he told me.

He even made some strange promise with Madonna, that if she was ever unhappy, he would rush to her side no matter what. At the time, I thought it was silly. How often could someone be unhappy? But I was wrong. With her, unhappiness seemed endless.

The first time she complained was on my birthday. She looked at me and said softly, almost sadly, “I’ve never had a party this grand.” And just like that, Wilmer turned to me.

“Lucille, please… let Madonna have the party. Just this once.”

I froze. It was my birthday. Mine. But I gave it away. I gave it away because he begged me, and because I thought if I said no, he’d be disappointed.

Later, I told him through tears, “Maybe we should just cancel the engagement.”

He panicked. He lit up the whole city with fireworks that night, tens of millions spent just to stop me from leaving. He dropped to his knees and whispered, “Everything I’m doing, Lucille, it’s so I can marry you sooner. Don’t doubt me.”

I believed him. I always believed him.

The second time, Madonna came to see our wedding house. She touched the walls, looked around with wide eyes, and said, “I’ve never seen a place so beautiful.”

Wilmer gave it to her. Just like that. He turned to me that night, pulling me close like it was nothing, and whispered, “I’ll get you another one, Lucille. A bigger one. Just wait for me a little longer.”

So I waited. And waited. I watched as he gave away our wedding house, our car, even the cats we had planned to raise together. Everything was taken from me and handed to her. And every time, he promised to replace it with something more.

By the one hundred nightyninth time, my heart was already threadbare. Still, I clung to hope. That day was supposed to be the last. The favor was finally repaid, and I sat outside the City Clerk’s Office all morning, waiting for him to come so we could finally get our marriage certificate.

But he never came. Instead, I saw the news that he had spent tens of millions on a red diamond. A perfect diamond. The kind that symbolizes “a gift for only one person in a lifetime.” And he gave it to her. Madonna.

My chest went cold. I picked up the phone and called him with shaking fingers.

“Wwilmer, let's not get married.”

He laughed. “Lucille, you’re throwing another tantrum? Threatening me again?” Then he lowered his voice like he always did when she was near, teasing her. “Be good, Lucille. I’ll come back to you after I’ve repaid her.”

Those words.

Again.

Always those words. I’d heard them for five damn years, and I had swallowed them every single time.

This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I just hung up. Calmly.

He thought I was still sulking. He then sent someone to deliver a bigger diamond to me, as if that would fix everything. He thought I was jealous. He thought I was petty. He thought I would wait again.

But what he didn’t know was that this was my last chance.

When I got home, I called my aunt in France. “I’ve decided already. I agree with the marriage you mentioned last time.”

I could hear her crying on the other end. She kept saying thank you, over and over. She was so happy, so relieved.

And I sat there, phone pressed to my ear, smiling a little even though my heart felt like ashes.

Because for once, I wasn’t waiting anymore.

But mixed in with those gifts were all the things he gave me only because of Madonna. The diamonds, the purses, the shoes—gifts meant to soothe me after he had already given something precious of ours to her. At first, I treasured them, but tonight I packed every single thing into boxes.

These were once my most precious memories, but not anymore. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want any of it.

By midnight, everything was taped up and ready. I told my assistant to deliver the boxes straight to Wilmer. After that, I opened the cabinet, reached inside, and pulled out the signet ring. The token. The thing that had always symbolized our two families’ bond. My hands trembled, but I held it tightly as I drove to the apartment that was supposed to be our wedding home.

The code on the door was still the same. His birthday, then mine. My chest hurt when I pressed the buttons, but I went in anyway.

The sound of the lock startled him. He came out of the bedroom, his eyes wide when he saw me. “Lucy?” He looked almost relieved, his lips curving into a smile. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me. Do you not like the diamond? If you don’t, I’ll buy you something else. And… yesterday wasn’t the right date. I already asked someone to pick a new one for the certificate.”

I didn’t answer his excuses. I just looked at him and pointed to the boxes I had pushed inside. “I came to return something.”

His smile faltered. His brows pulled together like he was annoyed. Before he could say anything, I heard footsteps. Light, quick, and careless.

Madonna came running down from upstairs barefoot. She clung to his waist without hesitation.

My whole body went cold.

And now she was wearing it. Smiling. Holding him.

She looked at me as if she had just noticed I was there, then pressed her cheek to his back, pretending to be shy. “Why didn’t you tell me someone was here? Look at me, I must look ridiculous.”

Wilmer frowned and tried to loosen her grip, but she only held on tighter. And the pride in her eyes when she looked at me… she wasn’t even hiding it.

I forced myself to look away. “I’m just here to return things. If it’s convenient, please give me the token back.”

I held out the signet ring to him. The symbol of everything I thought would last.

He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he might finally drop the act. But instead, he tightened his grip on her hand and sneered. “Do you think I’m free right now?”

The air in my lungs felt too heavy to breathe. I gripped the box tighter, trying to stop the trembling. I had told myself I was ready to walk away, but seeing this still cracked something deep inside me.

I remembered the first time we fought because of her. He had fallen on his knees back then, swearing that everything he did was just to repay a debt, that it was only temporary, that he was only delaying our wedding so he could marry me sooner.

But Madonna’s debt never ended. It grew and grew until it swallowed everything I was supposed to have with him.

Tonight, the last snowflake fell, and the avalanche finally broke free.

And I could finally let go.

I placed the signet ring down on the table, forcing my hand not to shake. “Then when it’s convenient for you, just have someone deliver it to me.”

I had planned to talk seriously, to finally say the words let’s end this, but then I saw Madonna’s nails clutching at his shirt, clinging to him like she owned him, and I saw his body stiffen under her touch. My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might throw up. I couldn’t stand there any longer. I turned and started walking out.

“Wait.”

His voice was sharp, cutting through the room. I froze.

“Are you really going to break off the engagement with me?” His tone was dark, like a warning.

I turned my head just slightly, enough so he could hear me clearly. “Yes.”

I caught the curve of his lips, that mocking little sneer. He stepped forward suddenly and kicked the boxes stacked against the wall, “If you’re breaking off the engagement, then what are you keeping this trash for?”

He was staring at me, waiting. Waiting for me to crumble, waiting for me to cry like I had so many times before.

But I didn’t. “You’re right. There’s no need to keep them. If they bother you, throw them away yourself.”

His fists tightened so hard I heard his knuckles crack. “Why would I touch your things? Take them all away yourself, so you don’t have an excuse to come crawling back, pretending you forgot something.”

“Okay…”

I walked into the bedroom, numb, and started gathering every little piece of myself from the room. This was supposed to be our wedding room. Every shelf, every drawer, every corner held memories we had built together since we were children. Now I was erasing myself, piece by piece.

When my eyes fell on the red bedsheet, wrinkled and stained, my stomach lurched. I covered my mouth, choking back the bile. That sheet… it was proof. Proof of what they had done here. Proof of his betrayal.

My tears fall but I swallowed hard, and forced myself to calm.

From the living room, I heard them. Giggling. Laughing like some lovers… They wanted me to hear. They wanted to break me.

I kept my face blank, kept folding, and kept packing. When everything of mine was gone, I closed the bedroom door gently.

Just as it clicked shut, his voice reached me again. “Lucille. You once promised me you’d do something for me unconditionally. Does that still count?”

My heart stopped for a moment. My mind flew back to the summer after the college exams. A sudden storm had swollen the river near our town, and I had tried to cross it, thinking I could make it to the other side. The current nearly dragged me under. He had jumped in without a second thought, grabbing me with one arm while the other tore against jagged rocks. Blood had run freely, but he had smiled through the pain so I wouldn’t feel guilty.

I had promised then, with tears in my eyes, that I’d do something for him one day, anything he asked, no questions.

Back then he had said, All I want is for Lucy to be happy for the rest of her life.

I had laughed and told him to pick something for himself. But he had just smiled and said, As long as you’re with me, I don’t need anything else.

And now here he was. Looking at me while kissing her forehead softly. “Maddie wants cherry cake from the Sun Valley. Go buy them.”

I stared at him. I stared so hard I thought I’d burn a hole through him. Then I whispered, “Alright.”

Even this wish, this one favor I owed him—it was for her. Always her.

That was fine. That way, there would be nothing left between us.

When I stepped outside, the New York sky had opened up. Snow was falling fast, thick flakes sticking to my hair and lashes. I gritted my teeth, climbed into the car, and drive.

My driving had never been strong, and with the streets slick and the snow coming down harder every block, I almost crashed more than once.

I finally bought the cherry cake after slipping on the icy sidewalks more times than I could count. My fingers were numb from the cold, and I could barely feel the box in my hands. When I handed it over, Madonna took one bite, scrunched her face, and spat it into a napkin.

“It’s cold. It tastes so bad!” she whined.

Wilmer didn’t say a word. He just brushed the whole box into the trash then bent down to scoop her up in his arms. “Come on, I’ll take you to the restaurant to eat.”

I stood there quietly, holding myself together, when he glanced back at me, impatience written all over his face. “Why are you just standing there? Get in the car.”

I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. I slid into the back seat, pressed my head against the cold glass, and tried to shut everything out.

The whole ride, Madonna giggled and leaned against him, whispering things in his ear, and he let her. My head was heavy, the noise of their laughter dull in my ears. I thought if I closed my eyes long enough, maybe I could pretend none of this was real.

Then suddenly, headlights blinded us. A car from the opposite lane spun out on the ice and came skidding straight toward us.

Wilmer didn’t hesitate. He turned the wheel, swerving hard, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. The moment before impact, he threw himself over Madonna, holding her close beneath him.

The crash rang in my ears like thunder. My body slammed against the seat, pain shooting through me. I saw blood dripping down his forehead, but all I could really see was him. Him holding her. Him protecting her.

My lips trembled, and the world went dark.

.....

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A stranger told me they had found me unconscious and brought me here. I stayed there for a week. Not once did Wilmer show up.

But every day, I saw Madonna’s posts. Photos of him at her bedside, holding her hand, feeding her soup. Her words cut sharper than the pain in my body.

“I didn’t expect that between life and death, he would choose me.”

“He wanted to see you, but I said I had a headache, so he stayed.”

“Lucille, I will make sure I’m the only one in his heart.”

I blocked her. I blocked him too.

Before, I thought maybe we could part peacefully, still carry some piece of the love we once had. But after this, I knew. I never wanted to see him again. Not even once in this lifetime.

The day after I was discharged, it was his mother’s birthday. I wanted to stay away, to cut every tie with the Prestons, but his mother kept calling. She begged me to come, even said if I didn’t, she wouldn’t celebrate at all.

She has always been good to me. After my parents died, she treated me like her own daughter. I couldn’t ignore her, not when she was the only warmth I had left in that house. And besides, if I was going to end this engagement, I had to say it in front of her and his father. They deserved to hear it from me.

So I agreed.

His mother loved big, lively occasions. By the time I arrived, her birthday party was already grand and noisy, lights glittering, laughter spilling through the house like nothing had ever broken in it.

The second I stepped into the Preston manor, the sight hit me like a slap. Madonna was holding Wilmer’s arm, steadying him as if he could not walk on his own. His voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of the party.

Then Madonna strode her way to me.

“Look at yourself. You nearly got yourself killed just to protect me.”

My stomach tightened. Before I could even move away, Madonna turned her gaze on me, her lips twisting into a smile I had seen too many times.

“Wilmer’s mum is so on your side, you must feel very proud,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery.

I frowned and tried to pull my arm free, but she clung tighter, her nails biting into my skin.

“She is only on your side because of your mother. If we’re being honest, your parents were shortlived, weren’t they? They’re gone. How long do you think that friendship can last? Once I secure Wilmer, do you really think she would go against her own son just for you?”

Something in me snapped. My parents were the one place no one was allowed to touch. Before I even thought about it, my hand came down hard across her face. The sound cracked through the air.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she staggered back. She covered her cheek and ran straight into Wilmer’s arms, sobbing.

“I only told her not to stay angry at you,” she wailed, “but she said I should not care at all. That you are nothing in her eyes.”

Wilmer’s face darkened instantly. He looked at me like I was a stranger.

“LUCILLE. APOLOGIZE.”

I let out a bitter laugh. The man who used to protect me at all costs now stood shielded around someone else. I stared at them both, then turned to leave. I wanted no part in their twisted little play.

But Wilmer’s hand clamped onto my wrist so tightly it felt like my bones might break. His grip hurt, but what hurt more was his silence, the way he stood there believing her.

I raised my eyes to him and forced each word out. “I hit her because she called my parents shortlived. And as for you, she is right. Someone who sides with her without even asking the truth is nothing to me.”

I pried his fingers off one by one, refusing to let him cage me in, and walked away.

By the time I reached the stairs, a single tear slipped down before I could stop it. I remembered his friend, years ago, who had tried the same trick, painting me as cruel. Wilmer had not hesitated then. He had defended me, even pulled out the security footage just so his family would never misunderstand me. Back then, I thought he would always stand by me. Now he did not even ask. He just believed her.

I dug my nails into my palm, anything to stop the tears. I wanted to leave right then, to walk out and never look back. But Wilmer’s mother kept asking me to stay, her soft voice pleading. She had been good to me since I was a child. After my parents died, she treated me like her own. How could I turn my back on her now?

So I slipped away from the crowd, searching for a quiet place to sit, to hide. Somewhere I could breathe before I broke completely.

After the broken engagement came out, I could tell Mrs. Preston was terrified that Wilmer would just go running back to Madonna. She didn’t want that door to close forever between me and him, so she kept pulling Wilmer to stay by my side during every part of the banquet. Which left Madonna stranded, sulking in the corner.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as some drunk rich boy stumbled up to her, insisting on making friends. He wouldn’t leave her alone, and the crowd around them just pretended not to see. They had all witnessed what happened earlier, and not one person was willing to step in. Madonna’s eyes got red, her lip trembling like she might cry.

Then suddenly, Wilmer appeared out of nowhere and landed a hard punch straight into the boy’s face. The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw.

“Wilmer! You wouldn’t let me touch Lucille, and now you won’t let me touch her either?” he shouted. “Lucille is your fiancée, but who the hell is this one to you?”

Wilmer just stared at him for two long seconds, then let his gaze slide, quick, in my direction. His jaw clenched.

“SHE’S MINE.”

The room went still. My chest tightened.

And then like some cruel twist I watched him pull Madonna into his arms and crush his mouth against hers in front of everyone. The kiss was rough, loud, and when he pulled back, she clung to him like she would collapse without him.

“If anyone dares to bully Madonna again,” Wilmer declared, “I will never let them go.”

I felt the room shift. People who just hours ago had defended me now rushed to stand at his side, surrounding Madonna like she was a queen. My stomach twisted so painfully I thought I might be sick. I couldn’t breathe anymore.

I ran to the bathroom, shut myself inside, and covered my mouth to hold back the sobs, but the tears still fell heavy and fast. I cried until my chest ached.

Finally, I sent Mrs. Preston a text, apologizing. I told her I wasn’t feeling well and would come back another day to chat. Then I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

I barely made it two steps before someone yanked my wrist.

It was Felix, the same drunk Wilmer had punched earlier. His lips curled into a wicked grin as his eyes raked over me.

“Actually,” his voice low and taunting, “compared to that Madonna, I’ve always liked you more. I only stayed away because Wilmer guarded you like his precious treasure. But now he’s protecting someone else. If you’re willing, I’ll take you in.”

My skin crawled. I pulled my wrist back hard. “I don’t want to. And this is the Preston manor. I’d advise you not to be reckless here.”

His eyes darkened. The punch Wilmer had given him earlier must have been burning in his head. He lunged, shoving me back toward the bathroom wall, and then his mouth crashed against mine.

I struggled desperately, my hands shaking as I reached for the emergency button on the wall. Somehow, I hit it.

The phone connected almost instantly.

“Wilmer! Felix won’t leave me alone, come quickly—”

But all I heard was a sneer on the other end.

“Maddy was harassed by him, and now you too? Lucy, since when did you start playing tricks like this?”

My breath caught. “I didn’t! He really is—”

The line cut off.

I froze, ice sinking into my veins. Wilmer hung up on me.

Felix’s hands tightened, dragging me toward the bathroom. Panic roared in my ears. I grabbed the nearest decoration hanging on the wall and smashed it against him with all my strength.

He shouted in pain and loosened his grip. I bolted, stumbling into the bathroom, slamming the door, and locking it with trembling hands. My whole body shook as I called Mrs. Preston and begged her to send someone.

She arrived fast. She ordered servants to drag Felix out while he cursed and kicked. The sound of his rage faded, and I collapsed against the door, drained.

Mrs. Preston didn’t scold me. She didn’t even ask. She just told the servants to take me upstairs to change. And When the banquet ended, she insisted on sending me home herself.

At the car, she reached out, fixing my hair the way my mother used to. “Before you go to Europe , come visit me more often,” she whispered. Her eyes were wet, but all she let out was a soft sigh. “I’ll send your token later.”

I nodded, thanked her with all the strength I had left, and slid into the car.

We were still a ways from my apartment when the driver’s phone rang. I didn’t mean to listen, but Wilmer’s voice carried through the speaker, sharp and urgent.

“Turn back immediately! Madonna has a stomachache. She needs to go to the hospital now.”

I turned my face toward the window, silent. It was always her. Always.

The driver glanced at me in the mirror and spoke softly, almost like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. “But Madam said that Miss Lucille was frightened today. She told me to take her home first.”

“You’re the Preston family’s driver. Since when do you care about outsiders? Huh!”

Outsider.

My hands gripped the strap of my bag so tight my knuckles turned white. That was what I was now. Just an outsider.

I didn’t want to make things harder for the driver, so I told him to just let me out.

He hesitated for only a second then pulled to the side. The cold air slapped me when I stepped onto the pavement. A second later, the taillights disappeared into the night.

I walked slowly down the road, my scarf pulled tight around me. I’d had some wine at the banquet, and my mind drifted where it shouldn’t. I remembered Mrs. Preston’s last birthday, how everyone had teased us about what I’d look like in a wedding dress, what kind of baby Wilmer and I would have. I’d been so happy that day, I drank too much and ended up doubled over with stomach pains.

It was storming that night, no taxis, the driver was off duty, and Wilmer wasn’t allowed to use the family car. He didn’t care. He carried me on his back through the icy streets all the way to the hospital. He wouldn’t even let me cry.

Now, a year later, the same Wilmer could leave me standing on the roadside for Madonna.

My nose stung. I pulled my scarf tighter and kept walking. By the time I reached my apartment, my body was stiff from the cold.

I was just about to unlock the door when a hand suddenly covered my eyes from behind. “Guess who?”

My heart leapt, but I forced myself not to scream. I pried his hand off calmly, my face blank.

It was Wilmer.

He frowned when he saw I wasn’t going to play along. Slowly, he lowered his hand, almost awkward, and pulled a small box from his pocket. “My mom said you left something behind,” he said, turning it over in his hand. “She made me bring it. What is it?”

He flipped the box in his fingers, curiosity all over his face, and I saw he was about to open it.

My breath caught. That box… it was the token of trust my mother had exchanged with the Prestons before she died.

I lunged forward and snatched it from his hands.

His frown deepened. “Lucille, are you hiding something from me?”

The sharp corners of the box dug into my palm as I clutched it. Wilmer and I once promised never to keep secrets from each other. Until Madonna. She came, and suddenly he lied. And then he lied again.

I held the box tighter, the ache spreading from my hand into my chest. I looked up at him. “It’s not a secret. But there’s no reason for me to tell you.”

We weren’t anything anymore.

I turned away, reaching for my door, wanting this night to end.

But he was faster. Wilmer grabbed my bag, yanked it open, and pulled the box out again. “Is this necessary?” His tone was mocking now. “What is this, huh? Some gift from a man outside? Is that why you don’t want me to see it?”

Something in me snapped. I didn’t even think. I reached up on my toes, desperate, trying to grab it back before he could open it.

Wilmer liked it when I did this, I could tell. It reminded him of the way he used to tease me back then, when we weren’t fighting all the time. I would throw myself into his arms, laugh, and beg for whatever he had taken from me. He used to love that.

This time, he caught my hand and steadied me so I wouldn’t fall. But when I looked up, his eyes caught mine, and I knew mine were red. His smile froze.

“You cried just because I wanted to see it?” he asked quietly.

I pressed my lips together. I only wanted him to look and give it back. That was all. Before I could even explain, his phone started ringing.

It rang once, then stopped. Rang again, then stopped. Again and again, like it wouldn’t let him breathe. I glanced down and saw the name flashing across the screen. Madonna.

Wilmer shifted, growing restless. The more it rang, the more anxious he looked. Finally, he turned to leave. Without thinking, I reached for the corner of his jacket, holding on as if for once I could keep him here. His body stilled, and for a second he looked surprised.

Then the phone rang again, and he sighed.

“Madonna keeps calling. I don’t know what’s wrong, maybe something happened. She’s all alone, I should go—”

“Give me back my things and leave,” I cut in.

His face darkened, and I saw the words he wanted to say die in his throat. The phone wouldn’t stop, and finally he shoved the box into my hands. Roughly. Carelessly. The lid popped open, and a yellowed piece of paper slipped out, floating to the floor.

He glanced at it, then walked out without another word.

I bent down, picked it up, and saw what it was. Our marriage certificate that needed his signature. I tore it into pieces before I could think twice. The scraps fell into the trash can, along with whatever was left of us.

After that, I knew I had to leave. There was nothing for me here anymore. No relatives, no family. Only this city that had turned so cold. I had to sell everything before I went.

My parents’ apartment, and the wedding house Wilmer had given me. Both our names were on it, and that meant I couldn’t just walk away. I had to face him one last time.

I sent him a message. No reply. I waited, but time wasn’t something I had. I didn’t want to come back to New York again just to handle this. So I opened his profile, looking for where he’d been. But the moment I clicked, I saw it. I had been blocked.

The air punched out of me. I thought of calling his mother, but she only told me Wilmer hadn’t gone home since that night.

So I swallowed my pride and messaged Madonna. “I need to talk to Wilmer. Please tell him and let me know.”

Her reply came instantly, like she had been waiting. An address.

It was a villa. The holiday home that was ours. Our secret place, where no one else was allowed. Where I had kissed him for the first time. Where he promised me this place would always belong only to us.

But Madonna had gone there too.

I told myself not to think, not to feel, and I drove. The road curved through the quiet trees, but when I arrived, the quiet was gone. Laughter spilled everywhere, strangers filling the house that used to be ours.

I walked along the path, my chest aching. Then I saw them.

Madonna, halfkneeling, her lips brushing Wilmer’s cheek. “Thank you for inviting my friends here,” she said sweetly.

He started to pull away, but his eyes lifted and found me.

The kiss still burned on his face. And all I could think of was that night, when I kissed him first. My clumsy little thankyou kiss, right here in this villa. He’d smiled so warmly, and after that, he always asked for kisses whenever he made me happy.

Every tree, every wall here had seen our love.

And now they were about to witness the end.

I waited until Madonna finally pulled back from him before I stepped closer. My hands trembled a little as I held out the papers.

“You bought our wedding house,” I said quietly. “Since we’re done, I should return it to you. Take a look. If you don’t want it, I can buy it back at market price.”

Wilmer’s eyes turned sharp and cold. His knuckles cracked as he gripped the document like it was something filthy. He stared at me for a long time before speaking.

“Anything else?”

I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “I still have some things there. I’d like to take them this time.”

His face darkened, like I had said something unforgivable.

Madonna covered her mouth and let out a fake little gasp. “Oh no. I thought everything in that room was just useless junk. I already moved it all to the storage room. Want me to take you there?”

I nodded politely. “Thank you.”

She smiled sweetly and touched Wilmer’s shoulder as if he belonged to her. She tried to stand, but the moment she moved, Wilmer caught her wrist.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed. She pouted. “Why are you so clingy?”

I lowered my eyes and walked ahead, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. The storage room was the smallest one in the house. Cramped, airless, barely enough space for two people.

Wilmer leaned against the doorframe, watching me with cold eyes as I picked through my things. His silence pressed down like a weight.

Madonna bent down beside me, pretending to help. Her perfume suffocated me in the narrow space. Her voice came out soft, but sharp enough to cut.

“You’ve found so many excuses just to see him again. You really haven’t given up, have you? Fine. I’ll help you.”

Before I could even react, she brushed against the shelf, and a box tumbled from the top.

I barely had time to move.

Wilmer’s pupils shrank, and he rushed in. But not for me. He grabbed Madonna, pulling her tightly into his arms.

The box missed her by an inch. Instead, it slammed into my shoulder, hard enough to knock me off my feet. Pain shot through me, white and blinding.

I collapsed on the floor.

Wilmer frowned, just frowned, then turned back to Madonna. He lifted her as if she were made of glass, her arm only scratched, and hurried her outside. I heard him call for a car, his voice sharp with worry but none of it for me.

The pain spread until I couldn’t move. My breathing grew shallow, my vision fading. Before the darkness took me, one thought brought me a strange kind of peace.

It’s good I don’t love him anymore.

If I don’t love him, I won’t cry because he chose her when I needed him most.

If I don’t love him, I can finally stop waiting for him to save me.

When Madonna’s friends saw her tiny scratch, they all rushed with Wilmer to the hospital. No one looked back.

I don’t know how long I lay there. It wasn’t until the next morning that the maid found me. Her eyes went wide with shock as she called for an ambulance. She must have panicked, because she also called Wilmer.

“Mr. Wilmer,” I heard her say faintly on the phone. “Miss Lucille was badly hurt and collapsed in the storage room. The ambulance is on the way. Do you want to come see her?”

There was a pause. Then his cold voice, flat and final. “Why should I go? The ambulance is coming. It has nothing to do with me anymore.”

The maid tried again, but he only snapped, “Make sure she and her things are cleared out properly. I don’t want her dirtying my place.”

The line went dead.

I lay there, lips pale, heart strangely calm. So this was what it meant. I really would disappear completely from his world.

The doctors later said my injuries weren’t lifethreatening. Still, the maid didn’t know who else to call. In the end, she reached out to Wilmer’s mother.

When his mother heard, she rushed over in a panic. She stayed by my side the whole night, caring for me in a way her son never would.

I woke up to the sound of raised voices outside my room. The corridor was quiet, so every word carried straight into me.

“You bastard!” it was his mother’s voice, sharp with anger. “I don’t care where you are. If you still want any chance of making things right with Lucy, come here and take care of her immediately. If you let this slip, she’ll never forgive you!”

For a second, I almost held my breath, waiting. Hoping.

Then his voice came through, low and cruel. “What does it matter if she forgives me? The engagement is over. Her things are gone. Even if she dies, I won’t bother showing up to her funeral.”

The phone clicked. Silence followed.

The door opened and his mother stepped in, her face flushed, her hands shaking a little. She looked embarrassed when her eyes found mine. “Lucy… Wilmer… you know how he is when he’s angry. He says things he doesn’t mean. Don’t let it get to you.”

I shook my head. No words left. She didn’t need to cover for him. He was right. We had no ties anymore. He’d already cut me off. I needed to do the same.

She sighed softly, like she knew there was no turning things back. Then she came closer, sat by my bed, and pulled out a folded list.

“Lucy,” she said gently, putting the paper in my hands. “These are dowries I’ve prepared for you. You’re going far, starting over on your own. You’ll need property, money, security. These things will give you confidence.”

My chest tightened. I shook my head quickly. “Mrs. Preston… I can’t accept this.”

Her hand covered mine, “If your mother hadn’t brought me out of that little village years ago, I wouldn’t be here today. I owe her… and I owe you. Besides, it was Wilmer who wronged you. As his mother, I need to make this right.”

Her eyes softened, “Once you’re in Europe, I’ll send someone to help you with the transfer.”

The door suddenly pushed open.

A familiar voice cut through the air. “Who’s going to the Europe?”

I froze, and lowered my lashes and kept my mouth shut. I didn’t look at him. I just pretended he wasn’t even standing there.

His mom glanced between us. She sighed. “It’s Lucy, she…”

He cut her off, his gaze sliding straight to me. “You’re going to Europe? Right. You mentioned before that you wanted to see your aunt. But your injuries are bad this time. It’s not good for you to travel yet. How about later? I’ll stay with you for a while, arrange things here, then go with you.”

A laugh almost slipped out of me, bitter and small. Yes, I had told him once that I wanted to go. He’d promised to come with me too. But he never showed.

Why? Because Madonna told him she envied me. She said I always had someone beside me while she, poor little Madonna, had never left her small village. She said she’d never seen the world. And because of that, Wilmer canceled his ticket behind my back and took her abroad instead. They travelled together and I was left all alone

I still remember that day... I waited until the last flight was gone, calling him over and over, thinking maybe something happened. My chest ached with worry. Then dawn came, and so did the photos. Him and Madonna at another airport. Smiling. Together.

Now, after all that, he stood here acting like he still wanted to go with me. I had nothing left to hope for.

I opened my mouth, ready to tell him the truth. That I wasn’t going to see family. That I was going to marry. That I wasn’t just leaving for a while. I was leaving New York for good. I’d never come back unless I had no choice.

But before the words could leave me, he sneered. “You don’t need me to go? Then who do you want? That pretty boy who gave you a gift the other day? Don’t tell me you’re going alone. You’re so clueless you can’t even read a boarding pass right. You’ll end up crying and begging me to pick you up.”

I let out a breath, heavy and tired. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I didn’t need him. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want him anywhere near my wedding.

But I never got the chance. His phone lit up and he glanced at it, his face softening in an instant. He turned away. “Alright, looks like you’ve got plenty of strength. That eases my mind. Maddie hates being alone, so I’ll go keep her company. As for Europe, I’ll go with you once you’re healed.”

He even smiled at his mother. “Thanks for taking care of your daughterinlaw, Mom.”

She shot him a cold look. “Get out.”

“Goodbye, Wilmer.” I said.

For some reason, that made him pause. His shoulders stiffened, then he turned back, like he thought I was forgiving him. Like he thought this was hope. His hand brushed over my hair.

“Goodbye, Lucy. I’ll bring you flower and cake tomorrow.”

I looked at him, long and steady, but he didn’t bother to see what was in my eyes. He just walked away, lighter on his feet, heading back to Madonna.

His mom watched him go, then turned back to me. The sigh she let out said more than words ever could.

Wilmer never showed up in my ward like he promised. He just sent some errand boy with a cake and a sunflower I hated because of my allergy.

I didn’t even bother looking at it. I handed it straight to the servant his mother hired to take care of me and went back to packing my things.

Half an hour earlier, I had seen Madonna’s post online. She was showing off again. She wrote that Felix found out she was in the hospital and came to bother her, but luckily Wilmer showed up like some knight and “saved” her.

She pretended to complain, saying she only got a little scratch and that Wilmer exaggerated everything, forcing her to stay in the hospital for a week. Then she giggled about how it gave Felix more chances to harass her. But in the end, she forgave Wilmer because he played hero, bought her favorite cake, and even apologized.

Underneath her post was a picture of Wilmer on one knee, smiling as he opened a cake box for her.

I pressed “like.” Then I blocked them both.

The servant came in just as I zipped my bag. “Miss Lucy, everything’s ready. The car is waiting downstairs. We can leave now.”

I nodded and followed quietly.

When the elevator stopped on the eighth floor, the doors slid open. Right in front of me, I saw Madonna lean in and kiss Wilmer’s cheek. He was standing by the door of her ward, smiling faintly.

I just watched. I felt nothing. No anger. No sadness. Just nothing.

A week later, I was supposed to fly out to Europe for marriage. I had said no so many times, but Wilmer’s mother wouldn’t listen. She insisted on a farewell party, even prepared a dress and jewelry for me. I had no choice but to stay a little longer and planned to leave for the airport right after the banquet.

That night, everyone from my childhood showed up. Everyone except Wilmer.

In the middle of the party, someone leaned close and whispered with a sly smile, “I thought you two really ended things. You said you broke off the engagement, and he’s been showing that servant woman all over the city. But now… after everything, you’re still tied together. Must be fate, huh?”

I frowned, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

They only blinked, then looked away without another word.

I could not make sense of it, so I stopped trying. I smiled, turned to the elders who had always looked after me, and gave them my thanks. Then I hugged my friends, one by one, and told them they were welcome to come to Europe for my wedding if they ever had the time.

“You and Wilmer are getting married here? Would Wilmer even allow that?”

I shook my head and smiled faintly. “Not with him.”

They all stared at each other, too shocked to ask more. I could feel their confusion hanging heavy in the air. To them, my life had always been tied to Wilmer. Since childhood, everyone knew he would be my husband. He made sure no one else ever came near me. If I wasn’t marrying him, then who could I possibly marry? I laughed bitterly.

The air turned awkward, but I didn’t mind. I glanced at the clock and excused myself, walking over to say goodbye to his mother.

As soon as I stepped out, I caught sight of one of my friends on the phone. “Where are you? Why didn’t you come tonight? Do you know Lucille—”

Wilmer’s voice cut through on the other end, calm but hurried. “She’s upset I didn’t show, right? Don’t tell her, but I’m on my way. I planned a surprise. Help me out… bring her to the rooftop garden. I’ve got the ring with me. Don’t let her leave.” Then the line went dead.

My friend just stared at his phone like it betrayed him. I could almost hear his thoughts. Who was telling the truth? Me, leaving to marry someone else? Or Wilmer, rushing to propose?

I didn’t wait for his answer. I had already changed clothes and was directing the servants to load my luggage into the car. He spotted me and ran over.

“Where are you going? Europe? Why so fast? Can’t you wait?”

I paused for a second. He was someone who had grown up with me, and maybe this was hard for him to accept. I forced a smile. “If I wait, I’ll miss my flight. Don’t worry, we’ll see each other again. Come to my wedding, okay?”

He grew even more frantic. “Are you really marrying someone else? Does Wilmer know? Shouldn’t you at least say goodbye to him?”

The smile slipped from my lips. At the mention of his name, my chest tightened. I shook my head softly. “No.”

He wanted to push further, but I checked the time and cut him off gently. “I really have to go now.”

I slid into the car and shut the door. Slowly, the vehicle rolled out of the Preston estate.

At that very moment, another car passed ours. Through the glass, I caught the briefest glimpse of Wilmer. He was holding a small ring box in his palm, his eyes lit up with anticipation.

I didn’t look twice.

He was probably imagining my surprise, dreaming of the perfect moment where all the people who mattered were there. His parents, our elders, our childhood friends, and me, the girl he thought he still owned.

But I was already gone.