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Fooled Eleven Times, Freed at Last Novel Cover

Fooled Eleven Times, Freed at Last

Standing outside city hall for the eleventh time in seven years, the protagonist watches Paisley Doyle hesitate once again. Her reason remains the same: her ailing first love requires her total devotion. When he finally questions his place in her life and the future of their relationship, Paisley lashes out in anger. She insists on her lifelong commitment to her ex and labels his desire for marriage as selfish, arguing that their long-term bond shouldn't need a legal certificate.
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Chapter 4

Noticing the change in my mood, Paisley suddenly perked up.

"Adrian, do you see that gazebo? It's a hotspot for couples to take photos, and you can even capture today's clouds.

"There's also an arched bridge just over there. Justin loves that spot. You can hear the water gently flowing beneath it."

My chest clenched at the sound of his name, though I kept my expression steady.

Paisley quickly covered her mouth.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to," she murmured.

I shook my head, a quiet ache settling in my chest.

I kept reminding myself not to care or take it personally. But after seven years of loving her, how was I supposed to accept that even our last meal was still tangled up in memories of him?

Paisley was unusually quiet as she led me to our table. She listed off several dishes, but none of them were ones I liked.

Over the years, I'd learned Justin's tastes like the back of my hand. These were all his favorites. No matter where she went, Paisley always remembered them.

She truly carried him in her heart, leaving a piece of him in everything she did.

But this time, I let it go without protest. I simply waited for the dishes to be served.

Sensing something was wrong, Paisley looked up and asked, "Is there anything else you want to add?"

I shook my head. After all these years, what started as dislike had faded into nothing more than routine. I couldn't help but feel how pathetic I'd become.

After the waiter walked away, Paisley's cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Just as I was about to ask what was wrong, she suddenly pulled out a pair of rings.

"Adrian, I know I've broken promises before, but Justin's sick. With his parents rarely around, he's come to rely on me. I can't leave him.

"You're just hung up on the idea of getting married, aren't you? We have the rings; it's only the paperwork left. It doesn't really change anything.

"What do you say?"

She said the last part hesitantly, worried I'd be upset. I forced a bitter smile and looked her in the eye.

She spoke with quiet confidence, as if she knew I'd say yes.

Was it because I'd spent seven years playing the fool? Because I was too easy to appease? Because I had only myself to blame?

But what I wanted wasn't just a piece of paper. What I craved was fairness and a love that was exclusively mine.

In that moment, the thought of ending things consumed my mind.

Paisley smiled, waiting for my answer. Just then, her phone rang, cutting off the words I was about to say.

She hastily picked up. I didn't even need to guess. The only person who could make her this worried was Justin.

A familiar voice came through the line.

"It hurts so much, Paisley… Am I going to die?"

Losing control, Paisley slammed the cutlery down. She grabbed her car keys before rushing out the door.

She didn't look back at me once. It felt just like yesterday all over again.

We were halfway to city hall when Paisley's phone rang. Growing restless, she insisted we head back.

Each of the ten times she stood me up was because Justin needed her attention.

Yesterday, I finally lost control and confronted her.

"If he's never going to get better, does that mean you'll never marry me? What do I even mean to you?"

Furious, Paisley snapped and screamed for me to leave.

"I've already promised to take care of him for the rest of his life. Can't you think about someone other than yourself?

"We've been together for seven years. Does a piece of paper really matter that much? Just go! Don't make me repeat myself!"

For seven years, I cried myself to sleep more times than I could count. She knew it better than anyone.

Back then, my feelings went beyond just anger at her. I was sinking in frustration, helpless against a situation I couldn't control. I hovered in limbo, torn between holding on and learning how to let go.

"Sir, would you like to order anything else?"

The waiter's tentative question pulled me from my thoughts. Amid the commotion, many eyes turned toward me—some filled with sympathy, others with quiet relief.

I gave a faint shake of the head and returned to my meal. Each bite tasted like dry cardboard, making it impossible to enjoy.

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