I Loved You Once, I’ll Destroy You Twice

“Packing,” I said quietly.

He stepped closer, and the scent of cologne reached me. My stomach sank. It was the same one I had smelled on Yvette earlier today.

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. “So you’re leaving me because I had lunch with Yvette? You hurt her, Dahlia, and she didn’t even hold it against you. Yet you’re the one sulking?”

I looked up at him. His eyes were not cold, not soft, but full of something worse—irritation.

“Our families go back generations,” he said. “Her parents asked me to take care of her now that she’s back from abroad. Can’t you, for once, be more understanding?”

The word cut through me. Understanding. As if I hadn’t already given up everything for him once. As if I hadn’t already died for him.

How much more understanding did he expect from me?

“Say something!” he barked.

I stayed silent. My silence was the only shield I had left.

His grip tightened, then dropped. Anger darkened his face. “Fine. Stay stubborn. Let’s see how long you can keep this up. You have nowhere else to go. I owned half of the New York City.”

He slammed the door so hard the floor trembled.

I sat there staring at the half-filled suitcase. In my past life, I would have cried until my throat was raw. I would have run after him, begging him to choose over me... but this time, I bit my lip and kept packing.

The next morning, I came downstairs and froze.

Yvette was seated comfortably on the sofa, chatting sweetly with Mrs. Wilma Livingston. She wore a white dress, her smile radiant, her presence polished like she already belonged here.

When she saw me, her lips curved even brighter. “Miss Calloway, you’re up. My parents insisted Austin take me to the auction today. Don’t misunderstand, please.”

I glanced at Austin. He was fixing his cufflinks, expression unreadable. Not once did he look at me.

“I’m not misunderstanding,” I said softly. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”

For a moment, he paused, frowning faintly, but he said nothing.

Yvette laughed lightly. “Why don’t you come too, Miss Calloway? You’re free, aren’t you?”

Before I could refuse, she linked her hand through mine and pulled me along, her nails digging lightly into my skin as though reminding me who truly had the upper hand.

--

The auction hall glittered like a palace. Men in tailored suits, women draped in diamonds, all of them people who belonged in Austin’s world.

He sat in the front row, paddle in hand, bidding without hesitation. Each time, the items won were handed to Yvette, her smile growing brighter as she leaned close to whisper in his ear.

They looked like a pair of newlyweds. I sat on the side, invisible, like a slave.

At one point, Yvette’s voice rose, sweet as honey. “Austin babe, maybe buy something for Miss Calloway too?”

His reply was flat, dismissive. “She wouldn’t know how to use them.”

The words dropped heavy, stripping me raw.

Yvette gave me a look of satisfaction, as though she had won a battle without lifting a weapon.

My fingers brushed the glossy catalogue on my lap. He was wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to use these things. It was that in his eyes, I didn’t deserve them.

No matter how much I had once meant to him, no matter how many nights I had stayed by his side, to him I was still just a girl from the slums. A woman he could discard without regret.

I sat in silence, watching Austin spend money like water on Yvette, every item handed to her as though I didn’t even exist.

Then the final piece appeared.

An ivory comb, its teeth delicately carved, the spine inlaid with gemstones that shimmered under the lights.

My breath hitched, and my hand clenched around the paddle.

It was my grandmother’s heirloom!

Three years ago, when Austin had been delivering food late into the night just to save for my birthday, he was hit by a car and nearly lost his life. The hospital bill was so high that I sold the comb, my last memory of my grandmother, just to save him. I had promised myself I would get it back one day.

But by the time I scraped together the money, it was gone. Vanished into someone else’s hands. I had searched every antique shop, begged every dealer, but it never appeared again.

Until now.

Without thinking, I lifted the paddle. “One million.”

Heads turned. Yvette looked back at me, startled, before her lips curved. She raised her own paddle. “Three million.”

“Four million,” I said.

“Ten million,” she countered smoothly, almost like she enjoyed watching me bleed.

The bids climbed, sharp as daggers. I didn’t care. I would bleed myself dry if it meant holding that comb again.

Austin’s brows furrowed. His gaze flicked between us before he finally raised his own paddle.

The gavel came down. “Sold! To Mr. Livingston.”

Applause broke out around us, hollow and mocking in my ears.

Then he turned, not to me, but to her. “You like it? It’s yours.”

My fingers went numb. The paddle slipped from my hand, clattering loudly against the marble floor.

I watched helplessly as the comb—my grandmother’s comb—was placed into Yvette’s hands. She beamed, cradling it as if it were a treasure, before gasping suddenly. “Oh no!”

The comb slipped.

I lunged forward, but it was too late.

It hit the ground and snapped cleanly in two, gemstones scattering like tiny stars across the floor. The sound of it breaking tore through me louder than the applause ever could.

My body moved on its own. I shoved Yvette aside and dropped to the floor, gathering the shattered pieces in trembling hands.

“Dahlia!”