My Escape From Two Tyrants

I deliberately walked away, making sure the driver didn't tail me. After hailing a cab to head home, I happened to come across Emerson's newest Instagram post. Normally, he's too wrapped up in work to share much online. If I'm remembering right, this is his first update in about two years. It's a picture of him with Isabelle.

They're both smiling at the camera—she with a fresh, sweet charm, and he looking handsome. They seem to complement each other perfectly. The caption read: "Forever love, Saoirse." My fingers froze around the phone, and a knot tightened in my chest.

Once, in Emerson's study, I found a photo tucked away in a drawer. It was of him with another girl. They looked so young, dressed in school uniforms, grinning at the camera. Saoirse had a baby face with tiny dimples, utterly adorable. Just like in the current photo of Isabelle. The resemblance between them was striking.

A friend of Emerson's once mentioned that he was with me because my voice reminded him of Saoirse's. Back then, I refused to believe it, but harsh reality has given me a rude awakening. Now that he's found someone who bears an even closer resemblance to Saoirse, he no longer has any need for me.

When I returned home to pack my things, Emerson and Isabelle came in together. She twirled around in a Victorian-style dress in front of him. "Do I look good, Emerson?"

His eyes were fixed on her. "Call me Em."

Her cheeks went pink, and she lowered her gaze. "Okay," she replied softly.

At that moment, she saw me. "Oh, you're back, sis. It's pretty chilly outside, come on in."

Every word and action made it seem as if she were the lady of the house. I glanced at Emerson. He was lounging on the sofa, sipping coffee, looking calm amidst the spirals of steam. I used to think he was indifferent to others. Now, I was that other.

Without a word, I moved to my room to pack. As I walked by, he chuckled lightly at Isabelle. "Leave a mark for me."

"Sure, Em," she giggled.

My heart shattered completely. I couldn't believe the man who once treated me so tenderly would hurt me over and over again. Clenching the hem of my shirt, I turned and went into the room. Throughout our seven years together, he pampered and indulged me. He always used to say, "I love you." I genuinely believed he meant it.

As I packed, tears streamed down my face. Honestly, accepting that he no longer loves me is something I can't do just yet. Even now, my heart aches for him.

Suddenly, Isabelle barged in, her big, bright eyes blinking at me. "Sis, Em asked you to take me to the room upstairs."

I paused. I knew Emerson too well; he knew I disliked Isabelle and used her to provoke me. Even without seeing him, I could guess what was going through his mind: if I didn't relent, this girl would replace me. He's used this tactic repeatedly over the years. In the past, I would give in, but this time, I wouldn't.

"Can't you walk yourself?" I snapped coldly, closing my suitcase to leave. But she grabbed my hand, her once gleaming eyes turning dark.

"You really think you're the lady of the house, don't you? I'll make sure that's no longer the case."

With a loud "smack," she slapped herself, revealing those dimples with a triumphant grin. "Guess who Emerson will believe?"

Before I could react, she burst into tears. "Please, sis, don't hit me, I'll leave right away…"

It hit me then what she was trying to do. How ridiculous, to use such a transparent trick. Emerson isn't easily fooled; he's not going to fall for her act.