Scorched

Tristan froze for a moment, and I took the chance to yank my hand free.

"Trying to play hard to get?" He scoffed. "Don't come crying when this blows up in your face. I'm not playing along."

"You don't have to worry about that."

I rubbed my reddened wrist, then turned to leave.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with you? If you wanna break up, just say it!"

He grabbed my arm from behind, his expression livid.

I stopped, turned around, and looked him in the eye. "Haven't we already broken up?"

To me, we had been over for a long time.

Three months ago, I stumbled across something he had posted online.

"We've been together for seven years. I remember coming home late one night and finding her asleep on the couch. When she woke up, her hair was a mess. She yawned as she rubbed her eyes and told me she made me soup to sober up.

"That look really killed the mood, and I lost my appetite for the hangover soup she made. I suddenly realized that I don't love her anymore. She used to be my goddess, the girl I pursued for two whole years.

"But now, that goddess had turned into an ordinary woman who didn't bother to care about herself anymore. But we've been together for seven years. We were classmates. Our lives are too tangled up. Breaking up isn't easy. God, what a nightmare."

The post was dated a year ago. So, he had grown sick of me more than a year ago.

Of course, I had sensed the shift. He had changed—become more impatient, more distant. At first, I thought it was just work stress.

Later, I found out that he was getting close with the new intern at the company. He'd casually take her out to meet friends. One time, we even ran into each other at a party.

He had explained nonchalantly, "She's just an intern from work. She knows nothing about the world and is always curious. So I'd show her around."

I didn't argue, nor did I question him. I simply nodded. "Okay."

The young woman, unbothered, held onto his arm with a bright, sweet smile. There was a glint of challenge in her eyes.

"You must be Esther Wilder. Tristan's told me about you."

She was glowing. It was clear that Tristan was doting on her.

Later, I looked her up. Her name was Chloe Murray. She was 21 years old, with a beautiful face and an outgoing personality.

My friend said that my looks, character, family background, and education all far surpassed hers.

"She's got nothing on you except for that overwhelming sense of youth."

I was almost 28. Youth was no longer on my side.

Realizing this, I felt defeated and hurt, unsure of where Tristan and I were heading.

It wasn't until I saw the post that I understood. Chloe wasn't the root of the problem. What he was drawn to was the sense of novelty. If not her, it would be someone else.

During one of his outbursts, I brought up breaking up. He thought I was just being dramatic and didn't try to stop me. Instead, he told me to get out.

Even though I had already made up my mind to end things, when he yelled at me to leave, the tears still couldn't help but fall.

He looked at me with a face full of disgust.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I ran out of his apartment. Later, when I went back to grab my things, I overheard him talking to his friends.

His friend suggested that he should try to comfort me, considering all the years we'd spent together.

He just replied indifferently, "If she really walks, great. Then I can finally be with Chloe without sneaking around."

"You pursued Esther for two years straight, and now you're just letting her go like this?"

"What, am I supposed to put her on a pedestal? I've been done with her for ages."

"You don't think that makes you a total bad guy?"

Tristan let out a scoff as he leaned back in his chair.

"After all these years, I've done enough for her. I yelled at her once, and now she's threatening to break up. Fine, let her be. Maybe giving her some space will do her good."

"Don't regret it if she doesn't come back," his friend said.