Chapter 1

Once again, I found myself alone as I made my way to the city hall. A fog seemed to cloud my mind.

All around me, strangers flowed by—couples walking hand in hand, families with young children, and elderly partners who had weathered time together.

Their happiness hit me like a slap, a painful reminder that my partner's love was fleeting. If it were real, she wouldn't keep leaving me behind.

Tears welled up and streamed down my face, but I lifted my chin, trying to steel myself. Stumbling to a corner, I collapsed, crying without restraint.

Seven years felt like an entire chapter of my life, but all I got in return for my love were nothing but betrayals.

Though I wore my finest clothes, I was the most shattered person on that street. No one else could have been as miserable as I was.

Nonetheless, I'd been through this kind of despair more times than I cared to count. This was the 11th time.

People often claimed that misfortune wouldn't strike more than three times, but I had already gone far past that limit.

I gave in to my tears one last time. After today, I swore I'd never let myself sink this low again.

"Are you okay, sir?" a girl in a princess dress asked as she approached.

With a smile, she handed me a piece of candy. Through my tear-blurred vision, I felt as if I'd been transported back to the day I first met Paisley Doyle.

At that time, my family was caught in the midst of an unexpected crisis. My mother lay in the hospital, barely clinging to life.

I had curled up in a corner, tears streaming down my face. Out of nowhere, Paisley appeared and offered me a piece of candy.

"Don't cry. The road is beneath your feet. However you move forward, it will guide you to where you're meant to be."

That piece of candy had once lifted my spirits, and Paisley's comforting words meant more than I could ever say.

In time, my family returned to the life we once knew. Meanwhile, I searched everywhere for Paisley.

I had always believed she was a sign of luck—that our meeting was written in the stars.

With trembling hands, I reached for the candy lying before me. But as soon as I swallowed it, a sharp bitterness overwhelmed my heart, cutting deep within.

From the very beginning, Paisley was nothing more than poison wrapped in a sugar-coated mask. It was my own naivety that kept me blind.

I forced a smile at the girl. She waved goodbye as she ran off.

With her, a piece of my heart seemed to vanish too.

As I gathered myself and prepared to catch a cab home, my phone lit up with a notification from Justin Bloomfield.

He was Paisley's first love. Just moments ago, he'd shared an update on social media. The caption read, "With you here, I don't feel any pain."

The picture showed Paisley gently feeding him.

Their love was undeniable. I locked my phone with a heavy heart and headed toward a bar nearby.

All these years, I'd hardly ever touched alcohol. After all, Paisley hated the smell of smoke and liquor.

I had cared for her in every way possible. She had the ability to care too—but sadly, I wasn't the one she cared about.

Though each shot brought a burning heat to my stomach, my heart felt surprisingly calm for the first time.

I raised my phone overhead. The camera caught my flushed face, glassy eyes, and swollen eyelids. I looked utterly wrecked.

But I didn't care. I lifted my glass and took the photo anyway.

I tagged my selfie with the caption, "Cheers to the seven years behind me."

Before long, a few people got in touch to offer their support.

"You didn't end up getting married at the city hall again, huh?"

"Did she seriously flake on you again? Hang in there, buddy. I'm headed your way!"

Unexpectedly, Paisley's message popped up.

"What's the meaning of this? It's late, and you're still not back! What stunt are you up to this time? You're always acting like the victim to make me look bad!"

She never asked why I was drinking or showed any concern; instead, her words were sharp, accusing me of losing control.

My mood sank to its lowest point. Although Paisley had scolded me many times before, each reprimand stung more than the last.