Chapter 1

When Louis got home, he casually tossed a thick stack of files onto the living room coffee table.

"Monica says this design proposal is really important to her. Do me a favor and finish it up for her."

This wasn't the first time he'd asked me to do Monica's work. In the beginning, he would give me pleading looks and whisper all sorts of high-sounding excuses.

I never wanted to see him disappointed, so even though it meant pulling several all-nighters, I always agreed.

Now, he just expected it as a given.

After he spoke, he noticed my open suitcase on the floor and frowned. "Stop packing."

"It was Monica’s birthday last month, and her only wish was for me to watch this World Cup with her."

"I already promised her."

His tone was gentle, but there was absolutely no room for discussion.

He was just informing me of the decision.

I quietly shoved the documents I had prepared for our marriage registration into the very bottom of my suitcase.

We had originally agreed to get married on the 9th of next month, the day after the World Cup ended.

Just yesterday, I was happily talking to him about my wedding dress and our invitations.

But all of that was shattered by his plan to take Monica to the World Cup.

None of it matters now.

Thank God I can just walk away, instead of going through a divorce.

I kept my eyes down, refusing to look at him.

"Four years ago, you swore that for the next World Cup, you’d only go with me."

Louis’s brows instantly knit together. A flash of impatience crossed his eyes.

"But we’re getting married. We’ve got the rest of our lives together, right?"

"Skyler, every time Monica comes up, you lose it. Can you stop being so sensitive? This endless jealousy is exhausting."

He was always like this. He would take the time that belonged to me, give it to Monica, and if I got upset, he’d accuse me of being overly sensitive and petty.

But after twelve years of compromising, I was exhausted too.

"I’m not stopping you. Go find Monica like you always do," I said, my face completely calm. "I don’t need to go with you."

The tension in Louis's shoulders instantly vanished.

He let out a long breath, a satisfied 'I knew you'd give in' look washing over his face.

"I knew you'd understand." He walked over, reaching out to stroke my hair.

I turned my head, pulling away from his touch.

His hand froze in mid-air, but he didn't seem to care.

"Monica’s been under a lot of pressure at work lately, and she’s been really down. I just want to take her out to clear her head," he muttered, almost as if saying it out loud would absolve him of breaking his promise to me. "You stay home and get some rest. Don’t overthink it."

Right then, his phone screen lit up.

A FaceTime request popped up. The screen flashed Monica’s name, complete with a cheeky heart emoji.

Louis’s eyes instantly softened.

Before taking his call, he casually tossed out, "Monica said you can just email that work straight to her boss when you're done."

"Oh, and don't forget to pack my bags for the World Cup. And iron my shirts, I need them for tomorrow."

Like I was just his assistant.

He was so used to me taking care of everything, making his life completely effortless.

But not this time. I was done being an idiot.

Before I could even say no, he walked straight into his study and shut the door behind him.

I glanced at the flight confirmation on my phone. Departure time: tomorrow.

I was a freelance designer; I could live anywhere. The only reason I stayed in New York was Louis, and now, that reason was gone.

Walking past the study door, I heard Monica’s sickly-sweet voice.

"Louis, are you really sure you want to go to the World Cup with me? Is Skyler going to be mad at me? If she’s upset, I can just watch it by myself..."

"Don't be silly. She's not mad."

"Skyler’s been with me for twelve years. She knows how things work, and she can’t leave me anyway. Besides, which World Cup haven't I watched with you? She’s used to it. Don't worry, she won't make a fuss. Just pack your bags, I’m definitely going with you."

I stopped in my tracks outside the door.

So that was it.

From eighteen to thirty.

My unreserved devotion, my endless compromises—in his eyes, they were just capital that allowed him to hurt me without consequence.

In that moment, the very last shred of affection I had for him evaporated.