Chapter 1

Sophie sauntered down from the stage, champagne glass in hand, and sat right on the arm of Julian's chair.

She held up her phone, practically shoving the lens in front of my reddened eyes, and snapped a photo.

"See? I told you she wouldn't cooperate."

Sophie giggled, her manicured finger poking Julian's shoulder.

"Julian, you lost. Remember to give me the keys to that Manhattan apartment."

I whipped my head toward Julian.

He was picking up his napkin, dabbing at a small wine stain on the hem of my dress.

"Careful, Claire."

His brow furrowed slightly, his tone full of regret. "This black satin gown is a couture piece Sophie borrowed from the brand. It'll be a problem if it gets dirty."

He was worried about the dress Sophie borrowed. Not about me, publicly displayed and auctioned on a screen.

"You were betting on me?" My voice was tight.

Julian paused, tossed the napkin back on the table, and let out a helpless sigh.

"Sophie just thought the dinner was too dull. She bet me whether you'd cooperate tonight."

He reached for my waist. I turned and avoided him.

"I bet you wouldn't embarrass me. But you still went for the microphone."

Julian withdrew his hand and adjusted his cuff, his tone as casual as discussing the weather.

"Since I lost, we'll push the engagement to next year."

I looked at that handsome face, so full of entitlement, and felt my heart get carved out.

This wasn't the first time.

For six years, every anniversary or important dinner, Julian let Sophie make a fool of me.

Last year's charity gala, Sophie swapped my handbag for a plastic bucket stuffed with steel wool and dish soap in front of everyone. The room of elites roared with laughter. Sophie laughed so hard she dropped her phone and cracked it.

Afterward, Julian held my freezing body and swore that for our sixth anniversary, he'd propose grandly and let everyone know I was his only lady.

For tonight, I'd gotten my hair done three days in advance, worn this black satin gown, put on pearl earrings.

Before we left, I'd even drafted the Instagram caption announcing our engagement.

What I got was a bidding war for "one week of housekeeping."

"Julian," I said, looking into his eyes, "do you remember what tomorrow is?"

He blinked, then frowned. "Of course I remember. Our sixth anniversary."

"Yeah. Six years."

I reached out and pushed the silver bracelet beside his plate forward—the one I'd worn for six full years, its edges worn smooth.

It slid off the table and hit the marble floor.

"Julian, we're done."

The gentleness on Julian's face vanished, replaced by irritation at having been embarrassed.

"Claire, have you had enough? Sophie's made worse jokes than this before. When did you ever not laugh it off?"

Sophie immediately bit her lip, her eyes reddening, and shrank behind Julian.

"It's my fault. I just wanted to help Claire fit into our circle..."

The young men at the table snickered.

"Is this really worth it? Washing a few shirts, wiping a counter. Doesn't she do that at Julian's place anyway?"

"Can't even take a joke. No wonder she's still just a girlfriend after six years."

The harsh laughter was identical to last month's party.

Back then, during truth or dare, Sophie deliberately pulled the card and forced me to kneel and talk like a maid scrubbing shoes. I refused coldly. Sophie covered her face and ran out of the room crying.

Every man in the room, including Julian, got up and chased after her.

That night, Julian came back and coldly demanded I apologize to Sophie.

But tonight, I wasn't going to apologize.

I picked up my clutch and turned toward the banquet hall exit.

Behind me, Sophie's sweet voice asked, "Julian, aren't you going to chase her and talk some sense into her?"

Through the clinking glasses, Julian's dismissive laugh reached my ears clearly.

"Let her go. It's just a little temper tantrum."

"Without me, where's she going to go in New York? She's much easier to handle than you."

I gripped the door handle and pushed it open.

The last bit of attachment in my heart died completely.