1. The moment the public apology went live, the comments section exploded. Within three minutes, it was already at 99+. A private message popped up from Liam, the junior I was forced to apologize to. His words dripped with scorn. “Sebastian, the only thing you have on me is luck. You just happened to meet her first. In what other way are you better than me?” “All I had to do was shed a few tears, and she immediately made you bow down and apologize.” “So what if you have a marriage contract? As long as I’m not happy, you two will never get married.” He followed it up with a screenshot, a blatant boast showing two first-class tickets to Paris. My fiancée was taking him on a trip to cheer him up. I was about to lock my phone when a new notification appeared. It was Liam, commenting publicly on the apology post: “Everyone, please don’t be so hard on Mr. Padel. It was my fault, too…” Less than a minute later, my fiancée replied directly to his comment. “Don’t take all the blame, Liam. This was clearly Sebastian’s fault from the beginning.” My colleagues piled on, accusing my apology of being insincere, its every word dripping with resentment and sarcasm towards Liam. Someone tagged me. I ignored it. A moment later, my phone began to ring. It was my fiancée, Isabella, calling to rake me over the coals. She called again. And again. Thinking of her boundless, unconditional defense of Liam, I calmly powered off my phone, silencing the incessant ringing. Isabella Padel and I had been engaged since we were children. The agreement was simple: upon our marriage, I would bring 5% of my family’s old company shares as a dowry, and in return, I would join the Padel family and their corporate empire. But ever since she brought her protégé from her alma mater, Liam, into the company, her world had begun to revolve around him. Whatever Liam wanted, Isabella delivered it to him on a silver platter. Even a project I had slaved over for months could be casually tossed his way as a gift to soothe his feelings. A few days later, Isabella came home in a rush. The moment she walked in, she ordered me to pack a few suitcases for her. She had a business trip. I remembered the Paris tickets Liam had sent me. “A business trip,” I said, my voice heavy with irony, “or a vacation?” She heard the edge in my tone and immediately assumed I was still sulking about the apology. Her brow furrowed. “It was your fault, Sebastian. You have no right to be angry. If I hadn’t stepped in to mediate, your own colleagues would have run you out of the company.” “This is a critical project,” she continued, softening slightly. “I have to go myself. Don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as it’s over. It won’t delay the wedding.” Seeing my silence, she seemed to relax, thinking I had accepted her "greater good" reasoning. She changed the subject, asking what gift I wanted her to bring back. In the past, she always brought me a souvenir from her trips. I used to cherish them. Then I discovered by accident that they were all things she had first offered to Liam—gifts he had rejected or deemed unworthy. The memory soured my mood. “Whatever,” I said flatly. Sensing my lack of interest, she had the housekeeper finish her packing and turned to accept a gift box from Arthur, our butler. She held it out to me. “A reward. For your generosity with the shares.” I glanced inside. It was an expensive watch, a rare vintage piece. Except, I had seen this exact watch on Liam’s wrist just a few days ago. So, this was a fake. A cheap knock-off she was passing off as a reward to shut me up. She saw me smile and mistook it for pleasure. She moved to put it on my wrist. As her fingers reached for the watch, I flinched back, a reflex I couldn’t control. She froze, her expression turning awkward. “You… you don’t like it?” I caught the flicker of guilt in her eyes. After a long moment, I said one word: “Expensive.” She visibly relaxed, relieved. She was about to offer some hollow words of comfort when her phone buzzed with an urgent ring. A glance at the screen, and she quickly stepped out of the walk-in closet to answer. The moment she picked up, Liam’s whining voice drifted down the hall. “Bella, where are you? I’m getting impatient down here…” I casually tossed the watch into a drawer. Arthur, the butler, saw me and drew a sharp breath. “Sir, you’ve always treasured the mistress’s gifts. What’s changed?” Treasured them? I practically worshipped them, enshrined them like holy relics. But ever since Liam had entered our lives, Isabella had allowed him to rummage through my things, to take whatever caught his fancy from the gifts she’d given me. I had argued with her about it, and she’d called me selfish and petty before turning around and buying Liam something even better, even more expensive. Isabella ended her call and strode back in, grabbing her luggage from Arthur. “I have to go,” she said hurriedly. “Make sure you follow up on the custom wedding suits. Don’t let anything delay the ceremony.” She moved to hug me, but I instinctively took a step back. A confused look crossed her face. She started to say something, but the thought of Liam waiting outside seemed to win out. She awkwardly dropped her hands, grabbed her coat from the housekeeper, and rushed out the door. I stood by the window and watched as Liam gallantly opened the car door for her. She practically jumped inside, eager to be with him. That car. It was the first gift Isabella had ever given me. A classic sports car. I had kept it in the garage, pristine, never driving it for fear of damaging something so precious, a symbol of her affection. Then Liam saw it. And with a wave of her hand, Isabella gave it to him. “You don’t have a license anyway, Sebastian,” she had said. “You can’t use it. Liam lives far from the office; he could use a reliable car. This way, he’ll be more productive for the company. I’ll buy you a better one when you finally get around to taking your test.” I had said nothing, just watched as Liam took the keys and immediately coaxed her into going for a joyride with him. I had to smile at the memory. The truth was, I’d had my driver’s license for years. It was sitting in the drawer of my bedside table. She had just never cared enough to notice. As the car disappeared down the driveway, I pulled out my phone and made a call. “I need to cancel the order for the custom-made bridal shoes.” “Yes, I understand. I’ll cover any and all cancellation fees.” 2. They were meant to be my wedding gift to Isabella, a surprise to make her happy on our big day. But now, it was clear they would never be worn. The next day, I arrived at the office with my resignation letter in hand. The moment I walked in, I was met with hostile stares. I was used to it. I calmly walked to my desk. I could only imagine what new lies Liam had been spreading. He was constantly whispering about me to our colleagues. At first, I didn't care, but the misunderstandings piled up until any attempt to defend myself was dismissed as a weak excuse. Eventually, I just stopped trying. While I was getting a cup of tea, my phone buzzed relentlessly. 99+ notifications. All from Liam. I didn’t have to open them to know what they were: a stream of photos documenting his blissful time with Isabella. The timestamp in the corner of each picture showed he was sending them around the clock. I’d never seen Isabella so patient, so engaged. In all our years together, she had never been like this with me. She had never laughed with such genuine, uninhibited joy. In every photo, she was radiant. It was a side of her I had never been allowed to see. I remembered the year I bought her a professional camera for her birthday. I’d secretly taken photography classes for months, wanting to capture her beauty. When I gave it to her, her face fell. “I’ve always hated having my picture taken,” she’d said, her voice cold. “As my fiancé, how could you not know that? Or is this some kind of power play?” “Stop pretending you know me, Sebastian. It’s disgusting.” She didn’t speak to me for a month after that. I had to work myself to the bone on two major projects to secure her promotion to Vice President before she would even look at me again. The difference between being loved and not being loved… it’s painfully obvious. When you love someone, you cherish everything they are, everything they do. I put my phone away and walked straight to HR to submit my resignation. When I returned to my desk to hand over my work, I realized there wasn't much to hand over. Most of my projects had been stripped from me weeks ago, given to Liam as peace offerings. The handover took less than an hour. As I was packing my personal effects, the head of the project department stormed over, slamming a rejected bid proposal on my desk. “Sebastian! You were in charge of this bid! The client just called, furious. There are major errors in the proposal. I want an explanation, now!” The surrounding colleagues, already poisoned against me by Liam’s stories, saw their chance. This was their moment to play the hero. “How could you screw up such an important project? Do you have any idea how much this meant to Ms. Padel?” “I can’t believe they let him handle it. If Liam had been in charge, this never would have happened.” “You think his salary can even begin to cover this loss?” “Cover it? He couldn’t afford to. They should just fire him and be done with it.” I ignored their chatter and glanced at the proposal’s cover sheet. A cold smile touched my lips. “This wasn’t my project. It was Liam’s.” Kevin, one of Liam’s most devoted sycophants, scoffed. “Can’t even take responsibility for your own mistakes? Are you a man? We all know this was your project. Now you’re trying to pin it on Liam? Do you think we’re all blind?” The others murmured in agreement. Just then, an HR representative walked over. “Your resignation has been approved, Sebastian.” Kevin’s face twisted into a sneer. “Trying to run away now? It’s too late. You’d better figure out how you’re going to compensate the company and explain this to Ms. Padel.” “You’re a disease,” he spat. “The company should have cut you out long ago. If it wasn’t for Liam, always defending you, Ms. Padel would have thrown you out on the street ages ago.” His words lit a fire. The mob mentality took over. They decided I was a blight on the office and needed to be removed immediately. Within minutes, they had shoved all my belongings into a black trash bag and tossed it out the office door. Kevin stood over me, his arms crossed. “Well? Are you going to leave, or do we have to make you?” I looked at him, this pathetic, spineless yes-man, puffed up with borrowed power. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Twice. Then, leaving him and the others in a state of stunned silence, I walked out of the company for the last time. 3. A few days later, Liam sent me another barrage of photos. This time, it was a professional photoshoot. “By the way,” his message read, “you and Isabella have been together for so long. Have you ever had a professional portrait session? I’ve never seen a single photo of you two at her place. Don’t tell me you don’t even have one picture together… how pathetic.” I was about to block him when I accidentally opened one of the images. The theme of the photoshoot was a wedding. My vision darkened. So, the man Isabella intended to marry was Liam. It suddenly occurred to me that our own wedding was just around the corner, and we still hadn’t taken any engagement photos. I had brought it up with Isabella multiple times, but she always brushed me off, saying she was too busy with work. Her “work,” it turned out, was taking Liam on romantic getaways. My mother called just then, asking about the wedding preparations. “Sebastian, darling, you must double-check everything. We can’t have any mistakes. It would be an embarrassment to the Padel family.” “And if you need anything, you tell me. Our family may have lost its standing, but we will not be bullied by anyone.” An image of Isabella, radiant in a wedding gown and smiling at Liam, flashed through my mind. “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not getting married.” She thought I was throwing another tantrum. “Sebastian, Isabella is a woman. Can’t you just be the bigger person? You’re about to walk down the aisle. You can’t do it with a sour look on your face.” Be the bigger person? How many times had I been the bigger person? How many times had I watched her sacrifice my work, my dignity, to appease Liam? How many times had I swallowed my pride when she took him on trips alone? I had told myself it would get better, that if I was just patient, she would come around. But she only pushed further, and now this. A wedding shoot with another man. This time, I was done being the bigger person. Sensing my silence, my mother gave me a few parting words of advice and hung up. A little while later, Arthur came to my room. The custom-tailored wedding suit and gown had arrived. He said Isabella had already gone to the boutique and was waiting for me. I was surprised. I hadn't expected her back for at least another week. She never cut her trips short. Could it be that this wedding actually meant something to her? But if it did, why had she been completely absent from the planning, leaving everything to me? I scoffed at my own foolish hope, went to the garage, and drove to the bridal shop. As I approached the entrance, I heard raised voices. It was Liam and Isabella, arguing. “Why do you have to marry him?” Liam demanded. “You’ve been chained to that ridiculous contract your whole life! Are you going to let him ruin your future too?” “You love me! When you’re with me, you shine! You’re alive!” “I can’t bear to see you unhappy. If you go through with this wedding, I’ll… I’ll kill myself right in front of you!” Isabella was stunned into silence. Seeing her hesitation, Liam’s emotions boiled over. He grabbed a letter opener from the counter and dragged it across his wrist. Isabella screamed, lunging forward to snatch it away. She grabbed a swatch of fabric, pressing it against the bleeding cut. He shoved her away. “Don’t stop me! Let me die! At least then I won’t have to watch you suffer every day!” Terrified he would try again, she nodded frantically, agreeing to anything. Seeing her surrender, Liam’s face broke into a tearful, triumphant smile. She tried to take him to the hospital, but he refused. “I want you to announce it,” he said, pressing his advantage. “On your wedding day, in front of everyone. You will tell them that I am your groom, and that Sebastian is just some pathetic stalker who’s been obsessed with you. It’s the lesson he deserves.” Isabella looked at the blood soaking through the fabric, and she agreed. I turned and walked away from the shop. I pulled the simple silver ring from my finger—the one she had given me when we first got engaged—and tossed it into a curbside trash can. 4. When I got home, the sound of a cooking show was echoing from the kitchen. The living room was a disaster zone, ingredients strewn everywhere. In the kitchen, I found Isabella, flustered and surrounded by mess. She had been up all night, trying to learn how to make a restorative soup for her dear Liam. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Sebastian! You’re good at making soup, aren’t you? Come and teach me. I need to make something for Liam. Something to replenish his… energy.” The bright, eager look on her face was one I recognized. I had seen it once before, the day I agreed to sign over my 5% share in the family company. I never thought I’d see it again, especially not for another man. I glanced at the red, scalded marks on the back of her hand. “We have a chef for that,” I said coldly. “You don’t have to do it yourself.” “You don’t understand,” she cut me off, her eyes shining. “It means more when you make it yourself.” I looked into those bright eyes. I, too, had once poured my heart into making nourishing broths for her, ignoring the servants who whispered that I acted more like a maid than the master of the house. She had shown no gratitude then. She had mocked me, and once, she had even thrown a bowl of scalding soup at my legs, leaving a scar that never faded. I took an involuntary step back. She saw it as defiance. Her expression hardened instantly. “Are you still angry about the apology?” she snapped. “I already promised you, didn’t I? After the wedding, I’ll buy you any car you want.” “Besides, our wedding is in three days. I’ll make sure you’re the most envied man in the city.” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked up the stairs. Her temper flared. She grabbed the spatula she was holding and hurled it at me. It struck me squarely in the back. Later, I came downstairs to find Arthur carefully bandaging her arm. She had failed to make the soup and had only managed to burn herself badly in the process. She saw me and her face contorted with rage. “You’re nothing like Liam! Liam would never treat me this way!” she screamed. “He…” “Then cancel the wedding,” I said, my voice cutting through her tirade. “Since I’m not the one you want to marry anyway.” Isabella shot to her feet, aghast. The bandage slipped, revealing an arm covered in blisters. Tears welled in her eyes. “Sebastian, how dare you! Say that again!” I was momentarily stunned. I couldn't believe she would go to such lengths for him. I took a deep breath. “We’re breaking up. The wedding is off. Do I need to repeat myself?” She stared at me, disbelief warring with contempt. “Is this a game to you, Sebastian?” she sneered. “You were the one who insisted on this wedding. Now you’re the one trying to call it off. Do you really think these pathetic threats will give you some kind of control over me? You’re dreaming.” I wasn’t going to argue. I packed a suitcase, walked out the door, and booked a flight out of the country for that night. Before I left, I prepared a video—a personal monologue—to be played at the wedding instead of a photo montage. I gave it to Arthur, my final gift to Isabella. He, thinking it was a romantic surprise, promised to play it on the big day. He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed with concern. “Sir, that blow you took to your back… are you alright?” I paused, then managed a small smile. “I’m fine.” When Isabella got angry, she threw things. She never considered the consequences. Over the years, I’d gotten used to it. Besides, the pain from that little spatula was already gone. As I watched the other passengers board the plane, I sent one last voice message to Isabella. “Congratulations on your wedding, Isabella. You and Liam deserve each other. I hope you like my gift.” A red exclamation point appeared next to the message. Of course. She had blocked me long ago. The cabin announcement for takeoff began. As the plane lifted off the ground, I smiled at my dark phone screen and whispered, “Goodbye, Isabella.”
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