I used to mock "love at first sight"—until I crashed into campus royalty Alistair Roth freshman year. One look, and I understood: a man so handsome even thrift‑store clothes looked runway‑ready. I’m shallow; I spent years obsessed with his face and body. So when his family’s fortune crashed, I threw money at him until he became my boyfriend. Three years in, his pride was bending. He was ready to "settle" for me; our families even planned a wedding. Then Serena appeared—bright, gentle, everything Alistair wanted. Overnight, his gaze turned from indifference to contempt. That night, reeking of alcohol, he kissed me but whispered her name. My heart clenched. I pushed him away. "You’re drunk." I lay in bed pretending to sleep, too cowardly to tear our paper‑thin facade. In the dark, he hissed, "Sadie, you really know how to take it. How can you be so pathetic?" I knew he regretted it. But I was hopeless—the thought of not seeing that face every morning ached. So I swallowed my pride, played dumb, and wasted three more years. Until the night I went to drag him from a bar. Pushing the door open, I met another man. The impact short‑circuited my brain. My heart stopped; I forgot to wipe my tears. I stammered, "Wh‑what’s your name?" He looked sweet, his voice impossibly clean. "Rhys Bowen." In that moment, 1:27 a.m., I knew clearly: My years‑long obsession with Alistair Roth had vanished like smoke. … 1. It was midnight when Alistair was once again dropped off at home by a junior from his department. Woken by the noise, I threw on a robe and leaned against the doorframe, watching the girl’s flushed cheeks. “You shouldn’t have brought him back all by yourself. It’s a lot for one person.” I moved to take Alistair from her, but he shoved my hand away. The air grew thick with awkwardness. As the junior stammered out an explanation, my eyes landed on Alistair’s hand, clenched tightly around the strap of her tote bag. His knuckles were sharp and defined, as beautiful as ever, but now he was clinging to another woman like she was his lifeline. My throat felt dry. I watched her soothe the drunken Alistair, coaxing him into my arms. It was pretty clear why she was the one to bring him home. The moment he was in my arms, the overpowering stench of alcohol hit me, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Wiping his face, changing his clothes, getting him to take some medicine… Once it was all done, I sat quietly by the bed, studying his elegant, chiseled face. Fine brows, long eyes, a high-bridged nose, and thin lips. The open collar of his shirt revealed the firm, porcelain-like skin of his chest. I leaned in close, whispering softly, "I love you so much, Alistair." He turned his head away, his brow furrowed in a pained groan. I strained to make out the name he was muttering, my cheek almost touching his lips. "Sera…" If I remembered correctly, the junior who brought him home was named Serena. A first-year grad student, and very popular. Just how close had they gotten for a man as reserved as Alistair to be using her nickname? I didn’t want to think of Alistair as some morally bankrupt cheat. He was one of the few genuinely decent men I’d ever met, which was one of the reasons I’d pursued him so relentlessly. Of course, the main reason was that face—the face that held my entire world captive. Shoving my feelings aside, I lay down beside him. I wanted to kiss his lips, but the smell of alcohol was too strong, so I pulled back with a sigh. "Goodnight," I murmured. A second later, Alistair’s arm wrapped around me, pulling me into his embrace. Just like countless nights before, he buried his head in the crook of my neck. I’d been up until the early hours taking care of him, and with work being so hectic lately, I was sleeping poorly. So, the moment Alistair stirred, I was awake. He released his hold on me and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me, for a long moment. I had no idea what was on his mind. Just as I was about to ask, his phone rang. The balcony door was open, and Alistair’s smooth voice drifted back to me. "Yeah, just woke up. You? Did you sleep well?" I couldn't hear the reply, but Alistair chuckled softly. I hadn’t heard him laugh in so long. For some reason, their simple conversation felt like nails on a chalkboard, a sour, indescribable knot tightening in my chest. 2. My boyfriend was cheating on me. Not in the physical sense, but an emotional affair. He was on his phone more often. When we talked, he was either distracted or completely silent. He no longer held me, no longer kissed me. When he looked at me, his eyes were chillingly cold. This was Alistair’s classic move. Over the past three years, whenever he regretted being with me, he’d try to drive me away with the silent treatment. But I could never bring myself to part with that ethereal face of his, so I clung to him shamelessly, and three more years slipped by. He had been on the verge of giving in, ready to just settle for a life with me. Our families had even discussed a wedding date not long ago. But then Serena appeared. The bright, gentle girl was a perfect match for Alistair's ideal type. They had endless things to talk about, inside jokes, and secrets. They were a perfect fit, from their looks to their souls. And me? My conversation was shallow, my actions clumsy. I was nothing but an embarrassment to him. I tried to break up with him, just like he wanted. But every time I was about to say the words, he would glance over with those narrow, almond-shaped eyes, and the words would die in my throat. All I wanted to do was kiss him. The thought of waking up and not seeing that face was enough to make me want to cry. So I chose to continue this pathetic existence, playing dumb as long as he didn't explicitly end it. He’d pull all-nighters in the lab with Serena; I’d send worried texts that went unanswered. He’d leave in the morning; I’d have his outfit picked out from the night before. He’d go out with friends and colleagues; I’d be the designated driver to pick him up. Every time his friends would laugh and tease, "Man, your girl really takes care of you," the look in Alistair’s eyes would grow a little colder. He silently got into the passenger seat. I smiled and chatted with his friends for a bit before waving goodbye. Of course, I noticed Serena’s pale face in the corner. "It's getting colder lately. Remember to dress warmly, Sera, don't catch a cold," I said deliberately before leaving. Her lips trembled as she mumbled a soft "okay," and a moment later, she removed the dark blue scarf from around her neck. The same scarf I had spent three months knitting for Alistair. When I had put it on him, he hadn't even bothered to look down, his gaze simply drifting over me as I stood on my tiptoes, struggling to wrap it around his neck. So how did he end up tying my scarf around another girl's neck? Did he bend down for her? Did he smile? I didn’t dare to imagine it. I didn’t want to. On the drive home, Alistair was silent. Following my principle of "if he doesn't move, I don't move," I chatted with him as usual about trivial, everyday things. His replies were sparse. Just before we got out of the car, he suddenly leaned in close. His dark hair fell forward, perfectly framing his sharp nose, beautifully shaped lips, and clean jawline. His lashes fluttered as his gaze drifted down to my lips. The sweet scent of liquor filled the small space. I held my breath, my heart pounding like a drum. We hadn't kissed in so long. For the first time, I nervously closed my eyes. Usually, I could never bear to. But the next word out of his mouth sent a chill through my entire body. "Sera…" He did it on purpose. My heart skipped a beat, a dull pain spreading through me. I turned my head and pushed him away. "You're drunk." When Alistair got home, he found the clean clothes and hangover soup I had prepared for him, just like always. I lay in bed, feigning sleep, with no courage or resolve to face the truth. As I drifted off, I thought I heard Alistair's voice, seething with anger, "Sadie, you really can take anything, can't you? You're just that pathetic..." Don’t let his righteous, old-fashioned demeanor fool you. When he was angry, he’d said much worse. I was used to it. I fell asleep quickly. 3. Alistair’s neglect became blatant. He started disappearing, ignoring my calls and texts. Not seeing his face drove me crazy. Finally, I spotted him on a mutual friend’s social media feed. He was at a quiet bar, leaning in and talking to Serena. I skillfully cropped Serena out and saved the picture. After getting the address from our friend, I took a cab and rushed over. Alistair’s expression soured the moment he saw me. Serena looked visibly flustered, only calming down after Alistair gave her a reassuring look. "Hey, Sadie! Good to see you! Come have a drink!" "Yeah, it's been a while! We were starting to get unused to you not keeping tabs on Professor Roth here." Everyone laughed. I ignored Alistair's glare and quickly blended in with the group. Before I knew it, I'd been pressured into drinking more than I should have, and my head was spinning. I sat down in the spot they made for me, about to lean on Alistair’s shoulder to steady myself, when he abruptly stood up. He was tall, and the sudden movement drew everyone's attention. "Rhys, let’s switch seats." Everyone froze, their eyes darting between me and Alistair. "Come on, Alistair, that's pretty harsh on Sadie…" a friend tried to mediate. I pressed my temples. I was shocked at the sheer venom in his actions. He was willing to give up a chance to talk to Serena just to avoid sitting next to me. "It's fine…" I tried to smooth things over, but before I could finish, Alistair cut me off. He glanced at me, his tone dripping with contempt. "Don't worry, she's got thick skin. She can talk to anyone. She knows her way around places like this." Few people knew that after high school, I worked at a hotel for six months to save up for college tuition. I had endured a terrible environment, nearly getting assaulted several times. I had told Alistair this during one of my most vulnerable moments. He had held me tight back then, stroking my back and comforting me. Now, he was using it as a weapon to hurt me. I looked up at him in disbelief. For a split second, he looked shocked too, then frowned in annoyance and avoided my gaze. No apology. Alistair never apologized. I was exhausted. I didn't fight back, didn't scream. My heart just ached, as if being struck repeatedly with a blunt axe. A guy sat down next to me, wearing a light blue plaid shirt. He passed me tissues and a glass of warm water a few times. Halfway through the night, Serena suddenly clutched her stomach in pain. Alistair was the first to panic. Ignoring everyone, he scooped her up into his arms and rushed out. No one, including me, had ever seen him that frantic. "I always thought Professor Roth only showed normal human emotions when he was with you, Sadie. Haha, guess he really cares about his junior." Someone remarked, then trailed off, realizing I, the actual girlfriend, was still sitting right there. He quickly tried to backtrack. He watched my expression cautiously. "It's okay. Sera isn't feeling well. Alistair is definitely worried about her," I said, my eyes crinkling into a smile, but my voice was tinged with a faint bitterness. "Still, that's going too far. His girlfriend is right here…" someone else muttered under their breath. I took a sip of my drink, and my headache intensified. The person next to me handed me another tissue and swapped my glass for one with warm water. That’s when I realized I was crying. "Haha, how embarrassing, for someone to see me in such a mess." Tears blurred my vision, but through the haze, the first thing I saw was a breathtakingly handsome face. So handsome it made my blood rush, my whole body feel clear. My mouth fell open, and I forgot to even wipe away my tears. I stammered, "Wh-what's your name?" The guy was sweet, his voice impossibly gentle. "Rhys Bowen." At 1:27 AM, I was certain. My obsession with Alistair Roth was completely gone. 4. Alistair came home the next afternoon. When he walked in, I was sitting at the dining table, eating leftover cake from last night. I was in a good mood, swinging my feet and occasionally replying to a text from Rhys. They were just simple, polite greetings, a bit distant, but much warmer than anything I’d gotten from Alistair recently. "Today... is it your birthday?" Alistair finally realized something. His grip on his phone tightened, and a flicker of regret and panic crossed his placid eyes. Last night, I had called him more than once. And he had just watched his phone screen light up, letting me go crazy at home alone. Now he finally remembered what day it was. The day that, three years ago, he had promised he would be by my side no matter what. I took a bite of fluffy cream and waved my fork. "Wrong. It was yesterday." I didn't question him, didn't berate him, didn't dissolve into a puddle of tears begging for his affection like a kicked puppy. This was what he had been expecting, but strangely, a secret unease began to gnaw at his heart. He stood by the door, his expression conflicted. I tapped the table, motioning for him to sit. "We need to talk." Alistair instinctively took this as a peace offering. He let out a sigh of relief and sat down opposite me, completely unguarded. I continued eating my cake. He was still in yesterday’s clothes, his cuffs wrinkled. I could guess the faint smell of stale smoke and alcohol clinging to him. His hair was unkempt, falling over his tired eyes. "I was too busy yesterday, I didn't mean to forget your birthday. How about we celebrate today?" As Alistair spoke, the first thing I noticed were his dry, chapped lips. His lips, his tongue, his teeth… at this moment, they all seemed dull, and I couldn't find a single thing about them to praise. I cut off his self-assured planning. "Let's break up."
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