He was always so careful, leaving no trace of anything in his message history.

But the one conversation completely deleted? His chats with a 'Lily Taylor.'

It wasn't 'Ryan' at all... Ethan had been talking about an intern named 'Ryan' lately, always smiling when he mentioned 'him.'

I'd felt uneasy and asked about 'him' casually, and he'd said 'Ryan' was a male college grad.

I sent a friend request to Lily Taylor.

[Hi, I'm with the club staff. Please accept.]

It took about thirty minutes, but the request went through.

I clicked on her Instagram profile.

The first post was from half an hour ago.

[Tummy hurts during that time of the month, boss was worried so he came to hang out! (shy emoji) Rubbed his hands warm to heat up my belly, he's the sweetest! ❤️]

Below it was a photo: a man's large hand resting on a woman's lower abdomen.

Just looking at it felt intimate.

Ethan has a scar on his index finger, a reminder of when he fought for me years ago.

I saw that scar in the photo.

I clenched my hand, forcing myself to scroll down through her feed, each post a new stab.

[Couldn't decide on a lipstick shade, so boss bought every single color! Who has a boss this amazing? Oh right, I do! 😉]

[Hehe, didn't want takeout, boss cooked dinner himself. So touched. 🥰]

... Underneath every picture, there were comments from people we both knew.

"Wow, Mr. Miller is so good to you! When's the wedding?"

"Mr. Miller usually seems so cold, but he cares so much about you. You can totally tell if a guy is into you!"

"Your relationship is goals! Makes me want to fall in love all over again!"

I thought Ethan was secretly cheating.

It turned out everyone knew but me.

I used to be the one he showered with affection.

Now he gave all the kindness and romance he'd shown me to someone else.

I endured the discomfort and kept scrolling.

Then I saw one post, and I couldn't hold back the tears anymore.

[Feeling blue, so boss gave me the day off and took me to the amusement park! Jealous much? 😎]

The photo was of Ethan, smiling, his arm around her.

The girl in the photo had eyes and brows just like mine when I was younger.

The date was last fall during a long weekend.

That weekend, I'd been in a car accident.

I'd called Ethan, shaken and panicking.

He'd told me, "I'm in a meeting, I really can't get away. My assistant will come right over!"

I believed him.

But he wasn't in a meeting.

He was at an amusement park with his mistress.

It was Noah Carter, a client who happened to be passing by, who stopped and helped me deal with everything.

Tears rolled down my face, one after another.

I wiped them away and sent Ethan Miller a text.

[Ethan, we're done. We're breaking up.]

The message went through.

As usual, it went unanswered.

I forced myself to focus, grabbed trash bags, and started throwing all my things out of the house.

I only kept my laptop and a few clothes.

Just as I was about to walk out the door, Ethan must have finally seen my message.

His phone calls started flooding in, one after another.

I didn't need to see him to feel his panic.