Chapter 2

2.

Trenton Yates was her so-called first love.

Lyra and Trenton were childhood sweethearts who attended the same schools all the way from elementary to college.

Back on campus, they were the most celebrated golden couple.

Unfortunately, during our junior year, Lyra’s family went bankrupt, tumbling from high society down to the bottom overnight.

Right at that moment, Trenton dumped her without hesitation and moved abroad to pursue his own career.

Lyra was crushed, spiraling into severe depression and breaking down multiple times.

That was when I met her.

I dedicated every spare second to staying by her side, comforting her through her darkest hours.

I spent my entire allowance hiring elite therapists to learn how to help her heal.

Whenever she wanted to drown her sorrows in alcohol, a single phone call would send me running to her like a loyal dog.

Knowing she had a sensitive stomach, I stood outside her dorm every single morning, rain or shine, with hot breakfast in hand.

I had sworn never to rely on my wealthy family, yet for her sake, I swallowed my pride and asked my father to secretly bail out her family business.

After pursuing her relentlessly for three whole years, she finally overcame her depression and agreed to be my girlfriend.

Yet across eight years together, she never had an ounce of genuine love for me.

I was nothing more than an endless ATM she used to show off in front of her friends.

Perhaps I should have realized long ago that I held zero weight in her heart.

Her phone notes were filled with Trenton’s favorite dishes and allergies.

Her laptop held secret folders filled with old photos of her and Trenton.

Whenever I asked to take a couple’s photo with her, she would back away five feet and claim she hated taking pictures.

She claimed writing notes was a waste of time.

In reality, she loved taking photos and documenting her deepest feelings.

She just did not love me.

I had actually learned about Trenton’s return two weeks ago from an alumni group chat.

Someone had posted a photo of a couple walking arm-in-arm, captioned with excitement.

“Is that our campus queen Lyra?! Looks like the old flame reignited the second Trenton landed! Huge congrats!”

With just one glance, I recognized the woman in the photo as Lyra.

I had forwarded that chat history directly to her.

She had brushed it off effortlessly. “They got the wrong person. That is not me.”

I had memorized her silhouette after looking at it thousands of times.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was her.

Yet I had chosen to fool myself and believe her lie.

Still, I could not resist asking her one final question back then.

“If Trenton came back, would you still marry me?”

Lyra had thrown a fit, snapping with extreme annoyance.

“Are you annoying or what? You ask this every time! If I could marry Trenton, what the hell would I need you for?”

Just as she said, she proved it to me without hesitation.

With Trenton back in the picture, she did not even care to spare me a glance.

These past eight years were nothing but my own pathetic, one-sided delusion.