I Refuse to Be His Second-Best Choice

My boyfriend, Jenson Fuller, and I had planned to have dinner on Valentine's Day to celebrate the winning of a case, but he had to go back to the law firm to work overtime yet again because of a mistake in Ashley Pearson's case file.

I, Denisse Clayton, sat in the corner of the conference room, wearing an uncomfortably tight dress, my hands ice-cold.

Jenson closed the case file and said in a deep voice, "You've won so many cases. This is the first time for Ashley to handle files for a criminal case. Cut her some slack."

I didn't respond.

The dress was so tight that it made it hard for me to breathe, and the zipper was chafing against my side.

I stood up to ask him to get me a glass of warm water, only to realize he'd already taken Ashley to the archives.

I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Ashley's latest WhatsApp status. "Jenson is personally helping me sort through the case file. Lucky me!"

The photo in the status was a selfie of her holding a coffee, with Jenson standing beside her, pointing to the case file and explaining in detail.

Jenson pointed gently at the statute with incorrect notes made by her, looking incredibly patient.

I pressed my hand to my side and suddenly felt a searing pain from the spot where the zipper had been chafing.

This dress was a gift for winning my case he'd given me.

It was a size small. It was so tight it felt suffocating on me, but it was the perfect size for Ashley.

I suddenly recalled what my professor in college had said, "A defense based on the wrong position can never win, no matter how hard you try."

So I took off the tight dress and submitted my request to transfer to the firm's headquarters in Huvella City.

And I also decided to leave Jenson.