Chapter 1

The day I got laid off, I was desperately scrolling through LinkedIn.

A sponsored post caught my eye:

"Girls, what's the fastest way to make money in New York City?"

The most upvoted reply made me stop swiping:

"Look for a sugar daddy, what else could it be? My sugar daddy gives me fifteen thousand dollars a month. I remember my favorite lobster roll shop, which tracks my menstrual cycle like an alarm clock. That part... pretty exhausting, but man, he's so handsome."

Someone asked: "Where'd you find him? Is he single?"

She replied: "He has a girlfriend. Says she's a dead fish in bed. No passion."

"Met him in the Hamptons this summer. He bumped his Porsche into my car. A total meet-cute."

My breath hitched.

July. The Hamptons. A Porsche.

Julian had also hit a girl's car during a business trip to the Hamptons in July.

My fingers went cold. I kept scrolling.

"Today I casually mentioned I wasn't feeling well, and boom―he ditched his girlfriend to fly over and buy me a Birkin."

The photo attached: two hands clasped tightly. The man had a fresh scratch on his index finger.

It was in the exact same spot where Julian had cut himself slicing an avocado for me this morning.

I slammed my phone face down on my lap, my heart hammering against my ribs.

It couldn't be him.

Not the Julian who would tuck my cold feet into his chest on winter nights.

The Julian whose eyes lit up whenever he talked about me.

We had been together for seven years. Our engagement party was in two days. He had designed the invitations himself.

It had to be a coincidence.

I took a deep breath and reopened the Reddit thread.

The comments were a mix of envy and curses.

Her replies grew more arrogant with each post:

"Why so bitter? His girlfriend has the title but doesn't know how to please a man. Men want passion, not some saintly statue gathering dust on the mantelpiece."

"My benefactor even pulled some strings to get her fired from her company. Then he got me her job."

"She's unemployed now. He gives her five thousand a month for 'living expenses'―but he gives me fifteen."

Every word was a knife.

A week ago, I was suddenly fired.

HR's explanation was vague, something about "leadership restructuring."

I went home and cried in Julian's arms.

He kissed the top of my head. "It's just a job, baby. I'll give you five thousand dollars a month."

"Do some Pilates, binge-watch some shows, go shopping on Fifth Avenue whenever you want."

I told him I didn't want to become his kept woman.

He laughed. "I want to take care of you. Only you."

"Only you."

The words echoed in my ears, now feeling like shards of ice piercing my heart.

My hands trembled as I clicked on the blogger's profile, "PeachySweetie." She had synced her posts to Instagram.

Her latest update:

"Day 244 with my man. Casually mentioned I liked a necklace, and the next thing I know, we're at Van Cleef & Arpels. #spoiled #nyclife"

The picture showed a man's back as he paid at the counter.

Julian wasn't wearing that Armani suit when he left this morning.

But that silhouette... I could draw it with my eyes closed.

My stomach churned. I kept scrolling.

"Day 215 with my man. They're about to get engaged, but guess what? I designed the calligraphy for their invitations! I just love irises. Aren't they pretty?"

She posted a photo of the invitation sample. It was identical to the one in my desk drawer.

Julian had shown it to me, his eyes filled with a love so deep it seemed bottomless.

"Irises, Mia. In Greek mythology, they're the goddess of the rainbow―connecting heaven and earth. That's us. Sacred. Unbreakable."

Sacred. Unbreakable.

What a fucking joke.

"Day 198 with my man. It's their seventh anniversary, but he stood her up to take me to the Spider-Man premiere."

I remembered that day.

I had taken the day off, cooked his favorite Beef Wellington, ordered a cake, bought a gift, and lit scented candles.

All I got was his apologetic phone call:

"Baby, there's an emergency merger. I have to stay at the office. Don't wait up."

I didn't doubt him for a second. I just told him to take care of himself.

My fingertips were numb; I could barely hold my phone.

I scrolled all the way to her very first post:

"Met my dream guy today! He bumped his Porsche into my car―a total accident. He was super apologetic and insisted on taking me to a private clinic for a full check-up… but he has a girlfriend. Who cares. A man this perfect? It would be a crime to miss this chance. Operation: Steal Your Man is a go."

The post was dated July 4th, 2025.

The exact day Julian hit that girl's car in the Hamptons.

"Fuck―"

I ran to the bathroom and threw up until my stomach was empty.

Tears and snot streamed down my face.

The woman in the mirror had bloodshot eyes, a crazed look on her face.

So that was it.

244 days. Seven months and twenty-two days.

All the nights he claimed to be working late, networking, or handling emergencies.

All the moments I worried about him, he was in another woman's bed.

He even destroyed my career for her.

He knew exactly what that job meant to me.