Chapter 3

I was too exhausted to open the door and argue, and I certainly didn't want to provide free entertainment for the neighbors.

So I called the police.

Zane—a classic bully who crumbled before real authority—fled the moment the officers arrived. He left behind a pathetic "I'll be back!" as he scurried away like a rat caught in kitchen lights.

It didn't matter. I was moving anyway. He didn't know the address of my new home with my husband.

I wasn't worried.

Just as I predicted, Zane didn't dare ask around for my new location. Instead, he bombarded me digitally. He cycled through different phone numbers and social media accounts, sending me "little essays"—walls of text thousands of words long—every single day.

Every message was a cocktail of deep, fake reflection and hollow apologies. Calling the police was useless; apparently, harassment via apology wasn't a high-priority crime.

I blocked every number.

Then the money started coming.

Zane began transferring funds to my bank account. The amounts were always specific: $0.13, $0.14, or $0.52—numbers that sounded like "forever" or "I love you" in Chinese.

He sent so many micro-transactions that the bank flagged my account for suspicious activity and froze my cards.

That was it.

I snapped.

I compiled a PowerPoint presentation detailing every receipt, timestamp, and photo of his affair with Gabriella Jennings. I sent the file to him with a simple message:

【Zane, I saved you some dignity by only telling our families. If you bother me one more time, I will upload this to every local forum and social media platform. The whole internet will know what you are.】

Perhaps he realized I wasn't bluffing. The silence was immediate. Though he occasionally replied insisting he "must marry me," the harassment slowed to a trickle.

For a while, I stayed in, enjoying the peace of my new life.

But I never expected to run into him again so soon.

I went to my husband's office to deliver some documents and drop off his lunch. In the lobby, I collided with Zane—and he wasn't alone.

Gabriella, the friend who betrayed me, was clinging to his arm.

The moment they saw me, their eyes lit up. It was terrifying. Zane's eyes flashed with the golden gleam of greed, while Gabriella's glowed green with jealousy.

Zane closed the distance in two strides. "It really is you! I knew it—even though you talked tough, you still have me in your heart. You followed me here!"

He grinned, manic.

"You know the cooling-off period is over and I got the divorce certificate, so you came to find me to legalize our marriage, right? Sure. Let's go right now. Finally, my childhood wish is coming true."

Gabriella's expression was a masterpiece of conflicting emotions. She looked like she had swallowed a live fly, but she forced a smile and stepped forward.

"Sara." Her voice was sugary sweet, cloying enough to rot teeth. "I know I let you down in the past, but it's been so long. I hope you can forgive me. We can still be best friends. In the future, we'll all get along like one big happy family!"

In truth, I hated Gabriella far more than I hated Zane.

There is an old saying: *Sisters are like hands and feet; lovers are like clothes.* Clothes are disposable, but limbs are vital.

Before I ever dated Zane, I had asked for Gabriella's opinion. She had encouraged me to be with him—all while secretly harboring feelings for him herself. If she had just been honest back then, I never would have looked at him twice.

I never suspected anything because I trusted her.

It was only when she got impatient and started sending me provoking messages that I realized the truth.

I looked at the two of them—one delusional, one shameless—and scoffed.

I lifted the insulated bag in my hand. "You've misunderstood. I'm not here for you. I'm here to bring lunch to my husband."