After 100th Proposal, I Walked Away

I had been the lover Zayn Lowe brought home and pampered for eight years. He once promised that if I proposed to him 100 times, he would make me his wife. But while I was excitedly getting ready for the 99th proposal, I unexpectedly heard his voice through the door, talking to a woman. "I've just come back, and you're already talking about our marriage? Aren't you worried the lover next to you will kick up a fuss?" Zayn let out a soft laugh. "Just a placeholder. As long as you're not upset, I've got ways to keep her in line. If she behaves, I'll even let her be our bridesmaid next week. Call it a reward for keeping us around all these years." The bouquet slipped from my hands and hit the floor. So after all these years, both the promise and the love had been nothing but a lie. I took out my phone and sent a message to my master. Vivian: The 8-year deal is over. I lost. I'll return the day after tomorrow to help you run the family business. ***** Zayn walked in with someone just as I hit send on my message. The emotional whiplash still clung to my face. "You look pale. Are you alright?" As usual, he reached out to feel my forehead. I sidestepped him. "I'm fine." He froze for a beat, then drew the woman beside him forward. "This is Sophia, a high school friend. She just got back from overseas and will crash here for a few days." I nodded, choosing not to call out the lie. Sophia Scott smiled and took my hand, warm and familiar like an older sister. "So you're the little girl Zayn brought home? You're actually pretty good, nothing like the troublemaker he made you out to be." Zayn gave a resigned laugh, "Don't let that innocent face fool you. She's sharp as a whip. Gives me a headache." He looked at Sophia, his eyes softening in a way I had never seen before, nothing like the cold, mercurial Zayn I knew. My chest tightened, like it was packed with damp cotton. I mumbled an excuse and bolted back to my room in a panic. I opened the closet, meaning to change out of the ornate dress. My hand drifted from one outfit to the last, but in the end, I let it go. The same washed-out palette, the same ankle-length dresses. The same "Sophia" stitched inside every lining. I had objected to Zayn's near-obsessive preference more than once. Each time I, in a fit of frustration, threw them away, he would have exact replacements delivered without delay. I used to believe he was simply the overprotective type, averse to anything too revealing, insisting on "elegance." I never once suspected I was just a stand-in for someone else. Knock, knock, knock. The maid came to call me down for dinner. At the dining table, Zayn was busy serving Sophia. The spread was entirely Mexican cuisine, heavy with red and green chilies. I was allergic to peppers and was about to excuse myself when a servant brought out a birthday cake. Only when Zayn noticed the number of candles did he abruptly remember it was my birthday. After a short pause, he took a black card from his pocket and handed it to me. "Pick whatever you want." A thick wave of disappointment rose inside me. The old Zayn would never have forgotten my birthday. Not even a typhoon, not even multimillion-dollar deals could keep him away. He would always rush back with carefully chosen gifts just for me. But now… I pushed the black card back. "No need. I don't want anything." Zayn's brow tightened as he was about to speak, but Sophia looped her arm through his. "Zayn, my friends are hosting a welcome-home dinner for me tonight. I'm scared they'll push me to drink. Can you go with me?" "Sure," he said. While Sophia stepped into the bathroom, his eyes landed on the bouquet by the doorway. In a measured tone, he said, "Vivian, stop with these childish games. People can easily misunderstand." He didn't spell it out, but I understood. He was talking about Sophia, the woman he would marry next week. But Zayn, if you never loved me, why let me live inside a dream for eight years? Didn't you think that was cruel? I gave a small nod and calmly dropped the bouquet into the trash. The door shut behind them. I looked down at the proposal script that had fallen from the flowers. Then I picked it up and tore it to shreds.