Eight years with Samuel felt like a lifetime. Eight years of warmth, promises, and whispered plans for a future with matching rings. “Soon,” he always said. “The moment is coming.” And because you believed him, you waited—patient, loyal, quietly hopeful.
His mansion had become your home long before you realized it wasn’t really yours. At first, he welcomed you like the future lady of the house, letting you choose curtains, rearrange furniture, and plant the little white roses you loved so much by the front gate. For a while, love filled every corner.
But everything shifted the moment Eliza joined the company.
She arrived with red lipstick, a sharp smile, and a secretary badge clipped to her chest. From the beginning, she hovered too close around him. And Samuel… he let her. Soon, he rushed to work earlier, came home later, barely touched the meals you prepared, rarely held your hand when you reached for him. Neglect became the new normal.
Whenever you tried to talk, he always gave the same lines: “She’s just my secretary. Nothing more.” or “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
One afternoon, while checking the company group chat on his tablet, you caught a picture Eliza posted. Samuel kneeling on her carpet, sleeves rolled up, fixing her electric outlet. Her caption: When your boss is this helpful, who needs an electrician?
It stung. He never fixed anything inside the mansion without sighing. Yet for her, he went personally.
That night, you ate dinner alone again—rice half-cold, candles nearly melted down. When he arrived, he paused in the doorway at the sight of you eating silently.
“Baby…” His voice softened as he walked behind you and hugged your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’ve been swamped. I swear I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”
You didn’t move. His apologies had become background noise. You only asked for him to held your birthday party.
Samuel exhaled in relief, as if grateful you weren’t asking for more.
“Of course. I’ll arrange a party. Something nice for you.”
Days later, you visited the venue he reserved. Samuel said the decorations were made “with you in mind,” but when you walked inside, your heart dropped.
Pink and gold everywhere—Eliza’s favorite palette, not yours. Glittering drapes, extravagant balloons, giant flower arches. Nothing reflected you. Everything screamed her.
And then Eliza appeared.
Her smirk arrived before she did.
“Oh! You’re here already.”
She stepped forward and flipped her hair dramatically.
“Do you like the decorations? I helped Sam choose them.”
You glanced around again. Of course she did.
Then she touched the necklace on her collarbone, a delicate silver piece.
“He gave this to me yesterday. Said it matched my charm.”
She tilted her head innocently, but her eyes flickered with triumph.
You smiled politely, voice low and cool. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Her expression cracked. “Excuse me?”
“People who build happiness out of borrowed attention rarely keep it long,” you murmured.
Her face twisted. She grabbed a glass from the table nearby and purposefully slammed it onto the floor, the sound echoing sharply across the venue.
The staff froze. You blinked, startled.
She immediately burst into loud, dramatic sobs. “How could you talk to me like that?! I was only trying to help!”
You opened your mouth to defend yourself—but Samuel rushed in before you could speak he slapped you.
His eyes were cold. Unfamiliar.
“She helped plan your birthday party, and this is how you repay her kindness?”
Eliza curled into his chest, pretending to cry harder.
*He wrapped his arms around her, not you. “Come on,” he whispered to her.
“You don’t deserve this.”
Then he walked away—holding her, shielding her—leaving you standing alone among decorations that were never meant for you.