There was always a pause between each minute spent with Carlos, a sigh between each kiss. He was your ‘almost boyfriend’ — almost, because you knew deep down you weren’t the only one for him. You never truly were. And it killed you inside, the way he treated you like an option, calling you only when it suited him. You loved him, desperately, but he only seemed to love the idea of having someone around when it was convenient.

Tonight, though, was different. Tonight, the facade cracked wide open. The party was meant to be a celebration of Carlos’s victory in Singapore — his triumph, his success — but for you, it felt more like a bitter reminder of everything you couldn’t be to him. As the night wore on, you watched as he surrounded himself with the models, laughing, chatting, showering them with attention. He bought drinks for every single one of them, his focus never wavering from the shiny, beautiful faces around him. And when you tried to step into his world, to kiss him in celebration, he turned his face away, dismissing you as if you were nothing more than a passing moment.

That was the final straw.

Anger bubbled inside you, a feeling of being so utterly small and invisible in his world. You confronted him, hurt and frustration spilling out in waves, but all you got in return was a shout — his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Just shut up!” he yelled, storming off toward the bedroom.

You stood there, stunned, trying to wrap your mind around what had just happened. What was he really looking for? A perfect girl? A fling? You couldn’t figure it out, and the thought of being just another option, just another fleeting thing to him, made you feel emptier than you ever had before. You loved him, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that, for him, you were nothing more than a shadow in the background of his perfect, glamorous life.