I sat there wrestling with myself, turning it over and over. Was I reading too much into this?
I'd always been the stubborn type. Two years ago, a misunderstanding nearly tore us apart for good.
Zane had explained everything, swore he'd never give me reason to doubt him again.
Maybe the frantic cover story was just him trying not to ruin today. This day he'd clearly been planning for a while.
I talked myself down, forced a smile, and reached for the car door.
The moment my fingers touched the handle, Zane's phone screen lit up.
A message from some contact saved as Boba Tea Reviewer：
「You're so bad, Zane. This is YOUR fault for insisting we do it in the car last time. We almost got caught! Didn't I tell you to check and make sure you didn't leave any of my stuff behind?」
I stumbled out of the car and looked up into his eyes, still brimming with love and hope.
He lowered himself onto one knee, solemn as a man at an altar：
“Eva, marry me. Let me spend the rest of my life protecting you.”
The scene I'd pictured a thousand times in my dreams was finally right in front of me.
Except now it was tangled up with that filthy, nauseating lie.
I shook my head with a bitter smile：
“Zane, we're done.”
The smile on his face froze solid.
His brows knitted on instinct：
“Eva, that's not funny. I'm serious right now. I'm proposing to you.”
I met his irritated glare head-on. Didn't flinch. Didn't fold：
“And I'm serious about turning you down. The engagement is off.”
Before he could react, I shoved his phone in his face：
“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
Zane's pupils locked tight the second he read the message.
On the screen, a flood of explicit photos had poured in, the kind that burned just to look at.
“Eva, you've got it wrong……”
He scrambled for an explanation, but hadn't even settled on an excuse yet.
On the other end, the messages started getting deleted one by one.
「Sorry! I sent that to the wrong person!」
Followed by a string of groveling emojis.
Zane's expression shifted like a fish gasping on dry land that just got tossed back in the water：
“See? She sent it to the wrong person. I can't even remember who she is. Probably just some scammer. You can't jump to conclusions like this……”
I let out a breath. I didn't keep arguing, but I didn't take back what I said either.
I couldn't convince myself anymore. Not after how fast he'd crumbled the second I tested him.
And the fact that the messages kept calling him “Zane” by name. All just a coincidence.
Back home, what used to be our warm little apartment felt like walking into a freezer.
Zane trailed behind me like a kid who knew he was in trouble.
He cleaned the apartment in silence, gathered all my dirty laundry, cooked a full dinner with four dishes and a soup.
At the table, he quietly ladled my favorite corn and rib soup into my bowl. I pushed it aside.
The rims of his eyes went red, this man who never let his pride slip：
“You can't accuse me without solid proof. Someone sends a message to the wrong number and suddenly it's all my fault?”
I stared down at my bowl and told him the truth：
“It's not just that. The tampon I asked you about in the car? It was mine.”
Zane's face darkened：“So you were testing me?”
“It was a joke. I hadn't even told you the truth yet and you were already rallying your friends and coworkers to lie for you. Are you going to tell me that's not what happened?”
I couldn't read the look in his eyes, dark and unsteady. He set his chopsticks down, picked them up again, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.
After dinner, for the first time ever, I was the one who cleared the table. He went to bed earlier than he ever had.
We lay side by side, backs turned to each other, saying nothing. Close enough to touch. Miles apart.
Eventually I sank into a heavy sleep. Beside me, the mattress shifted. He got up and left.
