For three years, I'd shared a New York apartment with Ethan, my college boyfriend. To everyone who knew us, we were the perfect couple.
He was the kind of boyfriend who'd surprise me by clearing out my online shopping cart, who never forgot an important date, and who even planted a tiny herb garden with mint and basil for me on the balcony of our cramped Brooklyn apartment.
Six months ago, he moved us into a new apartment in Manhattan, proudly calling it the home we’d build our future in. As a designer, I was thrilled to pour my skills into the renovation.
I thought all that was missing was a proposal.
Until he took me to the Hamptons for his family's charity gala.
At the gala, an elegant stranger slipped her arm through his and asked sweetly, "Ethan, is this the roommate you're always telling me about?"
Ethan pressed a kiss to her temple, his smile radiating an adoration I’d never seen before. "Yes, it is. Thanks to her design skills, the new place turned out perfectly."
He turned to me, his voice low as he met my shocked gaze. "Chloe, don't give me that look. It's perfectly normal for a guy to have a girlfriend, isn't it? Don't you dare say a word."
"Then what am I?" I asked numbly.
He delivered the final, crushing blow without a moment's hesitation:
"You? You’re my roommate. The one who pays half the rent and warms my bed. It’s been a mutually beneficial arrangement for three years, hasn’t it?"
"I give you the attention you crave, you take care of my physical needs. Besides, living with me has saved you a fortune."
————————
1
I stumbled back, my heel catching the leg of a chair with a dull, painful thud.
"A mutually beneficial arrangement?"
Those words shattered the three-year-long delusion I’d mistaken for love.
On the twentieth of every month, I would dutifully Venmo him three thousand dollars for my share of the rent.
When we first moved into that Manhattan loft, Ethan had looked me straight in the eye and, with what I'd mistaken for sincerity, told me the rent for such a prime location was six thousand a month. Splitting it, he’d said, was only fair.
He'd even added, with a thoughtful look, "I know you've only just started out as a freelance designer, so if money's tight, you can owe me."
I had been so moved I’d nearly cried, convinced he was the most considerate man on earth.
To make sure I wasn't taking advantage of him, I always transferred my share of the rent on the first of every month, without fail.
But now, Isabella was clinging to his arm, asking with a beaming smile, "Ethan, did you really buy our new home?"
Ethan kissed her forehead. "Of course. I'd never let my wife live in a rented place."
In that instant, my blood ran ice-cold.
So, the apartment wasn't a rental at all.
It was his.
So, I'd been paying him three thousand dollars a month. To live in *his* property. To design a home for *him and his fiancée*. All while I was lost in the sweet illusion that we were building a life together.
Not only had I given him my professional design and sourcing skills for free, but I’d also paid him fucking rent and slept with him!
Nausea and rage surged through me, a furious roar in my ears.
"Ethan, look, Chloe looks so pale. Is she not feeling well?" Isabella's voice chimed in. She looked at me, her eyes filled with genuine concern.
Ethan finally spared me a glance, his brow furrowed with impatience. "Probably low blood sugar," he muttered. "She gets like this. A little high-maintenance."
With that, he wrapped an arm around Isabella and turned to leave.
Just then, the gala's emcee walked onto the stage with a microphone, and the lighting technician expertly cast a spotlight on him.
"Esteemed guests, we have a double celebration tonight!" the emcee's voice boomed with enthusiasm. "Not only have we raised funds for a worthy cause, but our handsome young entrepreneur, Mr. Ethan Cooper, also successfully proposed to the girl of his dreams just last week!"
At his words, the champagne flute slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.
The socialites around us let out gasps and cheers, rushing to congratulate Ethan.
In the spotlight, he pulled Isabella closer, accepting their congratulations with a calm smile before pressing a kiss to her lips.
The emcee seized the moment, holding the microphone out to him. "Ethan, tell us all the details of the proposal! Was it incredibly romantic?"
Ethan cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing on my face with a hint of defiance.
He smiled and said, "It wasn't anything too special, actually. I took her to our new home, and I saw her standing in front of the custom bookshelf I had built. The sunset was shining on her. In that moment, I just knew I had to marry her."
That custom bookshelf... the design I had stayed up all night drafting...
My stomach churned violently. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I shoved my way through the crowd and fled toward the restrooms.
I hunched over the cold marble counter, dry-heaving while hot tears streamed down my face, blurring the reflection of the pale, idiotic girl in the mirror.
