Roses are No Longer Romantic

Evelyn Hartwell, my fiancée who had never sent me flowers even once during our seven years of dating, suddenly sent me 9,999 roses on my birthday, along with a whole box of condoms. I was overjoyed at first, so I quickly posted the flowers on my Instagram feeds. However, my excitement did not last long as her assistant left a comment below.

[Some people can only pick up the trash that others don’t want.]

It was then that I realized the shocking truth. Evelyn had bought a house for her assistant right below the apartment that was supposed to be our home after our wedding. The lavish gift of roses that I had thought was for me was never meant for me at all. It was for him and it had been sent to me by mistake.

Determined to return what was never mine, I personally delivered the roses back to her. As fate would have it, I walked in on Evelyn and her assistant enjoying a cozy candlelight dinner together.

Before I could even say a word, Evelyn lashed out at me, her words sharp and merciless.

"Can you stop being so annoying? Simon and I are just discussing business."

Then she added, "Besides, if something were really going on between us, do you think you would even have a chance to marry me?"

In the past, those words would have left me spiraling, desperate to find out the truth, questioning her until the early hours of the morning.

This time, I felt something shift inside me. I calmly threw the bouquet of roses at her, along with the engagement ring that once symbolized our love.

"I genuinely wish you, both of you, happiness," I said, my voice steady.

——

The engagement ring rolled across the floor, stopping right at Evelyn's feet. Without the slightest hesitation, she sneered and stepped on it as if it were nothing.

By doing so, she was not just stepping on the ring. She was trampling my dignity, my love and everything I had ever believed in under her heels.

"If you want to marry me, you’d better change your jealous nature."

"Now get out of here. We have a business to discuss. Go home and reflect on your behavior."

As her familiar accusations echoed in the air, I felt something unexpected. Instead of the usual pain, I was calm, almost numb.

After leaving Simon's house, I decided I had to make things clear once and for all. I sent a message to the family group chat, telling everyone about Evelyn's affair. Along with that, I announced my decision to break off the engagement with Evelyn.

Normally, Evelyn never responded to my messages quickly, if at all. However, this time, she did not waste a second. She sent a picture of herself at the computer to the group, captioning it with, [Just handling work as usual with my subordinates.]

Then, as she always did, she expertly twisted the situation to shift the blame onto me.

She then typed smoothly, [Vincent Roswell, there’s no need to stir up trouble just because I didn’t buy you that one-million-dollar car you wanted for our wedding.]

She continued, [I’ve never made a fuss when you used my card to drink with your female friends at the bar.]

My mother was the first to react, her messages flooding in, filled with accusations. She called me ungrateful, said I did not deserve Evelyn and demanded that I apologize to her for causing trouble.

She even went as far as to threaten me, saying that if I let this marriage slip away, she would kill herself right in front of me.

Seeing all this play out exactly as I expected, I let out a tired sigh and quietly exited the group chat.

After my parents' divorce, my mother became more irritable and controlling.

Growing up in such a suffocating environment made me naturally gravitate toward Evelyn’s seemingly gentle and polite nature.

I thought she was my escape, my peace. However, during our seven years together, I began to realize how wrong I was. Evelyn was nothing like the person she pretended to be.

The softness she showed was not for me. It was for Simon Redford. The patience she displayed was not meant for those closest to her but for another man.

When it came to me, all I received was cold indifference, emotional manipulation and a steady stream of cutting remarks.

This woman was an expert at belittling me, especially in front of others.

She knew just how to push me to my breaking point. And when I finally broke down, crying and hurt, she would act all righteous and composed, asking me harshly why I was behaving that way.

Then, in front of everyone, she would put on her mask of kindness and pretend to forgive me, making it seem like she was the one being reasonable while I was the irrational one.

But not this time. This time, she had miscalculated.

People who struggle to let go often make the loudest noise. However, when a heart has already withered, it did not stir, no matter what that important person did.

Evelyn returned with a bouquet of wilted red roses in her hand. Meanwhile, I was stretched out comfortably on the sofa, scrolling through my phone, completely unbothered by her presence.

"Why haven’t you cooked?" she snapped.

"Still angry, huh? Come one, that’s enough now, isn’t it?"

"Didn’t you always say you wanted me to give you flowers? Well, I bought them for you, so stop sulking."

I stared at them, remembering the times I would see couples walking down the street, holding beautiful bouquets, smiling and glowing with happiness. I had often told her how much I envied and admired that simple gesture.

But every time, Evelyn had responded with impatience and disdain.

"If I had known you were such a useless man, I would never have chosen to be with you!"

"It's not that I can’t afford these little things, but Vincent Roswell, you! You are a man who stays home all day, cooking and cleaning, contributing nothing to society. Do you even deserve such things?"

She always found ways to accuse me of being lazy and useless, as though my value was tied solely to material things.

What she conveniently forgot was that I had been the one supporting her all these years, helping her rise to success in her business.

I gave her everything I could. Time, energy, countless gifts and flowers over the seven years we were together.

Unfortunately, when she finally reached the top, my health had suffered, worn down by my efforts to keep us afloat.

In the end, all she did was dangle marriage in front of me like a carrot, coaxing me into quitting my job.

Once I gave in, she no longer saw me as her partner. In her eyes, now I was just a live-in servant, no more important than an old, worn-out rag.

She would not even buy me a single rose without complaining, yet she showered Simon with lavish gifts. She gave him a suite, even a sea of flowers.

Just earlier today, I had checked Simon’s social media.

There, in plain sight, was a post of them together, laughing and relaxing in a bathtub full of rose petals.

The very same 9,999 roses she now dumped on me, as if they were some afterthought, already ruined and discarded.

I looked at the pathetic bouquet at my feet. Wilted, damp and cold. I nudged them away with my foot, disgusted, before lifting my gaze to meet Evelyn's eyes.

I spoke, my voice calm but resolute. "I don’t like second-hand trash."

"And I definitely don’t like second-hand women."