After skillfully bidding farewell to all the guests, I made a phone call.
"Does the promise we made ten years ago still hold?"
A soft chuckle came from the other end of the line: "It does."
After hanging up, I noticed the news about Steven's public scene for a woman had already made the headlines.
Ignoring the auction rules, he stormed into the private room, shelled out two million dollars, and left with Zayla, having fought off all the other bidders.
Under that headline, gossip-fueled comments poured in, with only a few voices mentioning that Steven was engaged. These, however, were quickly drowned out by comments like, "The person who lacks love is the outsider."
Zayla's latest Facebook update read:
"Three years of waiting, and today my dream finally came true~"
The accompanying photo showed clothes strewn across the floor and a hint of red on the sheets, along with Steven sleeping peacefully.
I didn’t collapse in anger like I had the previous 98 times. Instead, I simply liked the post and commented, "99."
Not even thirty minutes later, Steven's call came through.
"It took me forever to calm Zayla down, and now you're leaving cryptic comments again?"
"I promise you, this is the last time. She won't cause trouble again."
I can't recall how many times Steven has said, "This is the last time."
At our first wedding attempt, Zayla threatened suicide.
At the second, she faked a pregnancy.
At the third, she threw a hundred grand in my face, demanding I leave Steven.
Each time Zayla made a scene, and each time, Steven allowed it.
The only explanation he'd ever offer was, "This is the last time."
Yet each new incident arrived right on cue.
I finally understood that a man's promises often mean nothing.
So, I calmly said:
"Steven, there won't be a next time. Let's end this."
A long silence stretched on the line before he finally hung up.
When I got home, I found the locks had been changed.
Just as I was about to call a locksmith, the door opened.
Zayla leaned smugly against the doorframe, wearing my silk pajama top.
"Steven was worried about me being out there alone, so he let me stay here. Oh, he didn’t tell you?"
As she spoke, I saw Steven approach, shirtless, his chest marked with hickeys and scratches.
"Zayla's still a bit fragile, so I thought she could stay here for a while," he explained. "I was concerned she wouldn't remember the old passcode, so I changed it to her birthday."
I nodded and walked past him into the house.
When I started packing my suitcase, panic flashed across Steven's face.
"Where are you going?"
It seemed he'd forgotten that I'd suggested we break up only half an hour ago.
He wrapped his arms around me without a second thought, "How about we spend Christmas in Iceland next month and watch the Northern Lights?"
Before he could finish, Zayla let out a soft, pained sound from the doorway.
"Zayla, what's the matter?"
Steven's attention shifted instantly.
He looked at Zayla with undeniable concern.
"Steven, my chest feels tight; maybe it’s a reaction from the auction incense."
Without hesitation, Steven picked her up and carried her inside, not even glancing back at me.
As the bedroom door closed, I met Zayla's triumphant expression.
I chuckled lightly.
I wanted to tell her she didn’t need to put in so much effort.
A few minutes later, sounds came from the master bedroom that would make anyone blush.
I sighed softly.
My heart didn’t ache as I expected, but instead felt a sense of relief, as if a burden had been lifted.
They got what they wanted, and now I would fulfill my own promise from ten years ago.
