That night, a breaking news alert from a well-known fashion magazine popped up on my phone. It was an intimate photo of Julian and Scarlett at a dinner party, with the caption: "Wall Street's rising star Julian Vance engaged to socialite Scarlett Mercer."
My phone immediately blew up with messages from his friends, who all assumed the woman in the photo was me.
"Congratulations! You finally landed Julian! When's the wedding?"
"Bro, you're so lucky! You landed the beauty of our architecture school!"
"Where's Chloe? Why isn't she saying anything?"
...
Julian and I had been together for eight years, since college. All his friends knew me. I had to read the headline twice. I couldn't blame his friends for getting it wrong.
However, that person wasn't me. It was never going to be me.
I opened my phone, ready to explain, but before I could type a single word, Julian called.
The moment I answered, he started yelling.
"Chloe, what the hell is wrong with you? You're letting this rumor spread to upset Scarlett and ruin my reputation, aren't you?"
"Listen to me. Scarlett is very upset right now. You'd better issue a public statement clarifying that you are not the one I'm engaged to. And wish us well, gracefully. Make this go away!"
My boyfriend had just publicly announced his engagement to another woman, and now he was demanding that I, his actual girlfriend, issue a clarification for him. He even wanted me to publicly congratulate them—all to protect his image and soothe her feelings.
An icy chill spread through me, numbing me to the bone.
So this is what my eight years of devotion were worth? Less than his pristine public image? This wasn't even my fault. So why was I the one being made the scapegoat?
Just because I loved him, did I deserve to have my dignity trampled on like this?
He never considered my feelings, never spared a thought for the humiliation I'd face by releasing that kind of statement.
From the very beginning, the only person he ever cared about was himself.
I once loved him enough to let anything slide. But now, I refused to tolerate it any longer.
I remained silent, and he pressed on, "You have two choices. Either you release a statement wishing us well, or marriage is off the table. Permanently."
He always used that to threaten me, to force me to submit whenever we argued. I used to be so afraid of losing him that I caved every single time.
But that only made him push his luck even further. It’s true what they say: if you don’t respect yourself, no one else will.
Julian was the perfect embodiment of that principle.
"Do whatever you want," I said and hung up.
He never intended to marry me—he was just using marriage as a leash to keep me under his control.
After I hung up, Julian flew into a rage, bombarding me with vicious texts. His words were incredibly cruel, as if our years together had meant nothing.
I blocked his number, packed my things, and dropped them off at a friend's place.
Next, I went to my company and handed in my resignation.
New York City was Julian's territory. I had followed him here from Ithaca after graduating, thinking it would be the start of my happy life.
New York was a beautiful place, but I had no intention of ever coming back. After getting my affairs in order, I met up with a few friends for a farewell party.
At the party, I stepped out onto the terrace for some air, only to run into Julian, who was also waiting for someone.
He was holding Scarlett's designer shawl.
