Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English | NEW
Synopsis
The night before our wedding, I heard my fiancé, Raymond, promise another woman that he would make me the laughingstock of the entire city on our big day.
He had taken all my savings and built his firm with my money.
Yet in the end, he was plotting how to humiliate me, hoping to force me into calling off the wedding myself.
I didn't cry, and I didn't make a scene.
This wedding was off.
Raymond thought I was just throwing another temper tantrum, waiting for me to lower my head and beg for peace like I always did.
He had no idea that the only reason I ever liked him was because he looked like the true love I had lost.
I had already arranged my long-term residency paperwork for Switzerland, ready to leave for good.
Summer POV
I had always thought Raymond couldn't live without me.
From his mother's surgery bills to his partner seat at his firm, I was the one who sorted everything out for him.
Yet the night before our wedding, he promised Phoebe that he would humiliate me at the ceremony.
After hearing that, I decided not to get married.
At the rehearsal dinner, I went to touch up my lipstick and heard hushed voices right outside the restroom door.
Phoebe spoke first, her voice thick with tears. "If you really marry her, I won't go on living."
That was followed by a loud crash.
Looking through the crack in the door, I saw a wine glass shattered into pieces on the tile. Phoebe pressed her wrist against a jagged shard, tears streaming down her cheeks one by one.
Raymond's mother let out a heavy sigh. "She's been suffocating us all these years. This is our chance. Just call off the engagement."
His sister, Rachel, chimed in beside them. "Raymond, why do you even want to marry her? Do you love her face, or do you love her money?"
His mother added, "She treats you like a servant. I don't want someone like that in our family. Look how sweet Phoebe is. She's so considerate."
Phoebe sniffled softly. "Mrs. Miller, please don't say that. Summer didn't mean to..."
Rachel scoffed. "You're still defending her? When has she ever respected us? Last time Mom went to the penthouse to drop off some soup, Summer didn't even let her past the foyer."
Their mother wiped her eyes. "It wasn't even about the soup. I just wanted to check on my boy. I stood by that door for ten minutes, and she didn't even offer me a glass of water."
Phoebe looked up at Raymond. "Say something! Are you marrying her or not? If you do, I'll press down on this glass right now."
Silence fell over the room.
My hand rested on the doorframe. I didn't push it open.
I was waiting for him to speak.
What I had hoped for was actually very little.
I had pictured him waiting on the stage for me on our wedding day, letting a room full of guests see that this man belonged to me.
I never hesitated when spending money. I thought happiness could be bought the same way.
I was the sole heiress to the Vance family in New York, spoiled and pampered my entire life.
I never looked at price tags.
During my dress fitting the day before, I thought the seamstresses were too slow, so I replaced three of them on the spot.
When the floral arrangements didn't please me, a single word from me was enough to redesign the entire ballroom without a second thought.
Staff came and went constantly. Behind my back, they whispered that I was demanding and difficult to deal with. Whenever I heard it, I just smiled and never took it to heart.
The wedding date was set for the end of the month.
Then I heard Phoebe's wrist press closer to the glass. I heard Raymond's footsteps shift, followed by him reaching out to steady her trembling hand.
"On the wedding day, I won't show up," he said quietly. "I'll leave her standing alone in front of a hall full of guests, waiting for a groom who never comes."
My nails scraped lightly against the wooden frame.
The people inside that room were living off my dime, plotting how to use my money to discard me in public.
I was the one who saved his mother's life. I was the one who signed the checks for Rachel's tuition.
I wasn't even counting those anymore.
The debt I was calculating was different: after paving his way for so many years, all I got in return was his plan to strip away my dignity in front of everyone we knew.
His mother finally exhaled in relief. "That's for the best. With her pride, she'll call off the wedding herself once she's humiliated like that."
Rachel chuckled. "Raymond, you should've said that sooner. What good is her money? All she cares about is your face."
Phoebe smiled through her tears, wrapping her arms around Raymond's bicep and resting her cheek against him.
Through the crack in the door, I watched him let her hold him, even lifting a hand to wipe away her tears.
I recognized that hand.
Over all these years, he had never once wished me a happy birthday.
He knew how to do these things. He just chose not to do them for me.
The cold air from the hallway crept up past my heels.
I looked down at the ring on my left hand, then up at the closed door.
I didn't push it open.
Opening it would only end with the four of them claiming I was throwing another tantrum. That was a script I had played out countless times before, and I had no desire to perform today.
I knew that routine all too well: the second I demanded an explanation, everyone in the room would gang up on me until I started doubting myself, wondering if I had been the one in the wrong.
I turned around and walked downstairs, not calling for anyone, leaving on my own.
The car was dim inside. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, too nervous to make a sound.
I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother.
"Mom," I said evenly. "I don't want to get married."
There was a brief silence on the other end. "You need to think this through. The invitations are already out."
"I'll have someone recall the invitations. Whatever the venue cancellation fee is, I'll pay it," I said.
Silence hung on the line for a few seconds. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"I am," I said. "No matter how much Raymond looks like him, he isn't him."
Hanging up, I set the phone face down on my lap and looked out the window.
That person had grown up with me. He was a few years older, with a gentle, patient temperament.
Whenever I threw a fit, he could always coax me back into a good mood in no time.
He remembered that I couldn't have anything iced during my period.
Whenever I abandoned a chore because it was too much trouble, he would quietly clean up the mess for me.
When I was little, I hated peanuts, and he remembered that for over a decade.
On the day we were heading to get our marriage license, there was a car accident on the way. He died without even getting the chance to say goodbye.
Over the years, I had kept thirteen shadows by my side.
Every single one had to have eyes that resembled his, and the cadence of their voice had to match.
I spent money on them, paved their careers, and arranged comfortable lives for them.
Yet not one of them ever swapped out an iced drink in my hand for a warm one when my period came.
Raymond was the thirteenth.
Out of all thirteen, Raymond was the one who looked the most like him—even the curve of his lips matched perfectly.
I had given him everything I could, just so that face could stay by my side a few years longer.
I really thought that this time, I could finally hold onto something.
It was very late by the time I returned to our shared apartment.
The living room lights were on, and a stack of wedding invitations he had selected sat on the coffee table.
I walked over and shoved the stack aside.
Raymond pushed the door open and walked in, reeking of alcohol.
I sat on the sofa without even lifting my gaze.Summer POV
"Sleep in the guest room," I said.
He looked as if he hadn't heard me properly. "What did you say?"
"The wedding is off." I looked up. "Starting tonight, you sleep in the guest room."
Raymond froze in the doorway, his brows pulling into a deep frown.
"Summer," he asked, "what do you mean, it's off?"
I didn't answer.
He tossed his coat over the back of the sofa, his tone dropping. "The invitations are already out. You're saying it's off now?"
"I'm already having them recalled."
"Are you done throwing a fit?"
I didn't look at him again. I just waved my hand dismissively, the exact way I would wave away a waiter who brought the wrong order.
"Go to the guest room," I said. "Don't make me say it a third time."
The next morning, Raymond acted as if nothing had happened.
He emerged from the guest room holding the stack of invitations I had pushed aside the night before and placed them in front of me.
"I went over the guest list all night," he said. "Not a single name was missed."
I glanced at them without touching a single envelope.
"Didn't you sleep in the guest room last night?" I asked.
"I just didn't want you tossing and turning alone." He smiled faintly, his tone patronizing. "Summer, stop being angry. We're about to get married. Don't take it out on me."
"You think I'm just taking it out on you?" I set my mug down.
"What else would it be?" He leaned against the table. "Just because I came home late? Or because I took too long checking the list? It's been like this since we were kids—I coax you a little, and you're fine."
I looked up at him. The coldness in my eyes made his smile freeze.
In the past, I got genuinely mad.
I would smash things, pull on him so he couldn't leave, call him a dozen times in the middle of the night, and wait for him to comfort me. One soft word from him, and I'd melt.
Every bit of that anger was an olive branch I handed him, waiting for him to take it.
Today, I wasn't offering one.
"I said," I pushed the invitations back, "go to the guest room."
He paused, but ultimately said nothing more. Picking up the invitations, he headed inside.
Before the door clicked shut, I heard him let out a quiet scoff—the exact same mocking tone his mother had used in the restroom the night before.
A day later, I finalized my long-term residency application for Switzerland.
That afternoon, I walked into my regular café.
I had been coming here for five or six years. The staff all knew me, and I always preferred the table by the floor-to-ceiling window.
Today, several people were already sitting there.
"This table is mine today," I told the barista.
The new employee hesitated with an awkward look, but a senior staff member rushed over to smooth things over, politely asking the other patrons to move to another section.
"Put the entire month's tab on my card," I said, handing it over. "You don't need to ask me moving forward. Just charge it to my account."
The senior employee took the card with both hands, nodding repeatedly before hurrying to the counter.
Just as I sat down, I looked out the window and saw Raymond walking past with Phoebe down below.
Raymond pulled out a chair for Phoebe, letting her sit first.
Phoebe glanced at an iced drink on the menu. He frowned slightly, waved a server over, swapped the iced drink for a hot one, and specifically requested low sugar.
When Phoebe lingered on a hair clip displayed in a storefront, he took her hand and pulled her inside. He examined each one, picked one out, leaned down to pin it into her hair, and gently asked if she liked it.
I held my cup, watching them through the glass for a long time without taking a single sip.
I used to make excuses for him.
I thought he was just naturally cold and treated everyone with the same detachment. I thought if I waited a few more years and spent enough money, he would eventually warm up to me.
That excuse was completely dead now.
He knew how to smile. He remembered when someone couldn't have ice. He bought things on the spot the moment someone lingered on them.
He was entirely capable of all of it. He just never did it for me.
I paid for his family's medical bills, signed Rachel's tuition checks, and secured him his partnership.
I could buy his presence at dress fittings and his time reviewing guest lists, but I couldn't buy a shred of warmth in his eyes when he looked at me.
I had made too many excuses for him in the past.
He grew up poor; he was always busy; he didn't know how to say sweet things.
Today, every single one of those excuses fell apart.
The chasm between love and indifference couldn't be bridged by all the money I had thrown his way.
When I returned to the apartment, I remained cold and distant.
I slowly moved my belongings toward the guest room, taking down his photos from the living room walls and tucking them into drawers one by one.
Raymond still assumed I was just sulking. He brought over a mug of warm water and tried to sweet-talk me.
I didn't take it. I simply pulled my book from his grasp and moved to the other end of the couch.
He stood frozen in place, the smile on his face fading away bit by bit.
"Summer," his voice dropped low, "how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?"
I didn't look up.
"I'm not throwing a tantrum," I said. "I'm just done playing along with your act."
"My act?" He gave a bitter laugh. "Summer, you were the one who started this whole performance."
I didn't take the bait.
He placed the mug of warm water back on the table. A few drops splashed over the rim, soaking into the wood.Summer POV
That afternoon, a private viewing was held at the luxury mall, and many familiar faces were in attendance.
I frequented events like this.
I never asked for prices when something caught my eye; if I liked it, I bought it, and if I didn't, I simply told them to put it away. The boutique staff all knew my taste was impeccable.
I paused in front of a display case, my eyes landing on a pendant that would pair perfectly with the dresses I usually wore.
"You have such an exquisite eye," the sales associate murmured, stepping up. "This piece just arrived today."
I raised a hand to signal for them to wrap it up, but before I could finish the gesture, another hand darted out and snatched the pendant away.
It was Phoebe.
"This," Phoebe clutched the pendant, looking up at me with a sweet smile, "is what Raymond promised to buy for me."
I drew my hand back and said nothing.
There were plenty of things I wanted; there was no need to bicker over a single necklace.
Right then, Raymond arrived.
Phoebe instantly stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his and holding up the pendant for him to see.
"Raymond, look! I picked this one."
Raymond gave it a cursory glance. Right in front of the entire crowd, he took the pendant from her fingers and pressed it firmly back into her palm.
"If you like it, it's yours," he said. "Pick out a few more pieces later. I'll take care of the bill."
"Really?" Phoebe gazed up at him.
"Really," Raymond patted her hand. "Something someone else couldn't appreciate is lucky to be chosen by you."
Those words were meant for the audience, and they were meant for me.
"That lady browsed forever and didn't even buy anything."
"Mr. Miller doesn't even look at her."
"Raymond climbed to the top using the Vance family's dime, and now he actually thinks he's hot stuff."
"Shh, keep it down, she'll hear you."
"So what if she hears? Am I lying?"
I stood rooted to the spot, my face entirely blank.
One part of their whispers was true: he had spent the Vance family's money to get where he was.
I had never seen a problem with that before. Once my money was given to him, I considered it his.
Today, I finally understood the second half of that reality: the man spending my money stood in the center of the room, publicly gifting the piece I had chosen to someone else, promising to buy her even more.
I didn't even have the energy to fight back.
I signaled a sales associate, pointed toward two other pieces I had briefly glanced at earlier, and told them to wrap them up.
The clerk quoted a figure. Without batting an eye, I handed over my card.
Once the items were bagged, I turned and handed them to a socialite acquaintance standing nearby, telling her to take them for fun. Before she could politely decline, I was already heading toward the exit.
Just then, a commotion broke out at the other end of the floor.
Whether over a disputed auction item or an old grudge, two groups of people collided violently. In the shoving match, a display pedestal was knocked over, shattering jewelry and glass everywhere.
The crowd erupted into an instant panic, scattering in every direction.
Someone shoved me hard from behind. I fell forward onto the hard marble, my knee slamming brutally against the sharp edge of the stairs. An unbearable jolt of agony shot straight up my leg.
People trampled past me. Unable to stand, I could only curl inward and shield my head.
Through the chaos, I heard Phoebe scream.
I looked up just in time to see Phoebe stumbling toward Raymond with open arms, crying out that she was terrified.
Raymond opened his arms and caught her, one hand shielding her head as he shoved her into an adjacent street-facing boutique. He slammed the glass door shut behind her, cutting her off from the stampeding mob outside.
The entire sequence of movements was swift and decisive.
Then, he walked right past me.
I was lying on the steps barely two paces away, my knee trembling in agony. He walked right by without even glancing down.
I used to believe in something foolish.
I thought that even if his heart was cold, I was the one who paid for his mother's life-saving surgery, so when push came to shove, he would at least offer me a hand first.
Today, I learned the truth: I came after Phoebe.
I lay collapsed alone on the crowded steps, and not a single hand reached out to help me.
Gripping the railing, I dragged myself up inch by inch.
Dust stained my dress. My knee throbbed, hot and swollen, sending needle-sharp pain with every slight twitch.
I tried to take a step, but my leg gave out, forcing me to lean heavily against the brass handrail again.
A sales associate tried to hurry over to support me, but I waved them off.
"Should I call an ambulance for you, ma'am?" the employee asked softly.
"No need," I said. "Just help me call a cab, please."
Gritting my teeth, I hobbled step by step out to the curb. The cold wind bit into my skin, making me realize my palms were soaked in a cold sweat.
I didn't know how long I stood there before the boutique door behind me opened.
Having settled Phoebe, Raymond brushed a stray hair from her forehead, muttered a few instructions to the store staff, and finally came out to look for me.
Our gazes collided at the entrance of the mall.
He parted his lips, his eyes darting around our surroundings.
"Summer," he called out. "How's your leg? I'll drive you back."
"No need," I said.
"Summer," he took a step toward me. "How long are you going to keep making a scene?"
I waved my hand dismissively, leaning on the rail as I made my way down the steps.
"I told you, there were too many people—"
"I said, I don't need your ride."
I turned back to look at him.
The wind blew strands of hair across my face, but I didn't even bother to tuck them back.
In the past, every time I used my money to solve a crisis for him, a sliver of hope would bloom in my chest, hoping he might treat me a little better down the road.
He was never going to remember the good I did for him.
I looked at him for two seconds, turned around, and limped toward the curb to wait for the cab the clerk had called for me.Summer POV
Raymond backed his car right up to the bottom of the steps, cutting off the path between me and the street corner.
When the cab I had requested pulled up, I waved it away and bent down to get into his passenger seat.
Neither of us said a word on the ride home.
After a long silence, Raymond finally spoke up. "There was too much chaos back there. I didn't see you. I didn't leave you behind on purpose."
I stared out the window. "You don't need to explain."
"Your knee is hurt," he said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. "I'll bandage it up when we get back."
"I'm fine."
"How could you be fine?" He frowned. "It's swollen like that. It's going to be black and blue by tomorrow."
I kept my face turned toward the glass, and he didn't say another word.
Back at the apartment, he dug out the first-aid kit and knelt down on one knee in front of me.
The moment the cotton swab soaked in iodine touched my skin, my leg flinched back.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"I'll be gentle." He slowed his movements down considerably. "Just bear with it."
I looked down at the back of his head.
This was the exact scene I had always yearned for: him kneeling before me, his eyes focused entirely on me.
A faint ember still lingered in my chest. I wanted to see if he could actually finish a single thing for me this time.
Before he could finish applying the antiseptic, his phone buzzed. Phoebe's name flashed across the screen.
He glanced up at me, then answered.
"Hello? Phoebe? Where are you?"
The voice on the other end was choking back sobs.
"What floor are you on? Someone's cornering you at the entrance?" His brow furrowed deeply. "Alright, I'm coming right now. Don't go anywhere."
Hanging up, he looked torn. "She said someone's harassing her outside. I need to head over."
"Then go." I didn't even lift my eyes from the book in my lap. "Go check on her. I won't be mad at you this time."
"But your leg..."
"I can put on the ointment myself." I turned a page. "Just go. Don't keep her waiting."
"Summer," he stared at me searchingly, "are you really fine?"
I raised my eyes, the corners of my mouth twitching slightly. "What could possibly be wrong with me?"
He paused by the door for a couple of seconds, glancing back as if wanting to ask something.
I knew he sensed something was off.
In the past, this would be the moment I shattered a glass, demanded he choose between us, and blocked the door in tears to keep him from leaving.
Her phone rang again on the other end, prodding him. He grabbed his keys and pulled the door shut behind him.
He didn't come back.
Alone, I slowly dabbed the rest of the iodine onto my skin.
The cold cotton swab pressed against my knee, and the swollen flesh still throbbed with a dull ache.
I listened as his car engine revved outside, fading into the distance until complete silence returned. Only then did I speak toward the empty doorway.
"Raymond, that was the twenty-first time."
I had kept count of every single time he made a promise to my face and walked away at the last second.
He promised to visit my mother with me, only to ditch me after receiving a single phone call.
On my birthday, he swore he would come home early, only to stumble through the door past midnight, drenched in someone else's perfume.
Those incidents added up to exactly twenty-one.
I kept track because I genuinely believed he would change.
I thought that once we were both calm, I could lay those twenty-one grievances out on the table, and if he looked at them and promised never to do it again, I would forgive him.
I wasn't going to wait anymore.
I dialed the moving company.
"Hello," I said. "I have an entire apartment of belongings to ship. Pack whatever can be sent, and throw out whatever can't. Don't leave a single thing behind."
"Understood, ma'am. We'll be there first thing tomorrow morning."
Hanging up, I dragged two empty luggage trunks out from the bottom of the closet.
The wardrobes were filled with items we had purchased together. I packed them away piece by piece, and took down every framed couple's photo from the walls.
Those photos were all taken because I had forced him to; in every single one, his chin was tilted up with cold detachment.
If even one remained on the wall, a momentary lapse of weakness might lead me to stare at it, finding yet another excuse for his behavior.
I picked up the photo of us by the beach, looked at it for two seconds, and face-planted it into the trunk.
"From now on, save your tenderness for Phoebe," I said, pulling the zipper shut. "And I'll save my money for myself."
The lid snapped shut with a crisp click.
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Watch & Promotions
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