After a quick shower, I got dressed—slipping into a white dress that hugged my figure just right. I let my long hair down, curling the ends slightly, and did a light touch of makeup. Nothing dramatic. Just enough. Then I grabbed the gift bag sitting on my bed and headed downstairs.
Dad was nowhere in sight—probably locked up in his study, buried under papers or whatever else he liked to call important.
Earlier that morning, I'd quietly taken the keys to his car from his room. He never let me drive it—claimed he was worried I'd get into an accident. Too late for that now. I'd already driven it several times. And even if he found out, there wasn't much he could do about it anymore. I'd even bribed Kuya Ron to help me sneak it out.
I arrived at the building exactly at nine.
Parked in Basement 1. Took the elevator up. Texted Kevin. He must've seen my earlier messages—I'd sent him a text right after getting home, even left one on Messenger. No way he hadn't read at least one of them.
I swiped my access card and stepped into my condo. A small smile tugged at my lips. Everything was ready.
The food was chilling in the fridge, so I started setting things up while watching the clock. I told Kevin to come over by 9:30, and I still had a few minutes left to finish. I placed the gift carefully on the table, smoothing the ribbon.
Five minutes left. My heart thudded hard in my chest. I took a deep breath to steady myself, freshened up quickly, and then sat on the sofa, waiting.
To kill time, I poured myself a small glass of wine. One slow sip. Then I reached into my bag for my phone—figuring I'd message him again. Maybe give him a nudge.
I tried calling first. But this time, the line didn't even go through. Number out of coverage.
My brows furrowed. What the hell? I was about to try again when a notification buzzed on my screen.
A message.
I smiled as I opened it, thinking—Finally. But the smile didn't last. It faded. Slowly. Until it was gone completely.
From: Kevin
I'm sorry, Mace. I have an urgent meeting with the team. We can just celebrate our anniversary tomorrow.
I stared blankly at the message.
The words blurred as my eyes stayed wide, refusing to blink. I read it again. And again.
Hoping I was reading it wrong. That I'd misunderstood something. But no. It was clear.
He wasn't coming. I called him again. Still no answer. This time, it didn't even ring. His phone was off. Of course it was.
Without thinking, I stood up and grabbed my bag. The gift was still in my hand as I locked the door behind me.
If he really was telling the truth—if there was a meeting—then he'd be at school. I'd just go. I'd wait outside and see for myself.
I drove fast. Too fast.
I didn't care about speed limits. Didn't care about the cold wind sneaking through the thin fabric of my dress. I couldn't feel anything—except the storm brewing inside me, each gust sharper than the last.
And when I finally got back to campus...
Something felt off. Strange.
It was dark. Too dark.
The place was unusually quiet. No guards. No students. No lights glowing from the gym windows.
My footsteps echoed faintly as I stepped out of the car. Was there really anyone inside?
I thought about calling Kevin again. Or maybe leaving another message. But instead, my fingers hovered over my phone, drifting toward something I'd never dared touch before.
His account. I knew his password.
I'd never used it before—never felt the need to. I trusted him. Completely.
But tonight... something had shifted. My hands trembled slightly as I logged out of my own account. The signal bar blinked weakly at me.
Shit. Still, I raised my phone and hit "log in."
"Fuck it," I muttered when the screen glitched. Network error.
I moved around, trying to catch a better signal. Eventually, I found a nearby waiting area and sat down. Tried again.
This time, it worked. His messages started to load—and almost immediately, one name jumped out.
Sharon.
Folk Dance Troupe.
The same girl I'd seen him talking to this morning at the gym.
I tapped her chat.
Sharon:
It's your anniversary today, right?
I was just about to scroll when the message status suddenly changed.
Seen.
My breath caught. He was online. He saw it. He opened it. Of course he did.
So quick to reply to her. So easy. Meanwhile, my messages? Nothing. Either ignored or left in silence.
Then the reply appeared, loading in real time.
You:
Yeah, but forget about her. haha
Something inside me cracked.
No.
Something snapped. But the anger didn't come—not right away. Instead, pain. Heavy and cold.
It spread through my chest like poison. Tight and suffocating. My grip on the phone loosened slightly as the weight of the words sank deeper.
Yeah, but forget about her.
Like I was nothing. Like I was a joke.
Sharon:
Why? Don't tell me you two fought?
You:
Yeah. It was over something so petty. I don't even know what's up with that girl—she's too obsessed with me. Keeps texting, always wants to meet up.
I clenched the phone, my fingers trembling.
Sharon:
Then why don't you go see her?
You:
Forget her. I'd much rather see you than her.
Sharon:
Why, where are you?
You:
Just here at my condo.
I went still. So... he wasn't in a meeting. He wasn't even at school. He never left the condo.
All this time... he was just there. Ignoring me. Lying to me. Telling another girl how tiring I was. How I was obsessed. How he'd rather see her than me.
I stared blankly at the screen. A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
"Great," I muttered, blinking away the sting in my eyes.
I didn't know how long I sat there—just staring at the screen like it would somehow change. Like maybe, if I waited long enough, he'd suddenly send another message. Say it was a joke. Say he didn't mean it.
But the screen stayed still. Silent. Just like him.
The gift bag slipped from my hand and landed on the seat beside me with a soft thud. I looked down at it—at the neatly folded tissue paper, the ribbon I'd tied just this afternoon, the card I spent twenty minutes writing.
It all looked so stupid now.
Like me.
I stood up slowly, shoving the phone into my bag as I walked out of the waiting area and back toward my car. My hands moved on autopilot—unlocking the door, getting in, starting the engine. But inside, I felt hollow. Like something had caved in.
I drove. I didn't even know where I was going at first. Just... away. Anywhere that wasn't here. Anywhere I wouldn't feel like I was about to break in half.
Last year, we ate ramen under the stars in his car. No gift. No plan. Just laughter and fingers brushing between bites. I thought that was enough.
But as I hit the main road, my hands tightened on the wheel. The tears that had threatened to fall finally did—hot, angry streaks down my cheeks.
How dare he. How dare he sit in that condo while talking to another girl like I meant nothing. Like I was the one who didn't matter.
Like I was just some clingy, pathetic girlfriend he had to put up with.
I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, forcing myself to breathe.
This wasn't just about tonight. This was about every unanswered message. Every excuse. Every little thing I let slide because I wanted to believe in him.
Not anymore.
I turned the wheel sharply and made a U-turn. I was done waiting. Done hoping. Done pretending I didn't know what was happening.
If he thought he could lie to me and get away with it—he was about to find out just how wrong he was.