Chapter 2

I first met Ethan Williams in college.

Everyone on campus knew I liked him. I wasn’t subtle about it. Among the many girls who admired him, I was the most shamelessly devoted.

One day, he finally asked me, “Why are you so nice to me?”

I looked up into his deep, shining eyes and answered with all the sincerity I could muster:

“Because I like you, Ethan Williams. I like you so much it hurts.”

That night, for the first time, he invited me to a club dinner.

I was over the moon, thinking he was finally starting to notice me.

But during the party, I caught him watching Claire Moore. When he saw her laughing with another guy, his expression darkened.

When it came time for a game of truth or dare, Ethan tossed aside the “truth” card and picked a dare instead.

His challenge? To kiss someone of the opposite sex for one full minute.

Without hesitation, he turned to me, grabbed my face, and kissed me.

My eyes widened in shock. His lips tasted faintly of mint, his scent intoxicating. But just as I was about to close my eyes and savor the moment, I noticed his gaze had shifted.

He was looking at Claire.

I didn’t need to guess why. She must have reacted just how he wanted, because when he pulled away, there was a triumphant smirk on his face.

That night, Ethan declared that we were officially a couple.

Looking back, it felt less like love and more like a consolation prize.

He asked me to move into his off-campus apartment, and of course, I agreed. I thought if we spent more time together, he’d eventually fall for me.

To the outside world, we were a picture-perfect couple, “madly in love.” But the truth was, I slept in the guest room, while Ethan treated me more like a live-in maid than a girlfriend.

I cooked, cleaned, and kept his home spotless. Over time, he even gained a little weight, thanks to my cooking.

People joked that I was Ethan Williams’s personal housekeeper.

I didn’t care. As long as he let me stay by his side, I was happy. It reminded me of how my Ethan used to take care of me.

For two years, we stayed like that. He never broke up with me, but he never fully committed either.

Then, the day Claire left for graduate studies abroad, I saw them kissing outside our building. Their embrace was so intimate, so tender, it felt like a knife to my chest.

I panicked. What if he left me for good? What if I never saw those eyes again?

That night, Claire boarded her flight, and Ethan came home drunk.

He stumbled into my room, reeking of alcohol. What followed was a night of pain and tears. I cried through it all, but I couldn’t stop myself from memorizing every detail of his face, every flicker of emotion in his eyes.

The next morning, Ethan leaned over me, his voice cold and detached.

“Zoe, let’s get married.”

He pulled out a ring and handed it to me.

The diamond gleamed faintly in the dim light, like a spark in the darkness of my hollow heart.

“This… this was Claire’s, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of anger crossing his face.

“Take it or leave it,” he said flatly, pulling the ring away.

Desperate, I snatched it back and slid it onto my finger.

It was too big, the band loose around my knuckle. It looked absurd, like a child playing dress-up with an adult’s jewelry.

Ethan laughed, but there was no warmth in it. His gaze was filled with mockery.

I turned away, unable to bear the sight of him.

And that’s how I became Mrs. Williams—a role the world saw as enviable, but one I knew was hollow.

To everyone else, I was the picture of a devoted wife—gracious, patient, long-suffering.

I never questioned Ethan’s affairs or his late nights. My only condition was that he come home every evening, no matter how late.

When he stumbled in, reeking of perfume, I would get out of bed to make him tea or heat up a glass of milk.

More than once, he sneered at me in his drunken haze, calling me pathetic, spineless, and boring.

I would only smile in response.

I knew what I was. I hated myself too.

But I couldn’t let go.

I couldn’t give up those eyes.