Chapter 1

1

On April Fool’s Day, my best friend breathlessly told me my ten-year boyfriend had planned a huge surprise.

I spent two hours on a full face of makeup and bought a custom cake.

By the river, the wind howled.

He stood in the center of a crowd, arm around Abby, lighting a cigarette.

Someone laughed. “Tristan, that’s cold! She actually fell for it?”

“A bet’s a bet. Abby’s buying drinks tonight!”

Abby leaned on him, giggling. “Tristan, aren’t you scared she actually loves you and will lose it?”

He blew out smoke, squinting. “Lose it over what? Seven years. Only a fool would take it seriously.”

I walked forward. The crowd fell silent.

I dropped the cake onto his expensive shoes. Then I looked straight at Abby.

“Last month he texted me about you. Said you were boring in bed, that you didn’t moan well.”

Tristan’s face went white. I didn’t look back.

The river wind cut through my coat as I turned to leave.

It was fine.

April—the perfect time to wake from a delusion.

…

I walked alone along the riverbank embankment.

Footsteps rushed up behind me. A hand shot out and clamped down on my wrist.

"Serena."

Tristan's voice was low and dark. The smell of tobacco still clung to his clothes. "What the hell were you talking about back there?"

I looked down at the hand gripping my wrist.

His knuckles were pronounced. There was a faint, faded scar on his thumb joint. He got it playing basketball in high school. Back then, I used to bring him a fresh bandage every single day.

"Let go of me."

"Not until you explain yourself." He didn't let go. His grip tightened. "There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Abby. What was the point of that little stunt you just pulled?"

I almost laughed out loud.

A few people from the crowd had followed him. Abby approached, her stiletto heels clicking sharply against the pavement. She immediately gravitated toward his side.

"Tristan, let it go," she said, her voice dropping into a soft, placating register as she placed her hand lightly on his forearm. "Serena is probably just... a little upset. The prank today was a bit harsh, after all."

Tristan didn't even look at her. His eyes remained locked on me. "Serena, how old are you? You are throwing a tantrum over an April Fool's joke? Since when did you become so immature?"

The wind blew hard, puffing up his dress shirt.

I looked at him, and then at the soft, supposedly harmless face of the woman glued to his side.

Abby let out a delicate sigh, pressing herself closer against his chest. She rested her chin on his shoulder and looked at me, her eyes curving into sweet crescents.

"Serena," she murmured, her tone light and conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret. "You don't actually have feelings for Tristan, do you? Pining after him for so many years when he feels nothing for you... that is just so pathetic."

Tristan didn't push her away.

I violently yanked my hand free.

He clearly didn't expect the sudden force. He stumbled slightly, his empty hand hanging suspended in the cold air.

"Abby," I said, my voice dead calm. "That time I drank myself into stomach bleeding to cover for him at a business dinner? You were sitting right there watching. That time he called me at 2 AM saying he was sick, and I rode a bike for half an hour in the freezing rain to bring him medicine? You were listening on the line. That time he said he was craving wontons from the shop behind our old campus, and I skipped my finals prep to stand in line for two hours? You didn't try to stop me then, either."

I paused, letting the silence stretch.

"You have known absolutely everything for the past seven years."

Abby lifted her head from his shoulder. Her sickeningly sweet smile finally faltered.

I turned around and walked down the embankment stairs.

This time, no one chased after me.

When I reached the main intersection, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a text from my best friend, Chloe.

I typed out a quick reply:

[Hot pot tonight. You are paying.]

The spicy red broth bubbled violently in the center of our table.

I shoved a piece of beef tripe into my mouth while Chloe held up her phone, reading aloud: "'Seven years and they haven't even held hands. What is she even hoping for?' — Posted by Abby on Instagram. The photo attached is the cake you smashed on the ground."

My chopsticks hovered in the air for a fraction of a second.

Just then, the heavy curtain at the entrance of the restaurant was pushed aside. Two people walked in.

Tristan walked in front. Abby was clinging to his arm, that same soft, innocent smile plastered on her face. They walked a few steps inside and stopped, making direct eye contact with our table.

Abby's eyes curved into crescents again. She physically dragged Tristan over to us.

"Serena! What a coincidence." She glanced down at our boiling pot. "Eating hot pot all alone? That is so sad. Do you want to join us? We were supposed to go to a French bistro, but Tristan insisted he wanted something spicy, so I tagged along."

Chloe slammed her chopsticks down onto the table with a sharp crack.

"Who the hell are you? Do we know you?"

Abby immediately shrank back behind Tristan, her voice turning even softer and more fragile. "I was just saying hello... Serena, please don't be mad. I didn't know your friend had such a terrible temper."

Tristan furrowed his brow, glaring at me. "Serena, tell your friend to watch her mouth."

Abby peeked out from behind his shoulder. She looked at the food in my bowl and let out a light, mocking giggle.

"You still love beef tripe, huh?" she whispered loudly to Tristan, leaning in close. "I remember you telling me once that someone cooked tripe for you for an entire year straight, and eventually, just looking at it made you want to vomit."

Tristan stayed completely silent.

Abby turned her attention back to me, raising her voice just enough so the neighboring tables could eavesdrop. "Serena, I honestly admire you. I really do. Seven years. I could never last that long. I can't even wake up early enough to buy him breakfast. But honestly, if you like him, you should have just said so! Bottling it up for so long must be agonizing."

Chloe stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor.

A few drops of boiling red broth splashed onto the back of her hand, but she didn't even flinch. She marched straight around the table, stopping inches away from Abby.

"Say that again."

Abby cowered against Tristan's chest. "Tristan..."

Tristan instinctively raised an arm to block Chloe. "Are you psychotic?"

Chloe raised her hand and delivered a vicious, open-handed slap.

She didn't slap Abby. She slapped Tristan.

2

The sharp, ringing crack echoed through the restaurant. The entire dining room went dead silent for several seconds.

Tristan clutched his cheek, staring at Chloe in absolute disbelief. It was as if his brain couldn't process what had just happened.

Abby stood frozen beside him, her mouth hanging open. The word "Tristan" was trapped in her throat.

I stood up.

I walked over to them.

Just as Tristan opened his mouth to shout, I raised my hand and delivered a second, equally vicious slap to his other cheek.

He stumbled backward, crashing heavily into the table behind him. Bowls and chopsticks shattered across the tiled floor.

"The first slap was payback for my best friend," I said, my voice steady. "The second slap is payback for the last seven years."

Abby finally found her voice and let out a piercing scream. "Waiter—!"

Chloe grabbed my wrist.

We bolted for the exit.

The hot pot restaurant had heavy, old-fashioned sliding wooden doors. Chloe kicked one open with a loud bang that rattled the frame.

The freezing night wind hit us in the face. Behind us, someone yelled, "Stop right there!"

More chopsticks clattered to the floor.

Abby screamed, her voice shrill and panicked, "Tristan, you're bleeding!"

We sprinted through two entire city blocks.

When we finally ducked into a narrow, dimly lit alleyway, Chloe stopped. She bent over, gasping for air, and then looked up at me. She started laughing so hard she couldn't stand straight.

"Did I... did I actually just slap Tristan across the face?"

I started laughing too, leaning against the cold brick wall to catch my breath.

"You did."

"Is he going to call the cops?"

"Let him," I said, wiping a tear from my eye. "I can just show the police Abby's Instagram post and ask if being a pathetic doormat for seven years is a prosecutable offense."

Chloe laughed even harder, collapsing onto a concrete step.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

The screen was lit up with several missed calls. All from Tristan.

A new text message popped up:

[Where are you?]

The phone buzzed again.

[Pick up the phone.]

[Serena, can you act like a mature adult for once?]

I tossed the phone to Chloe. "You reply."

Chloe caught it effortlessly. Her thumbs flew across the keyboard, and she hit send.

I leaned over to read what she wrote.

[We are at the crematorium. I reserved an oven for you.]

I almost choked on a laugh.

The phone immediately started ringing again. Tristan's contact photo flashed aggressively on the screen. Chloe hit decline, powered the phone completely off, and shoved it back into my coat pocket.

"Let's go," she said, standing up and brushing the dust off her jeans. "We are going to my place."

We navigated out of the alley and flagged down a passing taxi. Just as I pulled the passenger door open, two figures bolted out from the adjacent intersection, running at top speed.

Tristan's face still bore the unmistakable, bright red marks of two handprints. Abby was struggling to keep up behind him, carrying her stilettos in one hand, running on the pavement in nothing but sheer pantyhose.

"Serena!"

Tristan lunged forward and slammed his hand flat against the open taxi door.

The driver leaned his head out the window, annoyed. "Are you getting in or not?"

"Yes." Chloe shoved me violently into the backseat, dived in after me, and slammed the door shut with a deafening thud. "Drive. Now."

Tristan's fingers were still gripping the edge of the rolled-down window.

As the taxi lurched forward, he was dragged a few agonizing steps before finally losing his grip. In the rearview mirror, I watched him stand frozen in the middle of the street. Abby finally caught up to him and tried to grab his arm. He violently shoved her away.

Chloe rolled down her window, sticking her head out into the cold wind.

"Tristan! Those handprints are perfectly symmetrical! You're welcome!"

The taxi turned a corner, and they vanished from sight.

The driver shot us a few wary glances in the rearview mirror but didn't ask any questions. He just quietly reached over and turned the radio volume up. An old classic rock song was playing. The driver hummed along.

Chloe slumped back against the faux-leather seats, kicked off her sneakers, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

"I'm starving," she groaned. "I didn't even get a single piece of tripe."

"We will boil instant ramen at your place."

"Deal. Add an egg."

My phone vibrated aggressively in my pocket again. I pulled it out. It was an unknown number.

I declined the call.

A text message arrived immediately: [This is Abby. Tristan drank way too much. Can you come over?]

Chloe leaned over, read the message, and practically snatched the phone out of my hands. She quickly typed a reply: [If he drank too much, feed him vinegar. Why are you texting me? Do I look like a vinegar factory?]

Send.

Block.

She tossed the phone back into my lap, glanced out the window, and suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Hey. Isn't that Tristan's car?"

I whipped my head around to look. A sleek black sedan had accelerated aggressively from behind and was now driving parallel to our taxi.

The passenger window was rolled halfway down. Tristan's jaw was clenched so tight the muscles twitched. He suddenly jerked his steering wheel, aggressively swerving toward us.

The taxi driver cursed loudly and violently yanked his steering wheel to avoid a collision.

"What the hell is wrong with this maniac?!"

The black sedan surged forward and pinned us against the curb again, this time closing the gap to mere inches. Tristan turned his head, staring directly through the double layer of glass at me in the backseat.

His lips moved.

Chloe narrowed her eyes, reading his lips. "He said... get out of the car."

The taxi driver slammed his foot on the gas.

The taxi shot forward, briefly leaving Tristan's car behind. But within seconds, the sleek sedan roared back up alongside us.

The two vehicles aggressively wove through the late-night traffic. The driver frantically shifted gears, spewing a continuous stream of profanities.

"Are you kids trying to get yourselves killed over a breakup?!"

"It's not a breakup," Chloe yelled over the engine noise. "It's debt collection."

We hit a red light, and the traffic forced us to a crawl.

Tristan's car pulled up right beside us. This time, he didn't look at the backseat. He looked directly at the driver.

"Sir, she owes me money."

The driver blinked, startled, and turned around to look at me.

Chloe immediately reached over and shoved the driver's head back toward the windshield. "Keep your eyes on the road! He is lying. He owes us money!"

The light turned green.

Tristan's car didn't move. He waited for our taxi to accelerate, then violently cranked his steering wheel, cutting horizontally across the lanes and blocking our path completely.

The taxi driver slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched. All three of us were violently thrown forward.

"Holy—"

Tristan stepped out of his car. He walked purposefully over to my side of the taxi and knocked hard on the glass.

I rolled the window down exactly one inch.

"Get out," he demanded. His voice was hoarse, sounding entirely unlike himself. "We need to talk."

"We have absolutely nothing to talk about."

"We do." He pressed his hand flat against the cold glass, his knuckles turning white. "You said all those things in front of my friends. Fine. I accept that. But why did you run? Why won't you let me finish a single sentence?"

Chloe leaned aggressively over me, shouting through the crack. "Say what?! That there is nothing between you and Abby? That you actually secretly love Serena?! Tristan, touch your face! You got slapped twice and it's still swollen, yet she practically bled for you for seven years and you didn't notice a damn thing?!"

Tristan ignored her completely, his eyes locked onto mine.

"I already made Abby delete the Instagram post."

I stared at him, unblinking.

"She is just a friend. She said she wanted to play a prank today, and I thought you would..."

"Thought I would what?"

He fell silent.

The back door of Tristan's car opened. Abby stepped out onto the asphalt. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks stained with fresh tear tracks.

"Serena," she whimpered, her voice thick with fake tears. "I am so sorry. This is all my fault. I didn't know you cared so much. I thought you had already... Tristan always told me you were just old classmates, so I didn't think anything of it."

"Today was entirely my fault. Please don't blame Tristan. He actually cares about you a lot."

Chloe burst out laughing. "Oh my god. How many times did you rehearse that monologue in the mirror?"

Large, theatrical tears rolled down Abby's cheeks. "I am truly so sorry. I posted that picture out of a momentary lapse of judgment, but I already deleted it. Tristan already yelled at me for it. If you are still angry, you can hit me. Just please don't make things difficult for him."

She took a timid half-step forward. She was still in bare pantyhose, and she visibly shivered as her feet touched the freezing asphalt.

Tristan glanced down at her, a deep frown creasing his forehead.

3

Abby tilted her head up, gazing at him with red, tear-filled eyes. Her lips parted slightly, but she made no sound.

A few pedestrians on the sidewalk stopped to watch the drama unfold.

The taxi driver blared his horn twice. "Listen, can you people move this soap opera to the curb? I have a living to make here."

Tristan stepped slightly to the side, but his gaze immediately snapped back to me.

"Get out of the car. I will drive you home."

Chloe grabbed my sleeve tightly.

Abby stood completely still, tears continuously streaming down her face, her toes curling tightly against the freezing asphalt. She looked simultaneously pathetic and calculating.

I pushed the taxi door open and stepped out.

Tristan let out a visible breath of relief and took a step toward me.

I completely bypassed him. I walked straight up to Abby.

She lifted her tear-streaked face, gazing at me with a perfectly crafted look of fragile innocence. Her lips parted as if to speak—

"Are your feet not freezing?" I asked softly.

She froze.

"Doesn't it hurt to stand on the road like that?"

She instinctively looked down at her feet, then back up at me. Something calculating flashed in her eyes for a split second.

"Where are my shoes?" she whispered, playing the victim perfectly.

She looked around helplessly. She had likely discarded her stilettos several blocks back just to play this exact role.

I pulled my phone out of my purse, opened the camera app, switched to the front-facing lens, and held the screen inches from her face.

"Take a good look at yourself right now."

She instinctively leaned closer to the screen. She saw her mascara clumped into thick, ugly spiderwebs, her lipstick smeared across her chin, and her eyeliner running in two massive black smudges under her eyes. She looked deranged.

"This is what Tristan likes?" I pulled the phone away and dropped it back into my purse. "His taste in women is even worse than I thought."

Abby's lips trembled violently.

Chloe popped her head out of the taxi window. "Hey, where did all that energy go from when you were chasing our car?! Running a marathon in pantyhose—so brave! I thought you were training for the Olympics!"

Abby's face turned a violent shade of crimson.

Tristan took a heavy step forward, physically placing himself between me and Abby.

"That is enough."

Chloe kicked her door open, hopped out of the taxi in her socks, and marched right up to him, tilting her chin up aggressively.

"Enough? Tristan, have you actually counted how many messes she has cleaned up for you over the past seven years? When your psycho ex-girlfriend showed up at her dorm to scream at her, she took it in silence to protect you."

"When you got into a bar fight and ended up bleeding, she scaled the campus fence at 3 AM to buy you bandages. When your mother called interrogating her about whether you had a new girlfriend, she lied through her teeth to cover for you."

Chloe took another aggressive step forward, forcing Tristan to lean back.

"Abby stands barefoot on the pavement for five minutes and your heart bleeds for her? When Serena had a stomach hemorrhage, who rushed her to the emergency room?! Where the hell were you?!"

Tristan's lips pressed together into a thin, bloodless line.

"I didn't know..."

"You didn't know?" Chloe let out a sharp, venomous laugh. "What exactly didn't you know? You knew she woke up at 6 AM every single morning to buy you breakfast. You knew she memorized your entire class schedule. You knew she liked every single post you ever made. You knew absolutely everything. You just pretended you were blind."

Abby shrank back, trying to make herself look smaller.

Tristan stood rooted to the spot, completely paralyzed.

I walked over and stood right next to Chloe.

"Tristan," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Do you remember my birthday during junior year of college? You asked me what I wanted as a gift."

He stared at me, his breathing shallow.

"I told you I just wanted you to take me to the movies. You told me you were too busy. You said you had to help your girlfriend at the time pick out a present for someone. Later that night, I went to the theater alone. I saw the two of you standing by the entrance. You were holding the luxury bag she bought, and she had her arm linked through yours."

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"You saw me that night," I continued, my voice entirely void of emotion. "You waved at me from across the lobby. And then you put your arm around her waist and walked into the theater."

A gust of wind blew a lock of his hair across his forehead.

"Seven years," I said. "If you had treated me like a human being for even one single second of those seven years, I wouldn't be standing here right now."

He took a desperate step forward.

"Serena..."

"Don't take another step." Chloe threw her arm out, pointing a finger directly at his chest. "Don't let your dirty shoes taint the ground Serena walks on."

Tristan stopped dead in his tracks.

He stared at me. Something foreign and desperate was shifting in his eyes.

"I didn't know..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "I thought you... you never explicitly said the words."

Chloe let out a sound of pure disgust.

"How many times did she have to say it?! She told you, 'Tristan, I love you,' and you told her to stop joking around. She said, 'Tristan, I am completely serious,' and you told her, 'I like the way things are.' She begged you, 'Tristan, can you please just look at me?' and the very next week, you started dating Abby."

Abby flinched, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

Tristan stood completely immobilized.

The two handprints on his face still hadn't faded. One on each cheek, glowing bright red like a pair of grotesque clown paints under the streetlights.

I stared at him in silence for three agonizing seconds.

Then, I turned around.

"Let's go."

Chloe immediately followed, linking her arm tightly through mine.

There were no footsteps behind us. No one chased us.

After walking about twenty paces, I finally glanced back over my shoulder.

He was still standing in the exact same spot. The wind was whipping his shirt around his torso. The harsh glare of the streetlamp cast deep shadows over his face, making his expression unreadable.

Abby was crouched on the ground nearby, blindly searching for something in the dark.

Chloe pulled out her phone, aimed it backward, and snapped a photo of the pathetic scene.

"I am keeping this," she declared, sliding the phone back into her pocket. "If you ever lose your mind and feel a shred of pity for him in the future, I will use this to smack some sense back into you."

I raised my hand and flagged down another taxi.

"I will never feel pity for him again."