Chapter 1

Ethan froze, his eyes casually drifting to the screen.

His brows instantly knitted together.

"Were you snooping through my messages?"

"The notification popped up on its own," I explained calmly, looking straight at him.

"So you couldn't just ignore it?"

He snatched the tablet and tossed it irritably onto the sofa.

"It’s just an inside joke between coworkers. Do you have to be so dramatic?"

"Chloe, when are you going to fix this insecure, paranoid attitude of yours?"

He stood up, walked to the hallway, grabbed his jacket, and threw it on.

"Fine. Since you're not in the mood to listen to reason, I'll give you some space to cool off."

"Think about what you did."

The front door slammed shut with a heavy thud.

I stood in the open kitchen, staring at the half-sliced fish on the cutting board.

An overwhelming wave of grievance washed over me.

I used to never step foot in the kitchen.

When we first got together, Ethan worked himself to the bone for two weeks straight to land a major client, ending up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach ulcer.

I stayed by his bedside for half a month, heartbroken to see him ruin his health.

To nurse his stomach back to health, I signed up for cooking classes, packing him different homemade lunches every single day.

My hands still bore faint scars from learning how to chop and toss pans.

Back then, after finishing his meals, he would always show them off on Instagram.

He’d brag that I was the best girlfriend in the world and that having me was the greatest blessing of his life.

But ever since Amber returned to the country and joined his company...

That devotion had turned into "charity work" in his words?

Amber was his junior from college. She was young, beautiful, and always wore perfectly tailored pantsuits.

She ate low-calorie salads, drank iced Americanos, and talked about funding rounds and project roadmaps.

Meanwhile, to take care of Ethan's daily life, I had turned down several job offers.

I worked from home as a freelance illustrator, my days revolving around groceries and chores.

In his eyes, I had probably become a useless, dowdy housewife who only knew how to make greasy lunches.

I silently swept the fish off the cutting board and into the trash, washed my hands, and went to the bedroom.

Just as I opened my laptop, a client messaged me, pressing for the first draft of my upcoming art exhibition.

I searched my desk, only to realize the flash drive I always kept close by was missing.

I hurried to the hallway. Ethan had left in such a rush that he must have scooped up my flash drive along with his car keys.

I took a deep breath and dialed his number.

It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. The background noise was loud, sounding like a bar.

"What now?" his tone was incredibly impatient.

"I told you I'm out. Can you stop blowing up my phone?"

"You took my flash drive," I said, trying my best to stay calm.

"My draft is on there. It's very important, and the client needs it tomorrow."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by Amber's giggling voice.

"Ethan, who is that? Is she checking up on you? Chloe keeps such a tight leash on you."

Ethan covered the mic slightly, his voice muffled as he spoke to me.

"I have the drive. I don't have time to head back right now. Come to the office and grab it tomorrow."

With that, he hung up.

Listening to the dial tone, I clenched my phone tightly.