Chapter 1

The day before the engagement banquet, I changed the bride's name to another woman's.

Because I'd finally realized that the most important person in my fiancé Ethan's heart wasn't me. It was my best friend, Lily.

It started with my birthday dinner.

When we were ordering, Ethan asked what I wanted to eat.

I said, "Whatever you like."

By the time all the dishes arrived, the entire table was covered in spicy food.

But three days earlier, I'd been hospitalized for acute gastritis. The doctor had explicitly told me to avoid anything spicy. Ethan knew this perfectly well.

And yet there he was, piling spicy dishes onto my plate without a second thought. "Lily just got back in town," he said casually. "I told her to come celebrate your birthday with us. The more the merrier, right?"

I gripped my glass of ice water, a dull ache spreading through my stomach.

Again. Lily.

The friend I'd grown up with.

And the first person she'd contacted when she returned to the country was my boyfriend.

I looked up at him.

Ethan didn't seem to notice anything wrong. He was studying the menu, absently picking the bones out of a piece of fish. He placed the tenderest fillet on the empty plate in front of Lily's seat.

She hadn't even arrived yet.

But her plate was already taken care of.

There was a time I would've made a scene. I would've snatched his phone, told him point-blank: "We're a couple. Date night means just the two of us."

But now, I simply nodded.

"Sure."

Ethan blinked, caught off guard.

He probably hadn't expected me to be this calm.

He quickly looked back down and snapped a photo, posting it to our group chat — the one with all three of us.

"Little foodie, saved this just for you. Get here soon or there'll be nothing left but bones."

I stared at the message. The ache in my stomach crept upward, settling into my chest.

I set down my chopsticks and picked up my bag.

Ethan was grinning at his phone screen. He didn't even notice me stand up.

Just as well.

Some departures were never meant to include a goodbye.

...

Twenty minutes later, Ethan finally texted.

"You've been in the bathroom forever. Lily's here — she's already eating."

I sat in the back of a taxi, staring at the screen, my eyes stinging.

I had been gone for twenty minutes.

He thought I'd gone to the restroom.

He hadn't even noticed I'd taken my bag.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Miss, you want me to keep circling?"

I was quiet for a few seconds.

Did I want to keep going?

Keep waiting for him to realize I was gone.

Keep waiting for him to ask, "Where are you?"

Keep waiting for him — just once — to choose me when a third person walked through the door.

And then what? I'd go back?

My phone buzzed.

A message from a contact saved as "N."

"Is your stomach still hurting? I had someone pick up some medicine. I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

I looked at it for a few seconds, then replied:

"No need. I won't be home tomorrow."

The response came quickly:

"Okay. Get some rest."

I closed the chat and said to the driver, "Stop circling. Take me to my parents' place."

The car had just merged onto the main road when Ethan texted again.

"Are you upset again?"

"Lily came back from her trip and even brought you a gift. Walking out without a word is pretty rude, you know."

"Again."

Funny word.

It meant he knew this wasn't the first time I'd been hurt because of Lily.

It also meant he'd always thought I was making a big deal out of nothing.

Lily had come back to the country today.

Ethan knew.

I didn't.

Two days ago, she'd messaged me: "Emma, I really can't get away. I'll definitely make it back by Sunday for your engagement."

I'd even reassured her. Told her it was fine. Told her to take care of herself.

But she'd flown back on Friday.

And gone straight to Ethan.

It suddenly hit me — this was my fifth birthday since Ethan and I got together.

The first year, Lily had insisted on joining us. Ethan had frowned and said, "Can't we have some time alone? Your friend really doesn't take a hint."

I'd laughed and teased him for being jealous.

The second year, he was the one who suggested it. "Invite Lily. More people, more fun."

By the third and fourth years, I didn't even have to say anything. He'd already arranged it.

It was always the three of us. Dinner, shopping, trips.

Every time, I sat on the sidelines watching them talk about things I couldn't follow.

This year, Lily was away on a business trip. I thought I'd finally have a birthday that was just ours.

A few days ago, Ethan had held me and said, "This year it's just the two of us. We'll do it right."

I'd been happy about that for days.

Looking back now, it was laughable.

I opened the group chat.

Lily had posted a string of photos — all of the spicy dishes on the table.

She'd also shared the same pictures on her social media, captioned:

"Someone knows I can't live without spice. He really gets me."

Comments appeared almost immediately:

"The three of you reunited again? You guys are literally inseparable."

Lily replied with a laughing emoji.

I stared at the word "inseparable."

Every time I saw something like that, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

They all thought the three of us came as a package deal.

But what I'd wanted was never to be crammed into the same photo with two other people.

And certainly not to end up as the one who got cropped out.

Soon, another comment appeared:

"Who ordered a whole table of spicy food? Doesn't Emma have a thing about spice?"

I held my breath.

The next second, Ethan replied:

"She's too prissy. Couldn't hang with us."

I actually laughed.

Two days ago, he had been the one who drove me to the hospital.

The medical chart said in bold letters: avoid spicy and irritating foods.

He'd promised he would remember.

And it had been — what — two days?

My inability to eat spicy food had become "prissy."

Today was my birthday.

He'd promised to spend it with just me.

And now it was me who couldn't hang with them.

The taxi stopped at a red light.

My phone lit up again.

Ethan had sent a voice message.

"Emma, where'd you go? I slipped up — I forgot you can't eat spicy—"

I didn't listen to the rest. I pressed the screen dark.

Outside the window, the city lights stretched on like a runway with no end.

I had been running on this track for five years.

I'd always believed the finish line was his arms.

Now I saw it for what it was — a loop.

The start and the finish were both just me.

And he had never once changed course for me.