**Chapter 1: Dahlia** The persistent buzz of my phone disrupts the uneasy quiet of my apartment. I already know who it is and what the message says. Yet, I can't help but pick it up. *Bradley*: “Sorry, babe. I’ve got to stay late and wrap up this project. You know how it is. Won’t be long, I promise. Head back without me. I’ll grab dinner.” Of course, just like last night, and the night before that. Ever since he snagged that promotion to the fourth floor, it feels like I’m losing him bit by bit. I let out a long, frustrated breath, my cheeks puffing before I can catch myself. Bradley used to make me feel like I was the center of his universe, but now it's as if I’m a ghost in his life, haunting the corners of his busyness. Shaking my head, I push the irritation down, curling my fingers into my jacket as if I could physically squeeze out the annoyance. It's silly, really—he’s working himself to the bone for a deal that could change our lives, and here I am, sulking like a child denied dessert because he won’t clock out on time. The irony isn’t lost on me. “Real fiancée of the year,” I mutter under my breath. With a huff, I pull my arms into the sleeves of my coat and grab my bag. He mentioned dinner, after all. The least I can do is make sure he eats. The brisk autumn air greets me like an old friend, ruffling the loose strands that have escaped my bun. Bradley always preached the "fake-it-’til-you-make-it" philosophy, and part of me is determined to look every bit the polished fiancée he’s always showed off. So here I am, clad in a pencil skirt that hugs my hips, a silk blouse that flows delicately, and a blazer that is entirely too fancy for a casual dinner. The outfit may cost more than my monthly rent, but the memory of how his eyes lit up the first time I wore it makes it all seem worth it. There’s a little noodle shop tucked away just down the block—a place that used to be our haven in the early days of dating. The spicy scent wafts through the air, wrapping around me like a warm hug, pulling me back to endless evenings when we’d linger over steaming bowls, clinking chopsticks and laughter echoing off the walls. “Well, would you look at that! Dahlia’s finally graced us with her presence!” Mr. Tanaka, a sprightly man in his sixties, greets me with a grin that could chase away the stormiest of clouds. “Sorry it’s been so long,” I reply, offering him a sheepish smile that carries the weight of my unspoken woes. “Work has been… a lot lately.” His brow furrows slightly, as if he wants to ask me more, but then he lets it go. “Good to see you anyway. The usual? That guy you used to come with running late?” “Yes, the usual. To go, please.” A moment of hesitation washes over me, and I add, “I thought I’d surprise him.” Mr. Tanaka gives a knowing hum, his gaze flickering with concern. “Just remember to come by even without that guy,” he says, the caution in his voice making my heart clench involuntarily. The way he refers to Bradley as “that guy” stings, a cruel reminder of the disconnection growing between us. I open my mouth to ask, but my order is already waiting for me on the counter—quick as ever. “Good to see you, Dahlia,” he adds softly, a lingering sadness in his eyes. “Don’t be a stranger.” I nod, clutching the warm takeout bag as I make my way outside, wrapping it tightly as if it could shield me from the cold reality awaiting me at home. The elevator ride feels longer than usual, each floor number lighting up like a countdown to some dreaded event. I hug the warm paper bag closer to my chest, an anchor in the uneasy sea of my thoughts. The hallway is dim when I step off, the silence of the offices wrapping around me like a blanket. The only sound comes from the far end—Bradley’s office, where a faint glow flickers from beneath the door. His floor, with its pristine offices lining the glass walls, stands in stark contrast to the chaos of cubicles on the lower floors. Bradley had been so proud the night he ascended to this level—a celebration fueled by cheap beer and laughter, where he kissed me beneath string lights I hung in his new office, his eyes gleaming with dreams of a future we were building. As I take purposeful strides down the hallway, anticipation bubbles in my chest. I can already envision the surprised smile that will break across his face upon seeing me. But then, through the crack of the door, a low, rhythmic sound slithers into the hallway, instantly freezing me in place. A terrible heat surges to the back of my neck, prickling down my arms like icy tendrils. My grip on the takeout bag tightens, the tantalizing aroma of sesame and garlic now turning rancid in my throat. No. I must be imagining things. I press my palm against the knob, my fingers slick with sweat as I twist it, the latch clicking open with a shrill sound that feels like a death knell. The noise doesn’t stop. It sharpens, becoming a horrifying melody that crescendos as I push the door further. My chest constricts, breath hitching in my throat. Every instinct screams for me to retreat, to turn around and erase this moment as if it were a bad dream. But the door inches open, revealing a scene that shatters my world. A woman sprawls on Bradley’s desk, her dress pushed high, and the plant I gifted him now lies toppled in the corner, dirt scattered across the carpet. Reality warps and twists as the remnants of my trust crumble; the sound of his hips meeting hers is unforgiving, a knife twisting in my gut. He turns at the sound of my gasp, frantic eyes wide with panic as he fumbles with his belt. “Dahlia, wait! Baby, please, it’s not what it looks like!” A bitter laugh escapes my lips, sharp and incredulous. “Is this the part where you say, ‘I accidentally fell and somehow landed with my dick in her’?” He circles the desk, hands raised as if trying to tame a wild animal. “Please, listen to me. I’ve been under so much pressure—the clients, the late nights, everything—I wasn’t thinking clearly. It meant nothing. You know you’re the only one I love.” The blonde shifts next to him, pulling her dress down, her face twisting with indignation at the notion that this was mere triviality. I almost laugh, the absurdity of it all is suffocating. “Nothing? Are you really going to play that game? A little cliché, don’t you think?” “I swear to you, it wasn’t planned! She came on to me. I should have stopped it, but I was weak. God, Dahlia, you know I’d never do anything to hurt you. Everything I do is for us.” Panic flickers in his eyes as he rakes a hand through his hair. “Don’t do this. Don’t throw away everything we’ve built over one mistake. Think about the house, the future we talked about, the sacrifices we both made to get here. You can’t really mean to walk away because of this.” Bile rises in my throat, a wave of nausea crashing over me as his mere presence becomes unbearable. I back away, desperate for space, as revulsion rolls through me. “Because of this? I just caught you having sex with someone else!” His expression morphs, the pleading shifting into irritation. “You’ve been so needy lately! Always tired, always sulking whenever I had to stay late. Do you have any idea the pressure I’m under? I felt alone, Dahlia. Maybe if you had been more supportive, I wouldn’t have slipped tonight!” The audacity of his words ignites a furious flame within me. “You’re blaming me?” He exhales sharply, his composure splintering. “I’m saying this doesn’t have to end everything. You’re being dramatic. You have to see that. We’re stronger than this. You need me.” The certainty in his voice strikes me like a blow, freezing me in place. His cruel words resonate, cutting deeper than I ever imagined. I’d given up everything for him—traded in my spirit for the life he promised. When he convinced me to follow him here, to spend every last cent from the sale of my flower shop—he created a world where I depended on him entirely. “Is that why you didn’t bring me up here with you? To keep me small while you slept with someone else on the desk I decorated?” A cold smugness creeps across his face, revealing the stranger I’d been blind to. “Dahlia, you know you don’t belong on this floor. You don’t even have a degree. You were never going to make it here without me. I built this. I made you. Without me, you have nothing. So stop being an idiot and let’s go home. We’ll forget this ever happened, and you will make it up to me later.” Those words are a slap across my face, a painful revelation that obliterates any lingering doubt. The man before me is no longer recognizable. “You egotistical, small-dicked, balding freaking asshole!” Before I can think, my palm drives upward into his nose with a satisfyingly brutal crunch. Blood seeps between his fingers as he stumbles back, eyes narrowing in fury. In that moment of chaos, I don’t wait to see what he will do next. I kick his shin with all my might and dart for the door, not stopping until I burst into the cool night air, reality crashing down around me. I’m homeless, jobless, friendless… utterly and irrevocably screwed.