On the eve of the National Piano Championship, I accidentally burned my right hand and lost my shot at the title. When Damian Rhodes heard about it, he rushed back from out of town overnight. Everyone said he was hopelessly in love with me. Only I knew the truth. Damian had orchestrated my injury to make Delilah Monroe, his old flame, happy. At Willowbrook Medical Center, Damian barely glanced at my scarred hand. With a dismissive tone, he said, “Does it really hurt that much? Stop pretending.” “I only told them to spill half a cup of water.” Listening to his indifferent words, I didn’t argue. Instead, I silently began to plan my escape—an escape set for one month later, on our wedding day. Content In the stillness of the hospital room, Damian repeatedly checked his phone. His eyes flicked toward the screen every few seconds, as if waiting for someone’s message. The IV line started to backflow, yet he remained utterly distracted. Unable to hold back, I finally said, “Damian, the IV is empty.” He responded with a casual grunt, not even sparing me a glance. A notification sound interrupted the silence. A small smile spread across his face, softening even his normally cold eyes. His fingers moved quickly across the screen, typing. I turned my head away, unwilling to watch. There was no need to guess—he was texting Delilah. Only she could bring out this side of him. “Oh, by the way, when your IV finishes, just head home on your own.” He didn’t look up, issuing the instruction without care. I turned to the window. Outside, it was drizzling, but the wind was strong. At that moment, a new post from Delilah popped up on Instagram Stories. It was a screenshot of a hefty bank transfer. “Thanks for the $52,000, Damian~” A wave of realization hit me. I remembered last Valentine’s Day when I begged Damian for a $143 gift. It had taken endless coaxing before he reluctantly agreed, all while sneering, “Sabrina, when did you become so materialistic?” “Why make such a fuss over something as trivial as Valentine’s Day?” Yet for Delilah, he’d transferred $52,000 without blinking an eye. I curled my fingers into my palm, as if that could ease the ache in my heart. Just then, Delilah walked in, holding a bouquet of flowers. The moment Damian saw her, he shot to his feet, unable to hide his excitement. He rushed over and took the flowers from her hands. Delilah revealed a trophy she’d been hiding behind her back. “I’m the champion!” she announced proudly. Damian looked even happier than she did and hugged her right in front of me. Watching this scene unfold, I couldn’t help but feel the bitter sting of irony. In the preliminary rounds, I had been the clear frontrunner, leaving Delilah far behind in second place. Even the judges had congratulated me early. “Miss Hale, there’s no competition. The title is yours.” Everyone was convinced I’d win. But then Delilah cried to Damian. With teary eyes and a trembling voice, she clung to his sleeve. She didn’t even have to say a word. Damian couldn’t stand to see her upset.
He’d felt so sorry for her that he arranged for someone to burn my hand. God knows how much it hurt when I called the event staff to withdraw from the competition. “Miss Hale, are you withdrawing voluntarily?” the staff member asked, incredulous. Tears streamed down my face, each one heavy with pain and resentment. “Yes, I’m withdrawing voluntarily,” I forced myself to say. I averted my gaze from the trophy that should have been mine. I could lose to anyone but Delilah Monroe. Damian still didn’t know that Delilah was the reason my father had died. Ten years ago, my father had jumped into Whispering Lake to save her from drowning. Ignoring everyone’s protests, he dove in without hesitation and brought her to safety. But once onshore, Delilah didn’t thank him. Instead, she accused him, shouting, “He touched me underwater! He’s a creep!” “He’s crazy!” As a schoolteacher, my father couldn’t bear the humiliation. Amid the public outrage, he chose to end his own life. After Damian and Delilah finished their cozy celebration, she finally noticed me. With a smile, she extended her trophy toward me. “Sabrina, don’t be too upset,” she said sweetly. “Not everyone can win, you know.” “You touched the trophy; that’s almost the same as being the champion.” Her condescending kindness only fueled the fire in me. I couldn’t suppress a cold laugh. “Must be nice to feel so justified about something you stole.” My words wiped the smugness from her face. Damian’s expression darkened, and he immediately shielded Delilah behind him. Delilah’s eyes brimmed with tears, the kind that clung to the edge but didn’t fall—just enough to look pitiful. “Sabrina, has the IV gone to your head?” Damian snapped. “Delilah came to comfort you, not to be your punching bag.” Delilah tugged at his sleeve, pretending to defend me. “Don’t say that. Sabrina’s hand injury…” But Damian cut her off. “No need to make excuses for her.” He cast a scornful glance at me. “No talent is no talent.” “Just because you’ve won a few awards doesn’t mean you’re better than Delilah.”
Damian’s cutting words left me momentarily stunned. When we had first started dating, Damian wasn’t the wealthy, arrogant man he was now. Back then, he noticed my love for piano and spent all his savings to buy me a piano. I’ll never forget that day. Damian stood in our cramped apartment with that piano awkwardly taking up most of the space. His hands, rough and red from endless part-time jobs, were tucked behind his back as he said, “Congratulations, Sabrina Hale, on earning your very first piano.” I cried so hard that I couldn’t form a complete sentence. “But I… I’m not even talented enough for this.” Damian gently hugged me and whispered in my ear, “No, Sabrina. In my heart, you’re the greatest pianist there ever was.” It was because of Damian’s encouragement, again and again, that I didn’t give up on my dream. But people change. The Damian who stood before me at thirty-one was nothing like the Damian at twenty-two. He no longer gave me unconditional support or held me as his priority. As he stormed out of the hospital room, he slammed the door so hard it echoed in the hallway. His parting shot stung: “Sabrina, this is your last warning. If you upset Delilah one more time, I swear I’m canceling the wedding next month!” Damian loved to use the wedding as a weapon. He always believed I couldn’t live without him. Maybe he was right in the past. But now, I opened my phone and booked a flight to Cambridge, England. The date? The exact day I was supposed to marry Damian Rhodes.
When the IV was finished, it was already 4 a.m. My phone was out of battery, I had no choice but to walk home alone. At dawn, I finally opened the door to our house. There was Damian, wearing an apron in the kitchen, cooking. The house, normally so cold, was filled with a faint warmth. He glanced up at me, and his expression faltered briefly when he saw my wet hair and rumpled clothes. For a moment, guilt flickered in his eyes. He rubbed his temples as if trying to ease a headache and walked toward me. “Leaving you behind was wrong. I’ve ordered takeout. You should eat something,” he said, his tone unusually soft, as if trying to break the ice. I looked at the takeout containers on the table and felt no appetite at all. One box contained a simple fried egg. After all these years, Damian still hadn’t remembered that I’m allergic to eggs. My gaze wandered to the counter, where several carefully packed lunchboxes were sitting—vegetables, meat, and even freshly sliced fruit. A pot of simmering rib stew sat on the stove. Damian noticed my attention and awkwardly shifted his body to block my view. “She’s been practicing piano a lot,” he said, clearly referring to Delilah. “I can’t just ignore her, you know.” As he spoke, he shrugged, as if he were truly helpless. In the past, I would have argued. But now, a quiet sense of exhaustion spread through me. A year ago, Damian had lost his wallet while on a business trip out of state. Delilah had been the one to help him. Ever since then, he’d constantly said, “If it weren’t for Delilah, I don’t know what I’d do.” No matter how big or small her problems were, Damian would always rush to her side without hesitation. Whenever I voiced my dissatisfaction, Damian would snap at me impatiently. “Sabrina, Delilah isn’t just anyone. I see her as my little sister.” The thought of it made me feel an overwhelming bitterness. I brushed past him and said flatly, “She should take care of herself better, then.” Damian looked surprised, as if he couldn’t recognize me anymore. But he didn’t press me. Instead, he pulled a small, elegant jewelry box from his pocket. I recognized it immediately. It was the diamond necklace I’d asked for months ago. Despite mentioning it more than once, Damian had never bought it for me. But now, he was suddenly offering it to me.
As Damian opened the box, the diamond necklace shimmered, just as beautiful as it had been in the store window. But I couldn’t bring myself to feel happy. I’d seen an identical necklace around Delilah’s neck before. I still remembered her smug expression. “This necklace?” she’d said, practically gloating. “I just casually mentioned it to Damian, and the next day it was mine.” The thing I had longed for, Delilah had gotten with little effort. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I pushed Damian away, heading for the bedroom. My dismissal enraged him. With a sharp snap, he closed the box, his face dark with anger. “Sabrina, what’s your problem?” “You won’t eat the food in front of you, and now you won’t even look at the necklace I bought you?” “Are you still mad about that incident?” We both knew exactly what “incident” he was referring to. Seeing my indifferent expression only made him angrier. His chest heaved as if he were about to explode. He grabbed a nearby photo frame and hurled it to the floor. The glass shattered into countless pieces. “Sabrina, you’re completely out of control now!” I didn’t respond. My eyes lingered on the broken photo. It was our first picture together. I’d been so proud of it that I’d framed it myself. I still remembered what Damian had said back then. “Sabrina, I’ll never stop loving you.” “So don’t even think about leaving me. We’ll always be together.” I had been so naïve, so quick to believe him. I’d teased him, laughing, “What if you’re the one who changes?” Damian had thought about it seriously before replying with conviction: “Then never forgive me. No matter how much I beg, promise me you won’t.” “Don’t ever come back to me, Sabrina.” The face of the boy Damian had been and the man he had become blurred together in my mind. My nose tingled, and I fought the urge to pick up the shattered frame.
In the end, Damian and I parted with yet another fight unresolved. The reason the argument ended wasn’t because we came to an understanding, but because it was time for him to deliver a meal to Delilah. After Damian slammed the door and stormed out, silence filled the room again. I turned to look at the old piano standing in the corner. Without a moment of hesitation, I grabbed a hammer and swung it down. When the piano was reduced to a heap of splintered wood and broken strings, I called the city disposal service. The worker who arrived was shocked. “Are you sure you want to get rid of this?” I nodded without emotion. “It’s just a pile of meaningless junk.” The next couple of weeks dragged on. The wedding date grew closer, but Damian didn’t even bother coming home. The man who used to complain constantly about being overworked somehow found the time to travel the world with Delilah. I knew all of this from her Instagram Stories. During that time, she posted frequently, mostly pictures of her and Damian together. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly when I saw his smiling face in those photos. It had been so long since I’d seen Damian smile. Around me, his face was always cold, void of any warmth or kindness. Some friends who heard about the situation couldn’t resist asking: “What’s going on between Damian and that woman?” I paused for a moment before replying calmly, “They’re just friends.” “Are you still getting married?” I smiled. “Of course. Make sure you come to the wedding.” My nonchalant tone convinced everyone that I was deeply in love with Damian—so much so that I was willing to marry him despite knowing about his betrayal.
Three days before the wedding, Damian finally came back. He brought with him a mountain of gifts, filling nearly every corner of the house. He ruffled my hair with a pleased expression and said, “If only you were always this obedient.” I forced myself not to recoil from his touch. That hand—so many times it had held Delilah’s. I found it repulsive. Damian handed me a card and said in a condescending tone, “Pick out the wedding ring yourself.” “Delilah is busy preparing for an important competition, and I need to be there for her.” Afraid I might throw a tantrum, Damian added a warning: “This competition is very important to her. Don’t cause any trouble.” To his surprise, I simply nodded. Damian didn’t notice anything unusual. He assumed I had finally learned my place, and his mood visibly improved as he left the house. For the next three days, Damian spent all his time with Delilah without a care in the world. On the wedding day, as the makeup artist gave me the final touches, I listened closely to the officiant’s voice from the hall. “Let’s welcome the bride…” Before the next words could be spoken, an urgent ringtone broke the ceremony’s rhythm. In front of everyone, Damian answered the call, looking visibly flustered. Delilah’s tearful voice came through the speakerphone, loud enough for the entire room to hear: “Damian, the goldfish you bought me isn’t moving! Is it dying?” The audience murmured in disbelief, but Damian hesitated only for a moment before raising his hand decisively. “Sorry, the wedding is postponed. We’ll resume in thirty minutes.” The room erupted into chaos, but Damian didn’t care. He left without looking back. This time, neither did I. I ripped off my veil, stepped out of the wedding dress, and walked out under the shocked stares of everyone. I hailed a cab and left.
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