Austin only managed to win me over because of his female relationship guru. Because of that, Mallory felt perfectly entitled to pull the strings of our entire relationship. She was the one who told him that keeping things private was the only way to protect them. So, for five years, Austin never posted a single picture of me on Instagram. Not even a passing mention in a story. She was the one who said distance makes the heart grow fonder, and that being together twenty-four/seven would only breed resentment. So, Austin wouldn’t even take me out on a date without her green light. I cried. I threw tantrums. Yet, Austin always managed to look like the real victim. “I only asked her to help because I wanted us to last, Sherry,” he would plead, looking utterly exhausted by my tears. “Why can’t you just try to understand that?” Until last night. Austin left me while I was burning up with a fever and went completely off the grid. When I finally couldn’t bear the silence anymore, I sent him a text. “Where are you?” The reply came almost instantly. “A woman needs her own agency. Constantly clinging to a man just devalues you. If you make yourself cheap, he won’t cherish you.” I knew it was Mallory using his phone to reply. This time, I didn’t care why Mallory had his phone so late. I didn’t scream, and I didn’t demand to know who mattered more to him. Something inside me just clicked, and then… it went quiet. He had an advisor. Well, so did I. 1. Austin didn’t come home until almost dawn. He brought with him a heavy scent of whiskey, and every corner of his jacket was smeared with sweet, sticky frosting. Remembering the text from earlier, I reached out and quietly took his phone from his hand. “Let me clean that off for you.” Before the words could even leave my mouth, Austin flinched away as if my touch were a disease. “I told you, Sherry, I don’t like people touching my phone,” he snapped. “Even couples need boundaries.” Boundaries. I had believed that lie for five years. Yet, for those same five years, Mallory had comfortably slipped past those boundaries, answering his texts whenever she pleased. A dull ache flared in my chest. I couldn’t help but press him. “Who replied to my text earlier then? If you care so much about boundaries, why is Mallory always the exception?” Having his hypocrisy laid bare made Austin’s face darken with annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you? She’s just my relationship guru. Why do you always have to be so paranoid?” To prove his innocence, he unlocked the phone in front of me. The screen was slick with frosting, and it took him three attempts to swipe the passcode correctly. `0709`. July ninth. It was Mallory’s birthday. He had spent the night with her, came home covered in frosting, and his phone’s passcode was her birthday—not mine. The weight of that realization crushed whatever fight I had left in me. Even demanding an explanation felt pointless. Over the years, I had begged him for some small semblance of romance. I had asked him to change his wallpaper or lock screen to something that represented us. Back then, Austin had dismissed me with a single, cold word: “Childish.” He thought I was childish. But when it came to Mallory, it was different. With tears hot on my cheeks, I asked him why. He only gave me an irritated shrug. “She said it was annoying to keep asking for my password when she was helping me reply to your messages. I changed it to her birthday out of convenience.” What I had begged five years for, he gave to her on a whim. I stared at him, unable to recognize the man standing in front of me. Before we started dating, he used to spend hours drafting a single text to me. When I teasingly called him a clueless guy, he panicked and hired Mallory to write high-EQ responses to win me over. But I never imagined that this so-called relationship guru would slowly, methodically, weave herself into the very fabric of our lives. At that moment, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over me. Austin’s phone buzzed. It was a notification from Mallory. She had sent him screenshots of their photos together across various social media platforms. The caption read: “My absolute favorite person in the world.” For five years, because Mallory said a relationship should be private, Austin kept me hidden. Yet, he gave Mallory a public, exclusive place in his life. They were each other’s absolute favorites. I was just the third wheel. I forced a bitter smile and held the phone up to his face. “Since she’s so important to you, why don’t we just break up so you two can be together? That way, she won’t have to work so hard to make my life miserable.” Austin scoffed, slapping the phone out of my hand. “Mallory just wanted to give you a reality check so you’d appreciate me more! She works herself to the bone trying to keep us together, and all you do is accuse her. She’s right—you really are a manipulative, insecure snake.” “Mallory says, Mallory says.” He always hung on her every word. I realized then that arguing was useless. A relationship guru? Who didn’t have one? I closed my mouth, opened my messaging app, and pulled up a chat with my childhood best friend. “Hey, my advisor… I think he loves his relationship guru more than me. What do I do?” Bruno replied almost instantly. “Your advisor is better. I’m flying back to the States in three days.” “Will you give me a chance?” Three days from now was our fifth anniversary. Since Austin obeyed his advisor, I decided it was time to start listening to mine. 2. Perhaps because I had actually brought up breaking up, Austin did something unprecedented the next day. He offered to take me to a gathering with his close circle of friends. “Mallory just wanted to give you a reality check. Stop being mad,” he said, adjusting his collar. “I know you’ve been wanting to go public. I’m taking you to meet the guys today. Happy now?” He was finally willing to bring me into his world, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. All I could think about was how much of this decision had been orchestrated by Mallory. Yet, I didn’t refuse. Since I had already resolved to leave, I wanted to see exactly how rotten this relationship had become. When we arrived at the private dining room, everyone was crowded around Mallory, laughing and talking. Not a single person looked up to acknowledge my existence. There was only one empty seat at the main table, and a flimsy plastic stool placed next to Mallory’s chair. Austin looked momentarily embarrassed. He started to pull the plastic stool over so we could squeeze in together at the main table. But Mallory called out to him, her voice dripping with mock disbelief. “Are you choosing a girl over your brothers, Austin? Don’t be such a pathetic simp.” She smirked, gesturing to the stool. “Let Sherry sit with me.” Her words put him on the spot in front of his friends. I stood there quietly, waiting to see what he would choose. I got my answer when he let go of the stool and walked over to sit with his friends, leaving me to sit alone next to Mallory. Sitting on that cheap plastic stool, looking at Austin across the table, my mind drifted back to five years ago. When we first started dating, he would wait outside my dorm building every single night until the lights-out curfew. Someone had taken a picture of him and posted it on the campus confession board, teasing him for being a simp. But Austin had proudly commented under the post: “If treating my girl right makes me a simp, then I’m the biggest simp in the world.” But now, everything was different. “Sherry,” Mallory’s voice broke my train of thought. She nudged my arm, a conspiratorial look on her face. “You know, guys, Sherry looks so innocent in public, but she is so clingy in private.” She cleared her throat, pitch-shifting her voice into a whiny, mocking caricature to read my texts to Austin. “‘Austin, can you please give me just a little bit of your time?’ ‘Austin, I want to make this work, why are you being so cold?’” The table erupted into loud, cruel laughter. The heat rushed to my face. “Could you respect my privacy?” I asked, my voice cold. Mallory rolled her eyes, scoffing. “We wrote half of those replies to you anyway, so what privacy are you talking about? I shared your chat history in the group chat ages ago. The guys are honestly sick of reading your whining.” The vulnerability I had only ever shown to Austin had been passed around like a cheap joke in their group chat. The humiliation suffocated me. I looked at Austin, hoping he would put an end to this circus. Instead, Mallory took my silence as permission to push further. “Are you going to run and cry to Austin now?” she giggled. “You know, when he first started kissing, he didn’t even know how to breathe. I had to teach him. Technically, you should be thanking me.” She really was a dedicated advisor, teaching him how to kiss, step-by-step. The thought of every intimate moment I had shared with Austin made my stomach churn. I felt physically sick. I stood up and walked out. Austin instinctively moved to follow, but Mallory’s sharp voice cut through the room. “Stop right there, Austin. Are you a man or not?” she mocked. “She’s just playing hard to get, and you’re running after her like a puppy. You’re going to let her control you for the rest of your life?” I quickened my pace, pushing through the doors. I knew he wouldn’t follow. In five years, whenever Mallory was involved, he had never once stood by my side. And I didn’t need him to anymore. 3. I walked back to our apartment in a daze, immediately pulling out my suitcase to pack. My phone buzzed with a text from Austin. “Hey baby, my phone glitched and accidentally ordered that cake you like. Are you ready to forgive me yet?” It was always like this. When Mallory was in a good mood, she would draft some high-EQ apology for him to send me. When she wasn’t, she would tell him to ignore me to “give me a reality check.” I used to play along, pretending not to notice because I wanted to keep the peace. But now, picturing her smug face on the other side of the screen, controlling my emotions like a puppet master, I felt nothing but disgust. I typed back: “Mallory, do you really think you’re that clever?” I didn’t wait for a reply. I threw my things into the suitcase, only to realize I had barely anything to pack. Over the years, Mallory had constantly whispered in Austin’s ear: “The better you treat a woman, the less she values you. Money is to show them, not to spend on them.” So, in five years, Austin had rarely bought me anything—not even a single bouquet of flowers. My entire life in this apartment fit into a single suitcase. It made leaving beautifully simple. As I zipped it shut, a knock sounded at the door. I opened it to find Mallory standing on the threshold. She tilted her chin, intentionally exposing a neck covered in dark red hickeys. “You just had to throw a tantrum, didn’t you?” she smirked, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “As his advisor, I had to step in and help him blow off some steam.” Even though I had already checked out of this relationship, the sight of those marks still sent a sharp, physical pain through my chest. I swallowed the ache and forced a cold laugh. “What’s the point of throwing yourself at him like a desperate side-piece? He still didn’t choose you to be his girlfriend, did he?” That hit a nerve. Mallory’s smug expression shattered, and she shoved me hard against the doorframe. “We were practically together before you barged in! You’re the real home-wrecker here. Your mother was a mistress, and a mistress’s daughter is always a mistress.” Hearing her insult my mother, the dam broke. Years of repressed rage boiled over, and I raised my hand and swung. “Slap!” The sharp, stinging sound echoed in the hallway. But my palm didn’t hit Mallory’s face. It struck Austin’s cheek. Realizing Austin had stepped in to take the blow for her, Mallory immediately burst into tears, her voice trembling. “I just saw how upset she was and wanted to apologize… Sherry, what did I ever do to make you hate me this much?” Austin stood like a shield in front of her, the disgust in his eyes burning into me. “She called my mother a mistress. She deserved it,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. Austin, thoroughly manipulated by Mallory’s tears, snapped. “You’ll say anything to lie about Mallory. Your mother did things that couldn’t face the light of day. Are people not even allowed to talk about it?” An icy chill washed over me, numbing me from head to toe. Only Austin knew about my mother’s past. He knew she only found out my biological father had another family after I was born. He knew she had tried to end her life multiple times from the shame of that label. And yet, he had handed our deepest pain to Mallory like cheap gossip, letting her weaponize it against me. I stood there, completely drained of life, as tears fell silently. Realizing he had crossed a line, Austin’s expression softened slightly, and he reached out to touch my shoulder. I stepped back, avoiding him. I looked at the man standing before me. He felt like a stranger. My mind flashed back to the night he had knelt in the pouring rain outside my mother’s house for hours, begging for her blessing. That night, he had held our hands and made a solemn vow. “If I ever hurt Sherry, let me rot. I promise to give her the home she deserves.” It was all a lie. I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Austin, we’re done.” Austin’s eyes widened, and he reached for my hand again, but Mallory stepped between us. “Remember what I told you, Austin?” she warned. “Whoever apologizes first loses. I hate these manipulative, dramatic girls.” Austin froze, seemingly swayed by her words. He pulled his hand back, his face hardening. “Fine. Don’t regret this.” He turned and walked away, Mallory close at his heels, her loud voice echoing down the hallway as they went. “Isn’t tomorrow your fifth anniversary?” she said loudly. “The guys and I will celebrate at that restaurant you booked. Let’s see who regrets what.” I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Bruno. “The day you arrive, I think I’d like a formal confession.” And the location would be the exact restaurant where I was supposed to spend my anniversary. The regret wouldn’t be mine. 4. The next afternoon, Austin returned to the apartment. He didn’t apologize, nor did he ask why my suitcase was sitting by the door. Instead, he immediately started advocating for Mallory. “Tonight, I’m helping Mallory make her crush jealous by pretending to propose to her,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “So, our anniversary dinner is canceled.” Seeing that I wasn’t responding, he scrambled for justifications. “She was my wingwoman for five years, Sherry. I owe her this favor. Don’t be so petty. How am I supposed to face my friends if you make me back out now?” I didn’t let him finish. “Sure. That’s fine.” He blinked, clearly taken aback by how easily I had agreed. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Don’t be mad.” I shook my head. “No need.” Never again. That evening, I put on the custom gown Bruno had sent to my apartment and walked into the high-end, window-side restaurant he had reserved. But before I could even find my table, Mallory appeared out of nowhere, blocking my path. “Austin reserved this table for me,” she said, looking me up and down. “As a modern woman, I hope you have some dignity left and stop clinging to a man who doesn’t want you.” I let out a cold laugh. “As a modern woman, I hope you have some shame. This table doesn’t have your name on it.” Mallory’s face flushed with anger, and she looked back toward the entrance. Austin walked in, his expression instantly darkening when he saw me. “You shouldn’t be here, Sherry,” he said quietly. “It’s only going to make you miserable.” Was he worried about my misery, or was he worried I would ruin their little show? The answer didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t feel like wasting another breath on them, so I signaled a passing waiter. “I think these guests have mistaken their table. Could you please check their reservation and guide them to the correct area?” The waiter politely checked his tablet and gestured for Austin and Mallory to follow him to a different section. Austin’s face burned with embarrassment. He looked at me, exasperated. “Do you really have to waste so much money just to spite me?” He was still so painfully arrogant. I ignored him, looking past his shoulder to wait for Bruno. The staff began arranging large vases of yellow daffodils around my table, per Bruno’s instructions. Mallory, watching from a distance, marched back over and barked at the florists, “Ugh, I hate daffodils! They’re so tacky. Take them away and bring roses! This is Austin’s proposal to me, what are you doing?” The florists looked bewildered. I offered them a gentle smile. “Please keep setting them up exactly as requested. I’m the one who paid for them. Listen to me.” Seeing me embarrass Mallory again, Austin stepped in front of her. “Sherry, you’re being ridiculous.” His friends, who had just walked in, immediately joined the attack. “Are you seriously still trying to get his attention?” one of them sneered. “Austin is proposing to Mallory today. No one cares about you.” “I do,” a deep, clear voice cut through the noise. Bruno, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, walked through the crowd. He bypassed everyone and knelt on one knee directly in front of me. “I’m late,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth. “Will you be my girlfriend, Sherry?”
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