My fiancé, Damon, worshipped efficiency above all else. To him, anything that couldn’t be measured in optimized minutes was a waste of life. When it came time to practice our wedding procession, he skipped it, calling rehearsal a useless exercise. When we went to City Hall to get our marriage license and saw a line stretching out the door, he turned on his heel and walked away. So on Valentine’s Day, I made sure to reserve a table at an exclusive private dining club in the West Village—one that required no waiting—and went straight to his office building after work to pick him up. As I stepped into the polished marble lobby, I overheard two junior employees whispering near the security turnstiles: “Mr. Meredith has been queuing up at the employee elevator every single evening just so he can walk out with Calla.” I froze. Just beyond the turnstiles, Damon—a man who usually treated queues like a personal insult—was standing at the very back of a crowded line, talking casually with my best friend, Calla, who had been working as his executive assistant for the past year. When the elevator reached the main floor, I walked up to them. The moment Damon caught sight of me, his face hardened into an unmistakable frown. “Juliette,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “We haven’t even signed the papers or thrown the reception yet. Are you really that desperate to mark your territory as the CEO’s wife?” I stood there, speechless. To avoid company rumors, Damon had strictly forbidden me from ever visiting his office. The only reason I had rushed over today—enduring a painful twenty-minute sprint in three-inch heels—was because I was terrified he would cancel our dinner date if he thought it was taking too long. Before I could explain, Calla gasped, looking flustered. “Oh no, I left my laptop upstairs! I have to run back up. Don’t wait for me, guys.” Damon immediately reached out, placing a steady, gentle hand on her shoulder. His tone softened in a way I hadn’t heard in months. “I’ll get it for you. You take Juliette outside first.” Without another word, he turned back and rejoined the long line for the elevator. In that quiet, crystalline second, something inside me broke. I finally understood: this relationship, which he deemed unbefitting of his precious time, had reached its end. … Damon was gone for thirty minutes. During those thirty minutes, Calla called his phone five times. He answered every single call, staying on the line until Calla decided to hang up first. I sat in the back of his sleek black sedan, feeling strangely detached. Damon had a strict rule with me: no phone call could ever exceed two minutes. If we hit the two-minute mark, he would cut me off mid-sentence. Just last night, I had called him to ask for the code to our new smart lock. After I punched in the wrong numbers twice, the two-minute limit expired. He hung up without hesitation. I had been left squatting outside our apartment door for two hours until he finally came home. When I asked why he hadn’t at least replied to my text, he offered a piece of blunt logic that left me speechless: “Juliette, just because you have nothing better to do doesn’t mean I’m not busy.” The car engine purred to life. Calla slipped effortlessly into the front passenger seat. Outside the window, the lingering staff members didn’t bother hiding their quiet chatter. “Mr. Meredith is so good to Calla. Rain or shine, he drives her home every day.” “Whenever Calla’s in the room, his meetings always run ten minutes longer than usual.” “The ultimate efficiency-obsessed CEO turns into a soft-hearted puppy for love? I am so shipping this.” Calla put on an embarrassed smile, though the corners of her lips curled up in clear satisfaction. “Juliette, don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just joking. They even photoshopped our headshots onto a fake marriage certificate the other day.” She opened her phone, pulling up a curated photo album to show me the joke. Sitting in the backseat, I couldn’t bring myself to smile. “Anyone who didn’t know better would think you two were the ones actually getting married.” Damon’s tone instantly dropped several degrees into icy territory. “It’s one thing for strangers to gossip, Juliette. But Calla is your best friend. Are you really picking a fight with her?” Calla quickly played the peacemaker. “It’s a special night, Damon. As long as Juliette’s happy, I really don’t mind.” Damon’s jaw remained tight. “She only cares about her own mood. Showing up unannounced without a second thought for how it affects anyone else. Juliette, I’ve told you repeatedly that I won’t have our marriage news jeopardizing the company’s IPO timeline. Don’t ever come to the office again.” My eyes drifted to the center console, where a delicate silver earring sat—one that belonged to Calla. “If rumors are such a threat,” I asked softly, “then why doesn’t your fake marriage certificate with Calla require any discretion?” Damon knit his brows in profound irritation. “Because an innocent conscience needs no defense!” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Their fake marriage certificate was innocent and harmless. My quiet, invisible presence was a nuisance that threatened his corporate valuation. Calla pulled lightly on Damon’s sleeve. “Juliette made a reservation at a private dining spot. I’m starving—can we all go together?” Damon paused for a moment, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “If you booked a table, you should have mentioned it sooner instead of letting Calla wander around the streets hungry with you.” What was meant to be an intimate romantic dinner for two became an awkward table for three. When the appetizers arrived, I quietly passed my portion over to Calla. Midway through the meal, my mother called to ask about the guest list for the wedding. She asked if she could speak to Damon for a second. He took the phone from my hand. My mother, her voice sweet and hopeful, asked if we had picked an auspicious date yet. “Any day is fine, Mrs. Meredith,” Damon said, his tone brisk and clinical. “Let’s not waste time stressing over these trivial customs. We’re in the middle of something right now. Goodbye.” He cut her off cleanly, ending the call before handing the phone back to me as if he had just signed off on a routine email. “Juliette, I know you’re obsessed with details, but I want this wedding kept as bare-bones as possible.” A heavy, suffocating pressure slammed into my chest. Seconds later, my phone buzzed with a series of frantic text messages from my mother: “Honey, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you two were busy.” “Please apologize to Damon for me. I’ll make sure to schedule a time with him before calling next time.” “About the wedding… there’s no rush. Really, no rush at all.” I lost every ounce of my appetite. Mumbling an excuse, I slipped out toward the restroom. I leaned against the brick wall of the restaurant’s private inner courtyard. Through the glass window, I could hear Calla’s bright, dramatic laughter. She was gossiping about office politics, and Damon was listening in absolute quiet, chuckling softly whenever she hit a punchline. I remembered the time I had tried to tell Damon about a toxic conflict I was facing at my own job. Before I could even finish my first sentence, he had cut me off: “Juliette, do you honestly believe I have the bandwidth for your petty drama?” He didn’t hate inefficiency. He just didn’t think I was worth his time. Standing in the cold night air, I pulled out my phone and texted my mother: “Mom, the wedding is canceled.” I went straight to the front desk, paid the bill, and took an Uber home alone. … Damon didn’t return to the apartment until four in the morning. Seeing me curled up on the living room sofa, he flicked a brief glance in my direction before returning his gaze to his phone screen. “You looked pale at dinner. Stomach spasms acting up again?” My heart gave an unexpected, painful flutter as a memory rushed back. When I first moved to the city to be with him, the intense stress gave me severe, debilitating stomach cramps. During the worst flare-up, Damon had literally dragged his laptop into my hospital room, working by my side while watching over my IV drip. Later, terrified of occupying his valuable time, I learned to keep quiet and slip away whenever the pain struck. Remembering that old warmth, the cold anger in my chest softened slightly. I looked up at him and spoke calmly. “Damon, about getting our marriage license—” “Juliette, put a cap on your endless jealousy,” he interrupted, his forehead creasing with familiar impatience. “If you’re only dragging me to City Hall because you’re throwing a fit over Calla’s fake certificate, it just proves you’re trapped in a cycle of meaningless emotional drain.” Before I could speak, his phone rang. He picked it up immediately and walked into the bedroom. Through the cracked door, Calla’s anxious voice leaked out. “Boss, tomorrow’s promotion presentation is in front of the entire executive board. I’m so nervous I can barely breathe.” Damon’s voice was instantly steady, grounding, and patient. “Don’t be scared. I’ll go through the deck with you again right now.” The sentence I had been about to say—”Let’s just forget about the marriage license altogether”—was swallowed by the heavy click of the bedroom door closing. The last remaining ember in my heart went completely cold. … The next day after work, my phone rang. It was Calla. “Juliette! I passed my promotion review today! I even managed to extort a gorgeous new designer dress out of Damon!” she squealed. “He said while we’re out shopping, we might as well get your stuff taken care of, too.” I frowned. “What stuff?” Damon’s voice came through the speaker, carrying a short, dry chuckle. “Aren’t you the one in such a hurry to get married? We need to order a wedding gown, don’t we?” My throat tightened. “So you’re accompanying Calla to buy a dress, and “incidentally” taking me to order a gown?” “Batch processing similar errands maximizes efficiency,” he replied naturally, as if stating a mathematical fact. A bitter taste bloomed on the back of my tongue. “In your mind, getting married and taking another woman dress shopping are the exact same category of task?” “Juliette, stop obsessing over useless details,” he snapped, clearly exasperated. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside my office building to pick me up. After waiting for Calla to pick out her designer outfit, we walked into an high-end bridal boutique. Stepping across the plush carpet, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washed over me. “Never mind,” I said quietly, turning toward the exit. “Let’s just go.” Calla immediately grabbed my arm, dragging me back inside. “Oh, don’t be like that! I actually want to try some on, too!” She excitedly grabbed three elaborate gowns and disappeared into the fitting suite. I stood there numbly, eventually putting on a simple lace gown, holding onto a foolish, tiny shred of hope—a hope that Damon might look at me and remember the night he graduated from college, when he had fallen to his knees on the track field, his eyes shining as he begged me to spend the rest of my life with him. But when I pulled back the fitting room curtain, Damon wasn’t looking for me. He was holding up his smartphone, patiently following Calla’s playful instructions as he took photos of her. Three gowns, two hours, over three hundred photos. He had thrown his entire church of efficiency out the window, showing not a single trace of annoyance. When he finally noticed me, he looked genuinely bewildered. “Why haven’t you changed into your dress yet?” I forced a faint, hollow smile. “I won’t be needing it anyway.” His brows pulled together, his face wearing that familiar, tired expression of a man dealing with an unreasonable child. “Juliette, I don’t have time to book another appointment and do this all over again.” Calla twirled in her gown, holding onto the train with a pleading look. “Juliette, can I wear a full wedding dress as your maid of honor? Please?” Damon walked toward the register to pay. I shrugged lightly. “Whatever you want.” … On the drive back, my phone rang again. It was my mother. She had boarded a long-distance bus all by herself from her small town over a thousand miles away, coming to the city just to see me. I knew why she was here—she had heard me say the wedding was off, and she wanted to talk to Damon in person to smooth things over. “Damon, my mom just arrived at Penn Station,” I said, turning to him. “Can we swing by and pick her up?” My mother couldn’t navigate digital maps, and taxi drivers in the city frequently took advantage of out-of-towners. Instead of responding, Damon slammed his hands on the steering wheel, jerking the car sharply to the curb. “Juliette, we had a strict agreement: keep our parents out of our personal life,” he said coldly. “Family relationships are far too complex, and eighty percent of parental interactions are nothing more than a meaningless drain on energy.” I stared at him, unable to speak. He clicked the unlock button on the door panel. “Go get her yourself.” Even if my mother was lost and helpless in a terrifyingly massive city, to him, she was nothing more than an inefficient burden. The heavy, humid summer heat slapped me in the face the moment I stepped out of the car. My entire body felt ice-cold. The sedan roared off down the avenue. Through the crack of the passenger window, Calla’s soothing voice drifted back to me: “Damon, Juliette’s always been a little high-maintenance. You have to be more patient with her… Hey, I heard late-night street food cures all bad moods. Want to go?” Damon’s heavy mood instantly vanished, his voice light and fond. “If you want food, just say so.” … I picked up my mother, brought her to a hotel near the station, and went back to our apartment to pack a small bag so I could stay with her. Lying beside her on the twin bed that night, tears I had held back for days finally burst through the dam. My mother stayed awake, her rough hand gently patting my chest over and over, asking softly, “Juliette… do you want to come home?” The home she meant wasn’t the small Midwestern town where she lived with my stepfather. It was the quiet, misty coastal village in New England where my grandmother had raised me. The next morning, after seeing my mother off on her train, I returned to the apartment to pack the rest of my belongings. When I unlocked the front door, I was met with a scene I never expected. Calla was sitting in our living room, playing cards with a group of our mutual coworkers from the company. When the door opened, sharp, hostile eyes darted between Calla and me. One of the junior analysts frowned. “Calla, who is this?” Calla lowered her head, biting her lip and sending me an exaggerated, helpless look. I walked straight past the living room, my voice flat. “I’m Damon’s girlfriend.” Calla’s face drained of color for a second before she forced a laugh. “Wait, really? I’ve never heard Damon mention he had a girlfriend.” The room immediately erupted into snickers. “Yeah, Mr. Meredith’s only official girlfriend is Calla.” “Wait, I remember her! She was the crazy woman lurking suspiciously by the elevators the other day! Are you some kind of stalker?” They treated Calla like the undisputed mistress of the house. “Calla, this woman is clearly unhinged. What should we do?” I ignored them entirely, stepping into the master bedroom to pull my suitcase out of the closet. Suddenly, Calla’s sharp voice barked from the doorway: “Hey! Stop digging through other people’s private belongings! Get out right now, or I’m calling security!” I turned to look at her, a profound sense of absurdity washing over me. This was my best friend—the woman who had witnessed every single day of my ten-year journey with Damon. And now, she was throwing me out of my own home. Damon stepped out of the home office. Seeing me swarmed by his employees, dragged and shoved around until my top was ripped at the shoulder, a fleeting flash of hesitation crossed his eyes. But when the team surrounding him shouted that I was a stalker and demanded security be called, he cleared his throat, his face hardening into an unreadable mask. “I don’t know her,” he said clearly. In the end, building security dragged me forcibly out of the complex and dumped me on the sidewalk. … I crouched on the pavement outside the main gates for six hours. The deep red scratches on my arms stung painfully under the scorching summer sun, the sweat biting into the raw skin. But the sharper the physical pain, the clearer my mind became. It wasn’t until Damon and Calla finally walked his coworkers out that they came over to where I was sitting. Calla began sobbing instantly. “Juliette, I’m so, so sorry! I ruined everything… please don’t blame Damon!” She choked out an explanation through her tears, claiming she had accidentally posted a picture of her bridal fitting on her public social media page. “I didn’t realize the fitting room mirror captured Damon standing in the background,” she sniffled. “Everyone started spamming the comments asking when our wedding date was… I panicked, so I just said ‘soon’…” Watching her performance, a wave of nausea hit me. “Calla, whether you posted that picture by accident or on purpose, you know the truth in your heart.” Calla choked on her breath. “Juliette… you don’t trust me?” Damon stepped forward, tossing a tube of antiseptic ointment onto the ground in front of me. Whatever guilt he had felt earlier was entirely gone, replaced by pure irritation. “Juliette, how much longer are you going to draw out this scene?” He gestured dismissively toward the street. “So what if they misunderstand? At the end of the day, the person I actually sign the marriage license with will be you. Letting them believe Calla is my fiancée saves us from having to waste time crafting a redundant corporate statement. I don’t see any issue with it.” A laugh escaped my throat—a raw, ragged sound. I mourned for the ten years of my youth I had poured into him. I mourned for every single day I had forced myself to live in the shadows just so he could ‘avoid rumors.’ “Damon! What am I to you? A hidden mistress holding a private piece of paper with no public existence? How long do you plan to keep me buried?” “So you finally admit it!” Damon looked at me with profound disappointment. “All this drama is just a cheap trick to force me into going public!” He shook his head, disgusted. “You always have this terrible habit of complicating simple things just to satisfy your own insecurity. You really need to take a page out of Calla’s book. She’s endured company rumors for years, and she always laughs it off gracefully.” He reached out, placing a firm, protective arm around Calla’s shoulders as he turned toward the gates. “Her emotional instability is her own problem, Calla. We don’t need to waste any more time standing here with her.” Calla kept glancing back over her shoulder, looking fake-concerned. “Maybe… maybe I should move back to my old apartment and let Juliette come inside?” Damon’s posture grew even more unyielding. “No. Staying together is the most efficient, direct proof of our partnership. Next month, our marriage press release will be published right alongside the IPO announcement.” … I blocked every single contact detail for both Damon and Calla. I went straight to my office, handed in my immediate resignation, and packed up my desk. I gave up everything I had built in the city and bought a one-way train ticket back to my grandmother’s coastal town. But as I walked through the security gates at the station, two transit officers stepped into my path. “Excuse me, ma’am,” one of them said grimly. “You are currently listed as the prime suspect in an active residential burglary case. You’ll need to come with us.” I stared at her, stunned. “What? That’s impossible. There’s been a mistake!” “You can explain that at the precinct,” the officer replied coldly. Within minutes, metal handcuffs clicked around my wrists, and I was escorted into a police cruiser. At the precinct station, Damon and Calla were already waiting in the lobby, holding a signed liability waiver. And just like that, through a twisted loop of legal coercion, I was led back to Damon’s apartment. Damon forced me down into a chair at the dining table before turning on the stove to make me a bowl of soup. Calla sat directly across from me. The moment the loud hum of the kitchen range hood kicked in, the timid look on Calla’s face vanished. A triumphant smile spread across her features. “Juliette, why don’t you just break up with him?” In the past, I had always thought Calla was too deeply scarred by her cheating ex-boyfriend to ever pursue romance again. It took a series of calculated betrayals for me to finally see the truth: she had set her sights on Damon a long time ago. “Calla, from the moment I recommended you for the assistant position at his company, you were already hunting him, weren’t you?” “Juliette, you had ten years of good fortune with him,” she said softly, leaning closer. “It’s my turn to marry a wealthy, powerful man.” She reached across the table as if to take my hand, but then suddenly jerked her arm back with a blood-curdling scream, violently knocking her chair over backward. Damon rushed out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl of tomato noodles. Seeing Calla cowering on the floor with tear-filled eyes, his gaze locked onto me like a weapon. I sat there quietly, holding my hand open to reveal a simple silver ring resting in my palm. Damon grabbed Calla’s hand, carefully inspecting her skin. “It’s fine, just a tiny scrape.” When he turned back to me, his eyes were filled with pure revulsion. “Juliette, stealing her ring won’t magically make you the bride,” he spat. “The only reason I brought you back here was so you could pay for your mistakes, not so you could compete with Calla over a wedding.” He still honestly believed I was doing all of this out of petty jealousy. Calla choked back her tears, pulling on his sleeve. “Forget it, Damon… if Juliette wants the ring so badly, just let her have it.” I casually dropped the ring into the bowl of hot soup. It whirled briefly against the rim before sinking to the bottom. A bowl of homemade tomato noodles and a silver engagement ring—that was once the entire scope of the home I had dreamed of building with him. “You can keep it,” I said calmly. “I wish you two a lifetime of happiness.” Something in my tone hit Damon like a physical strike. A flicker of deep, instinctual anguish flashed across his face. But he was a man ruled entirely by cold logic, accustomed to suppressing human emotion. “There are rumors circulating at the office that I’m caught in a love triangle between you and Calla,” he said, his voice hardening again. “The most efficient way to squash those rumors is for you to attend our wedding as a guest.” A burst of laughter spilled from my lips. I laughed so hard my chest hurt, my whole body trembling with the absurdity of it all. “And what if I refuse?” “Then today’s ring incident remains a criminal theft,” he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. He pressed the liability waiver down over the bowl. “A second offense means no bail. You can spend the next few years in prison.” Ten years of beautiful memories were crushed under the weight of his threat. “Fine,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “After the wedding, we owe each other nothing.” An unexplained wave of panic washed over Damon, but he quickly forced a confident smile. “The day after the wedding, I’ll take you to City Hall to sign our marriage license.” … On the day of the wedding, Calla sat in her private bridal suite, dressed in an exquisite white gown. She pulled out her phone and sent me a video of my arrest at the train station. “Juliette, you’re famous now!” she texted alongside the video. “With a criminal record on your file, you’ll never be able to survive in this city again.” I stared at the screen, my face emotionless as I scrolled down the long feed of comments. “Does destroying me make you feel secure in your position as Mrs. Meredith?” I replied. Calla adjusted her lace veil in the mirror, her smile resembling that of a thief who had successfully gotten away with a vault. “My sweetest best friend,” she texted back, “make sure you’re ready to catch my bouquet later!” … Standing on the grand stage under the dazzling chandeliers, I stepped forward to present the wedding rings to Damon. For a fraction of a second, his mind seemed to go completely blank as he stared at me. Yet, following the script, he slowly slid the ring onto Calla’s finger. I turned around and walked out of the venue, stepping out of his world without a single backward glance. Damon woke up the next morning with a blinding, hungover headache. Calla brought a bowl of hot oatmeal to his bedside, softly encouraging him to eat before leaving the house. “I don’t have time,” Damon said, pushing the tray aside as he threw on his jacket. “Juliette is waiting for me at City Hall.” Calla sat on the edge of the bed, slowly stirring her spoon against the porcelain bowl. “Don’t bother going, Damon. Juliette’s gone.” Damon’s hand froze on the doorknob. “Gone where? Her mother’s town? She certainly knows how to create unnecessary trouble for me… I’m going to pick her up.” Ignoring Calla’s shouting behind him, he walked straight out the door. When he arrived at the run-down apartment building where my mother used to live and knocked on the door, a stranger opened it. “Who are you looking for?” the tenant asked, leaning against the doorframe. “There’s no Miss Juliette here.”
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