It was our anniversary, and I lied to Preston Ashford, telling him I couldn’t return from a work trip. In reality, I had prepared a special gift and was hiding in the walk-in closet of our bedroom to surprise him. But then, I overheard his conversation with a friend. “Preston, when are you going to come clean with her? Don’t tell me you’re falling for that woman.” “A woman like her? Not a chance.” “Everett’s been ruined because of her. The Winslow family may have let it go, but I sure as hell won’t.” “Next month is our engagement party. I’ll leave her at the altar and let her feel the sting of abandonment.” Their voices were filled with venom, discussing me like I was their sworn enemy. I froze. My blood turned to ice as the realization sank in. Everett Winslow. He was my ex-boyfriend. And the source of my nightmares. Content It was our anniversary, and I lied to Preston Ashford, telling him I couldn’t return from a work trip. In reality, I had meticulously planned a surprise, hiding in the walk-in closet with a gift I’d picked out just for him. Before long, Preston and his friend Travis Holt entered the bedroom. I was ready to jump out and surprise him, but I stopped when I heard Travis say, “Preston, when are you going to tell her the truth? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that piece of trash.” I froze in place. Tell me the truth about what? “Not a chance,” Preston scoffed. “Everett’s in that condition because of her. The Winslows might not care, but I’ll never forgive her.” “Next month is our engagement party. That’s when I’ll walk out on her in front of everyone and let her taste humiliation.” Travis gritted his teeth, his voice laced with anger. “Everett’s been our brother since we were kids. That woman nearly destroyed him!” “You’ve got to use her and then toss her aside. Let her suffer.” “Don’t worry. I came back to the States for this. I’ve been waiting for the moment to make her hurt a hundred times worse than Everett.” The two of them chatted a little longer before leaving the room. I sat there frozen, my mind a whirlwind of disbelief. My blood seemed to stop flowing, my body growing colder every second. I thought I’d never hear his name again. Everett Winslow. My ex-boyfriend. And my worst nightmare.
Everett Winslow was my first love. After graduating from Emerson University, I fell for him after months of relentless pursuit. At first, we were like any other couple in love—inseparable and utterly obsessed with each other. But slowly, I realized something was wrong. Everett had a pathological, suffocating need for control. After dating, he forbade me from talking to male friends or even casually speaking to other men. He needed me to account for every minute of my day, no matter where or with whom I was. At first, I thought it was his way of showing love. Even though it felt odd, I didn’t think much of it. One night, I worked late, and a male colleague offered me a ride home. When I exited the car, I tripped in my heels, and he reached out to steady me. Everett appeared out of nowhere and punched the man square in the face. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch my woman?” he snarled. He didn’t stop until I physically pulled him away, begging him to stop. That was the first time I saw him truly angry. His bloodshot eyes and twisted face reminded me of a wild animal protecting its territory. From that moment on, cracks began to form in our relationship. He insisted on driving me to and from work daily, demanding to know what I was doing and who I was with. If I went out with friends, he’d show up uninvited and drag me home if men were present. One time, I didn’t answer his calls during a meeting. He called me 70 or 80 times and even barged into my office to confirm I was there. His behavior drained me. The final straw came when he secretly deleted every male contact from my phone. It caused delays at work, and my boss reprimanded me. When I confronted him at home, he shrugged it off and told me to quit my job. “There are too many men at your office. I can’t trust it,” he said. Enraged, I couldn’t take it anymore and told him we were done. Everett lost it. He destroyed everything in our apartment, glass shards cutting my ankle in the chaos. Then he collapsed at my feet, sobbing and begging for forgiveness, swearing he couldn’t live without me. I caved and gave him another chance. But it only got worse. He started hiring people to follow me and tapped my phone. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I moved back to my parents’ house while he was out. It didn’t take long for him to show up. Standing in my living room, his face was dark as he said, “Baby, I can’t live without you. But if I die, I’m taking you with me.” Terrified, I returned to him. And that’s when the absolute nightmare began. He pretended to be me and quit my job. Then, he took away my phone. I was a prisoner in his estate, only allowed outside if he was with me. If I tried to leave, he’d destroy things in a rage. At night, he would pin me down, his strength overpowering my protests. He tied me up when I resisted and ignored my screams. During his worst moments, he would strangle me, his red eyes crazed. “You’re mine,” he’d whisper, “Only mine. No one else can have you.” I passed out more than once, the room spinning until I blacked out. Those months turned me into a ghost of myself. He kept me isolated, and any attempt to reach out to someone came with his threats. “If you tell anyone, I’ll destroy them,” he’d say. I knew he meant it. After three months of living like this, I cracked. One day, while walking outside, I broke free of his grasp and ran into oncoming traffic. I thought it would all end there. But Everett saved me. He ended up hospitalized, and his family finally learned what he’d done to me. To save face, the Winslow family sent him abroad for psychiatric treatment. I moved to a new city to start over. But the memories stayed with me, haunting my nights. Even now, I dream of him strangling me, his face twisted in rage. For a long time, I felt like someone was always watching me. Like the most minor wrong step would destroy me. I was scared. I was scared that Everett would come back for me. I avoided strangers and avoided relationships until I met Preston Ashford.
At the time, I had just started a new job. His company was on the same floor as mine. One evening, I was working late and hadn’t eaten. My old habit of low blood sugar caught up with me, and I fainted while waiting for the elevator. He was the one who found me, carried me to his office, and gave me food until I felt better. He even insisted on driving me home. To thank him, I invited him out for dinner. From then on, we started talking more often. He had this clear sense of boundaries—polite, careful, and gentlemanly. Around him, I felt at ease, free from the suffocating tension I used to know. We even shared eerily similar interests. We loved the same old movies, the same obscure songs, and even the same flavor of ice cream. After a year of his gentle persistence, my guard came down, and I let myself fall. Unlike Everett Winslow’s overpowering possessiveness, Preston was kind and understanding. He gave me space and freedom but always knew when to show care. Each day with him felt like a blessing. For the first time, I didn’t think about the nightmares of my past. I was so happy; I truly believed he was my soulmate—my salvation. Just the day before I overheard him, we’d been dreaming about the future, laughing as we debated whether to have one child or two. But all of it was a carefully woven lie. A dream spun for me to lower my guard so he could trap me at my most vulnerable. He had told me he returned to the States to advance his career. In truth, he came back to get revenge. Thinking back now, I realize Everett Winslow was undergoing treatment in Denver, Colorado, all this time. Not long ago, Preston had proposed to me in a grand gesture. He insisted on hosting a big engagement party, inviting all his friends from abroad to celebrate. I was overjoyed, thinking I had found someone I could share my life with. But it was just an elaborate performance. He couldn’t wait to humiliate me in front of everyone and settle the score for his best friend. From the very start, it had all been part of his plan. And I had given him my heart so foolishly. While I thought I was the happiest woman in the world, he had only calculation and deceit in his heart. My body trembled uncontrollably as nausea rose like a tidal wave. I ran to the bathroom and emptied my stomach, the bitterness twisting inside me. After the piercing pain subsided, a burning anger ignited within me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, disheveled and pale. I’d play along if he wanted to put on a show. If he planned to leave me at the altar for his cruel finale… Then what if I left him first?
On Saturday, Preston invited me to a dinner party. He said an old friend had just returned from abroad, and everyone was gathering to catch up. I thought about it for a moment and agreed. When I walked into the private dining room, I noticed their curious, almost accusatory eyes scanned me. Everett had once told me he grew up abroad with many childhood friends still there. These were his old friends, now here to watch the spectacle unfold. I kept my composure, a polite smile gracing my lips, and navigated the evening gracefully. Their glances betrayed subtle hostility. I am still waiting to hear from someone. Preston, on the other hand, was as attentive as ever. He served me food, ladled soup into my bowl, and even peeled shrimp. He stayed close, ensuring I wasn’t left out of the conversation. After dinner, someone suggested heading to a bar, and I went along. Drinks flowed freely; they had started a game of truth or dare long before. When it was my turn, I lost. Travis Holt swirled his drink lazily, his gaze sharp as he asked, “What’s your opinion of your ex?”
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