I spent five years chasing Beck King, and he had finally agreed to marry me. But on our very last anniversary before the wedding, he showed up an hour late, holding a marriage certificate with Claire. "Iris, Claire has severe schizophrenia," he said, his voice entirely too calm, too rational. "Just bear with her for a little while." I didn't say a word. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a velvet box, and opened it. Inside was a brilliant blue sapphire necklace. "Our wedding is still on, Iris. Nothing changes. I bought this for you. I know how much you wanted it." My eyes drifted past him, landing on Claire, who was standing just a few feet away. Right there, around her neck, was the exact same blue sapphire necklace. Beck didn't understand. A divided heart is a broken thing. It never ends well. Right then and there, I decided to leave him and go far away. Six months later, Beck finally remembered my existence. He called me. "Iris, stop acting out. Come home and marry me." But at that exact moment, I was standing in a white dress, holding my new husband's hand. I heard that later, Beck lost his mind. … When Beck placed the sapphire necklace before me, the murmur of the crowd in the ballroom swelled. It was a multi-million-dollar piece, the kind of jewelry that made people gasp. The fact that Beck was handing it over so casually seemed, to everyone else, like the ultimate proof of my victory. "Look at that. Beck really does adore her. I heard he outbid everyone at the charity auction just to get it." "He did say it was meant for the woman he loved." The whispers drifted through the warm, expensive air of the lounge, settling over me like a suffocating blanket. Everyone was watching, waiting for my reaction. But I didn't move. I didn't reach out to touch the velvet box, nor did I look at the deep blue stone catching the chandelier light. I just looked at him. The silence stretched too long, and the whispers turned sharp. "What is she doing?" "Iris has been chasing him for five years. She’s basically been his shadow. Everyone knows she’d do anything for him." "And now he’s proposing, and she’s just standing there?" "Maybe she’s trying to play hard to get." "That’s the problem with giving a woman too much. She starts thinking she’s the one in charge." Someone let out a quiet, mocking laugh. "If you ask me, she has a right to be pissed. Beck made her wait in this lobby for an hour on their anniversary, and he spent that hour getting legally married to Claire." "Yeah, that’s a pretty loud slap in the face." "Even a lovesick puppy has some pride." Beck must have caught those words. I watched his fingers twitch as he instinctively tried to push the marriage certificate deeper into his breast pocket, trying to shield his betrayal from the light. But when he met my cold, unyielding gaze, he realized he couldn’t hide it anymore. He cleared his throat, stepping closer to lower his voice. "Iris, Claire’s been in a terrible place since her divorce. Her schizophrenia has gotten severe. She’s having delusions, thinking I’m her ex-husband. The doctors said if I didn't play along, she might hurt herself. I only signed the papers to keep her stable." He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a persuasive whisper. "We're completely platonic, I swear. Nothing happened. I’ll handle the divorce before our actual wedding day. You’ve loved me for so long, Iris. Surely you have the grace to understand this?" Before I could answer, his friends stepped in, eager to smooth things over for him. "Come on, Iris, Beck’s just trying to do the right thing." "Yeah, he’s basically doing a charity deed. Don't be difficult." "You guys have been together for five years. You're not going to throw away a lifetime of love over a sick girl, are you?" I remained silent. The easy, confident smile on Beck’s face slowly began to curdle. After five years, I knew every line on his face. I knew that slight tightening of his jaw meant he was losing his temper. He was annoyed that I was making him look bad in front of his peers. Seeing that I wasn't backing down, his best friend lost his patience entirely, scoffing openly. "Iris, be smart. Take the necklace and let it go. Don't ruin his night." They spoke in chorus, their voices a united front of condescension. None of them cared about my humiliation. None of them thought Beck had done anything wrong. In their eyes, because I had spent five years earning his affection, I had volunteered for this treatment. I had volunteered to be second best. I looked past Beck’s shoulder at Claire. She was standing near the entrance, her chin tilted up, wearing the exact same sapphire necklace. And suddenly, the exhaustion hit me. It was a physical weight, settling deep into my bones. This entire relationship felt incredibly cheap. Under the watchful, mocking eyes of the room, I ignored Beck’s outstretched hand. I reached out, took the velvet box, and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Five years of devotion, discarded in a single, quiet second. The dim light of the hallway hid the stinging redness in my eyes as I looked at him, my voice steady and cold. "Beck, we're done." By the time I walked out of the venue, a light snow had begun to fall. The cold flakes melted against my cheeks, shocking me back to reality. I got into a cab and pulled out my phone to call my brother, Declan. Our parents spent most of their time overseas managing the family business, so Declan had practically raised me. When I told him I was coming back home to Boston, I could hear the immediate relief in his voice. "I'm booking your flight right now," Declan said. "It’s only a couple of hours. I’ll be waiting for you at Logan tomorrow morning." "Thanks, Dec," I murmured. My voice must have sounded thin, because he paused. "Iris... did Beck do something?" Declan had been against the relationship from the very beginning. He believed that a man who let a woman chase him for five years was a man who would never know how to cherish her. He saw how Beck treated my affection as a given, a commodity he could draw upon whenever he pleased. Back then, I was too blinded by my own hope to listen. I thought if I just loved him hard enough, he would eventually see me. Now, the irony of it was bitter. I had spent my youth on a man who didn't respect me, but at least I was stopping now. I was cutting the cord before I sank any deeper. "You're doing the right thing," Declan said softly, sensing my quiet grief. "He never deserved you anyway. Let the trash stay in the past. When you get back, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. A proper setup. You deserve to be cherished, Iris." When I got back to the apartment, I started packing. I gathered all of Beck’s things. They were expensive—designer watches, Italian leather shoes, bespoke suits. I didn't want them in my space, but throwing them in the garbage felt like invited drama. I decided the cleanest way to handle it was to hand them back directly. I called him, but the line just rang out. I hated loose ends, so I took a deep breath, loaded the bags into a cab, and drove back to the venue. The party was still going. Beck hadn't left. In fact, he didn't look like a man whose fiancée had just walked out on him. He was standing in the center of the private lounge, a glass of champagne in hand, laughing with his friends. I reached for the doorknob, but stopped when I heard my name. "Iris actually leave me?" Beck’s voice drifted through the gap in the door, dripping with arrogance. "Please. She’s been obsessed with me for five years. She’d tolerate a lot worse than this. She’s just throwing a tantrum because she’s embarrassed. I’ll buy her a nice dinner tomorrow, and she’ll be begging for my forgiveness." He took a sip of his drink, his laughter echoing. One of his friends grinned. "So you really do like her, huh? I’ve never seen you bother to apologize to anyone." Beck scoffed. "Like her? You guys don't get it." He leaned in, his voice taking on a locker-room cadence that made my stomach turn. "She looks like a pure, innocent girl on the outside, but she’s incredibly submissive in bed. She does whatever I want. A girl that obedient is hard to find. It makes my life so easy." The room erupted into crude laughter. "I thought you liked girls with a bit of a bite, Beck. You’ve been playing with this sweet girl for so long, aren't you bored?" "Yeah, especially now that Claire’s back and you guys are legally married. Why don't you just keep both?" Beck chuckled. "If Claire weren't so unstable, maybe. But Iris is clean, she looks good on my arm, and most importantly, she stays quiet when I'm busy." "Busy? Like those frequent check-ins at the hotel downtown?" Beck didn't deny it. He just offered a knowing smirk and drained his glass. "A man needs variety. Iris is sweet, but she can be incredibly boring." The laughter that followed felt like physical blows. Every word was a knife, carving away the last remnants of my foolish hope. My five years of patience, my quiet accommodation of his moods, my love—it was all just a joke to him. A convenience. I looked down at the bags in my hands. "Thank you, Beck," I thought, the tears finally spilling over my cold cheeks. "Thank you for making this so easy to walk away from." I didn't open the door. Instead, I walked down to the lobby, scheduled a courier to deliver his bags to his penthouse, and left. While packing the last of my things at the apartment, I found the ring he had given me. I remembered how happy I had been the day he slipped it onto my finger. But later, when Claire had returned from abroad and saw it, she had smiled a cold, mocking smile. "Oh, Iris. You actually wear that?" she had said. "Beck bought that for me years ago. He was going to propose, but I chose Paris instead. I’m glad it’s not going to waste, though." At the time, I had made excuses for him. I had told myself it didn't matter because he was with me now. But my endless capacity for forgiveness had only taught him that my boundaries didn't exist. I tossed the ring into the box with his other jewelry, sealed it, and handed it to the courier. Shortly after the courier left, the apartment doorbell rang. When I opened it, a heavily intoxicated Beck was leaning against the doorframe, supported by Claire. "Iris, he’s drunk," Claire said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "I brought him back. And please, don't be mad about the marriage license. I had an episode because I heard you two were getting married. Beck only did it to keep me safe. We’re just friends, I promise." I looked at her. Her small, triumphant smile was entirely visible beneath her feigned concern. If she truly cared about my feelings, she wouldn't have brought a drunk man to my door in the middle of the night. I didn't move to take Beck from her. I just stood there, blocking the doorway. Claire struggled under his weight. "Beck, wake up. I brought you to Iris. I’m going to go now." Beck mumbled, his arms tightening around Claire’s waist. "Don't go, Claire... stay with me. I don't want to be with Iris. She said we're done anyway. Let her go. She’ll come crawling back to apologize tomorrow anyway. She loves me too much." He was right. I had loved him too much. But that person didn't exist anymore. As I began to close the door, Beck’s hand shot out, catching the frame. His eyes flared with a sudden, ugly flash of sober anger. "Iris, are you really doing this? You’re actually breaking up with me?" I nodded. "I’m not joking, Beck. Your things have been sent to your place. We're done." He stared at me, shocked by the finality in my voice. "Fine!" he snapped, his pride reasserting itself. "Break up. But don't you dare regret it, Iris. Because once you walk away, there's no coming back." I didn't answer. I just shut the door.
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