Chapter 3

At seven in the evening, my stomach growled loudly with hunger.

When I stepped out of the room, I saw Stanley cooking my favorite goulash. He knew I liked it slow-cooked in a pot over a low flame for at least half an hour, but he had always been too impatient to make it before, complaining it took too long.

"You're up? Come and have some of your favorite goulash!" he called out cheerfully, ladling a bowl for me.

"I didn't have dinner earlier. Can I eat with you?" Nancy emerged from her room and seated herself directly across from me at the table.

"Sorry, this is for Becca. If you want some, go cook it yourself." Stanley's tone was cold and dismissive, as though they hardly knew each other.

But beneath the table, Nancy's foot had already wound itself around his leg.

I took a few sips of the goulash, then stood up. I didn't want to stay and watch their little performance any longer—especially since her foot occasionally brushed against mine under the table.

Stanley's expression turned pitiful as he looked at me. "I thought this was your favorite goulash?"

"I don't have an appetite. I'm going for a walk."

I turned to leave, but Stanley hurried to the closet, pulling out a coat for me. "I'll go with you. It's too cold outside—you might catch a chill." He draped the coat over my shoulders and clasped my hand as we stepped out.

The way he looked at me, so tenderly, almost made me believe I had imagined everything.

For a fleeting moment, I thought he would always treat me well, that my sacrifice of leaving my hometown and coming here alone hadn't been in vain. But how much time had passed before he changed? Before he became this way—betraying me so blatantly, without a shred of guilt?

We strolled around the neighborhood, his phone constantly in his hands as he typed away. I didn't need to guess who he was texting.

When we reached the gate, I stopped walking. He darted off somewhere, returning moments later, slightly out of breath.

In his hands was a bouquet of flowers.

"Becca, these are for you. I hope they'll make you happy." He handed me the bouquet and kissed me gently on the forehead.

I glanced at the flowers. The petals were curling at the edges, wilting slightly, as if they'd been sitting around for days. And they weren't daisies—my favorite. I never liked any other flowers. Stanley knew that.

Yet, here he was, presenting me with what looked like a secondhand bouquet, expecting me to be overjoyed.

"Becca, I love you. In this lifetime, I only love you. So please, don't be upset—it breaks my heart to see you like this."

He grasped my hand, his face earnest, his words almost convincing. Then, as if remembering something, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a ring.

"This was meant to be your birthday gift, but I thought I'd give it to you early."

He slid the ring onto my finger—a size too large, its loose fit glaringly obvious.

I recognized the brand instantly. Nancy had posted about this exact ring on her social media, flaunting it in one of her stories.

So, this wasn't meant for me. It was for her.

Twisting the ring slightly, I looked at him. "Are you sure you bought this for me?"

Stanley nodded quickly, his lips pursed in a pout of mock hurt, as if offended by my doubt.

Before he could respond further, his eyes darted past me, drawn to a figure in the distance.

Nancy was approaching, dressed in a revealing miniskirt, a small bag of trash dangling from her hand.

"Well, what a coincidence. Is this a proposal I'm seeing?" she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

"My boyfriend proposed to me recently too. Becca, do you think I should say yes?"

Her words were directed at me, but her gaze was fixed squarely on Stanley.