I laughed. My coworkers said he showered his
fiancée with diamonds, booked out entire
restaurants, treated her like a princess. He
gave a Ferrari to a fling. And I was still worth a cheap bottle of toner. I’d never forget the look in his eyes when he called me a rag.
“I already bought it. I don’t need anything from you,” I said. “And don’t call me ‘babe.‘ We’re not together.”
He thought I was playing hard to get. “Chloe,
are you still mad? I know I messed up. Please forgive me.”
I stared at him, emotionless. “Ethan, we broke
up.”
He shrugged it off. “We can get back
together. I know you still love me.”
My face hardened. “Ethan, I stopped loving
you the second I saw you kissing that
influencer. You called me worthless, a rag.
You have the nerve to talk about love?”
His face stiffened. “Chloe, I admit, I started
out playing games. But I developed feelings. I
don’t want to lose you. Come back. I won’t lie
again. Give me another chance.”
I knew his kind. They thrived on manipulation,
incapable of genuine emotion. I didn’t believe
a word. “Ethan, don’t insult me. Just leave.” I
walked inside, shutting the door in his face.
His desperation felt calculated. I called my
former coworker, the one connected to the
rich crowd. Ethan and his fiancée had broken
off their engagement. A messy split,
apparently. So that’s why he was back. What
did he think I was?
