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So I kept her. She doesn’t get her nose in my business as long as I take her to high-end restaurants, buy her luxurious brands, and pose for pictures.
We broke up whenever she cheated, which happened four times that I know of, but then she said she was sorry and that she wouldn’t do it again and I forgave her.
I technically cheated on her, too, so let’s call it even.
Lan is wrong. She never hurt me. I’d have to have feelings to be hurt, and I don’t do those.
She was just a convenience and now, she’s not.
“We should take a break,” I say casually.
Her face falls and she nearly drops her precious Chanel bag. “But why? I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s not you. It’s me. I cheated on you.” But even as I say that, it doesn’t feel right. Being with her just now felt like I was cheating on him. Not the other way around.
I need to stab a fucking shard of glass in my neck this time.
Clara’s lips part and she frowns. “Wow, okay. That’s shitty.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t mean a fucking word, but I say it anyway. Because that’s what’s expected. I’m nothing short of extremely considerate and spectacularly polite.
Except for when it comes to a certain wanker.
She closes the distance between us and grabs my hand in hers, nude fake nails scraping against my skin. “It’s okay. We’ve been through this before, babe. It hurts that you went to someone else, but I can forgive you like you forgave me all those times.”
I push away her hand and step back. “I don’t need your forgiveness.”
“Do you like her that much? I can do a threesome if that’s what you want.”
Desperate is exceptionally annoying.
My tone is detached as I shake my head. “We’re breaking up, Clara.”
“You can’t do this shit to me!” She stomps her foot on the floor. “I’m not breaking up with you. This isn’t how it works.”
“This is exactly how it works. Please leave.” I push her toward the door and open it.
She stands in the hallway and screams, “No! I refuse this.”
“We’re done.”
She storms back inside, but she’s pulled out again by a handful of her hair and tossed aside like a sack of potatoes.
My brother glares down his nose at her. “You heard him. He said you’re done, so take the hint and escort your cheap presence off our property.”
My oldest cousin, Eli, who followed Lan—probably after they were plotting some chaos in my brother’s room—looks her up and down. “Pretty sure I’ve seen you before, but where?”
“I’ve been literally coming here for the past two years!” she screams, her high-pitched voice grating on my last nerve.
“Oh, right! You’re the help!”
“I’m not!”
He looks at Lan. “She’s not?”
“Of course not.” My brother makes a mock gasp. “The help has more grace than this cheap rug.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say, exasperated. “Just leave, Clara.”
