Chapter 1

The air in the hospital corridor was cold and smelled of antiseptic, a sterile scent that did nothing to clean the grief clinging to Ethan Miller. He leaned against the wall, the phone pressed hard against his ear. It was the tenth time he had called.

"Please pick up, Lily," he whispered, his voice hoarse. His father had just passed away. The doctor had delivered the news ten minutes ago, and the world had tilted on its axis. The first person he needed, the only person he wanted to talk to, was Lily Chen.

His girlfriend. The woman he had devoted the last three years of his life to.

The line connected, but it wasn't her voice. It was a pre-recorded message. "The person you are trying to reach is unavailable."

He hung up and dialed again, a knot of desperation tightening in his stomach. This time, she answered.

"What is it, Ethan?" Her voice was distant, impatient. Music played softly in the background, a classical piece he didn't recognize.

"Lily, it's Dad," he said, his own voice cracking. "He's... he's gone."

There was a pause on her end. Not a sympathetic silence, but an empty one. He could hear her shifting, a rustle of fabric. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Look, I'm a little busy right now."

"Busy?" The word felt like a slap. "Lily, my father just died."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but Mark is here," she said, her tone softening slightly, but not for him. "He's not feeling well. We're at the studio. I can't just leave."

Mark. Mark Davis. Her ex-boyfriend. The charismatic, manipulative musician who had broken her heart years ago, the very reason Ethan had entered her life to pick up the pieces.

A cold wave washed over Ethan, pushing the grief aside for a moment and replacing it with a hollow ache. In his darkest hour, her priority was not him, but the man who had caused her so much pain in the past.

"You can't leave?" he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Ethan, don't be like this," she sighed, the irritation back in her voice. "You know how important my practice is. The competition is next month. Mark is just helping me. I'll call you back later."

Before he could say another word, she hung up.

He stared at the blank screen of his phone, the silence of the corridor roaring in his ears. The pain of his father's death was now mixed with the sharp, bitter taste of betrayal. He had supported her dreams, worked two jobs so she could focus solely on her piano, celebrated her every small victory and soothed her every frustration. And this was his reward. In this moment, he realized with sickening clarity that he was not her partner. He was her support system, a convenient fixture in her life, easily set aside when her past came knocking.

His mother, Sarah, walked out of the room, her eyes red and swollen. She saw the look on his face and didn't need to ask. She just wrapped her arms around him.

"She's not coming, is she?" Sarah asked softly.

Ethan shook his head, burying his face in his mother's shoulder. He held her tight, the only anchor in his storm. "I'll take care of you, Mom," he promised, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I promise."

Later that night, after making the initial arrangements and settling his mother at home, Ethan finally returned to the apartment he shared with Lily. The space that once felt like a sanctuary now felt foreign and hostile. On the coffee table was an empty wine bottle and two glasses. Next to them, a man's leather jacket was draped carelessly over their favorite armchair. He recognized it instantly. It was Mark's.

He walked into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, a mess of tangled sheets. A faint, unfamiliar scent of cologne hung in the air. It was a scent he associated with Mark, a scent Lily used to complain about. Now, it was in their bed.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, his body feeling heavy, drained of all energy. The love, the devotion, the sacrifices-it all felt like a joke. A three-year-long punchline.

His phone buzzed. It was a text from Lily.

Sorry about your dad. Things got a little crazy here. Call you tomorrow.

He didn't reply. A few minutes later, another message came through. But this one wasn't for him. It was a group chat notification that popped up on the tablet they shared, which was linked to her account.

The message was from Mark, a picture of him and Lily, their faces close, her smiling brightly at the camera. The caption read: Thanks for taking care of me tonight, my star. You were amazing.

Beneath it, Lily had replied with a series of heart emojis.

Ethan stared at the screen, a chilling calm settling over him. The storm of grief and anger had passed, leaving behind a vast, empty landscape of pure, cold certainty. There was nothing left to save.

He looked around the room, at the photos on the wall of them smiling, at the sheet music for the song he wrote for her, the one she used to say could calm any storm in her heart. He remembered playing it for her just last week when she was stressed. She had scrunched up her nose and said, "Can you play something else? I'm kind of sick of that one."

He finally understood. He had been a bandage for her old wounds. Now that the original wound-causer was back, the bandage was no longer needed. It was just an old, irritating scrap to be tossed aside.