A Promise We Couldn't Keep

My flight was suddenly canceled, so I dragged my suitcase back home. As soon as I stepped inside, I saw torn black stockings scattered on the floor. This was the eighth time Simon Jones had brought a different woman home. The sound of running water and a young woman’s laughter echoed from the bathroom. I didn’t cry or make a scene. Instead, I sat quietly on the couch, waiting for them to finish. Everyone assumed I would continue being Simon’s devoted fool like before. But no one knew that the man I truly loved had returned. After tonight, Simon, the stand-in, would be discarded. Chapter 1 The sound of running water in the bathroom suddenly stopped. I sat calmly on the living room sofa, watching as the girl stepped out of the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on. Her skin was fair, and on the right side of her upper part was a vivid red rose. It was unmistakably Simon Jones’ work. He was a painter, one who especially enjoyed using the bodies of young women as his canvas, seeking inspiration through them. A few seconds later, Simon also emerged from the bathroom. His damp hair clung messily to his forehead, and his white shirt stuck to the firm muscles. The girl beamed and threw herself into his arms, tilting her face up with admiration in her eyes. "Simon, your way of creating art is so unique. I love it." Simon gave her a playful slap on the backside, his tone teasing. "As long as you like it." She leaned in, trying to kiss him, but the moment she caught sight of me sitting on the sofa, her face drained of color. In a panic, she grabbed her clothes from the floor to cover herself and shrank behind Simon. Simon glanced at me, then casually told the girl, "Go home." She hesitated, unwilling to leave, but he pushed her out the door without hesitation. … After sending the girl away, Simon noticed the suitcase by the door. He turned to me, his expression indifferent. "Why didn’t you leave?" I answered calmly, "The flight was canceled." "Oh." Simon rubbed his temples and sat down beside me. The sofa sank under his weight. He stretched out, resting his head on my lap, eyes closed. "It’s been a long afternoon. I’m exhausted. Give me a massage." I lowered my gaze, looking at him. His sharp jawline, straight nose, and slightly raised brows carried an air of effortless charm. He looked just like the man I fell for. Back then, just to have Simon, I had willingly played the fool for him. Whatever he said, I followed without question. Even as the girls around him came and went, I never cried or made a fuss. I even thoughtfully cleaned up the mess he left behind because I was obedient and sensible. That was how I stood out among all of Simon’s admirers. On every sleepless night, I liked tracing his eyes, his brows, his sharply defined jawline with my fingers… And secretly, in my heart, I missed someone else—Noah Wells. Simon’s friends often praised him for knowing how to handle a woman, and they complimented me on being gentle and understanding. I always smiled and said nothing. I thought life would continue like this, muddled and uneventful. But tonight, on my way back from the airport, I received a call from Noah. "Chloe, I’m back." His voice was deep and rich, as if it could reach through the phone and clutch my heart. "Simon." For the last time, I traced my fingers over his brows and eyes. "Let’s break up." Time seemed to freeze. Simon paused for a second before opening his eyes to look at me. "Because of that girl?" I wanted to say no. But before I could speak, he had already sat up. His deep-set eyes lifted as he looked at me, a mocking glint in them. "Fine. You want to break up? Suit yourself." … Simon didn’t take it seriously at all. He thought I was just being petty and acting out of jealousy. After all, every time we argued, I was always the one to make amends first. Simon was used to his pride. There was no way he would ever lower himself. Chapter 2 So, when Simon came out of the shower and saw me packing in the bedroom, his mood turned inexplicably irritable. He stormed into the room and yanked out the clothes I had just folded, one by one. "I bought this coat for you in France last year, and I gave this dress to you just last month." One by one, he pulled every last piece of clothing from the suitcase and tossed them aside, the final one slipping from my sight and landing on the floor. Then he smirked, his tone laced with mockery. "Chloe, I bought all of this for you. Do you really think you could afford these designer brands with the scraps you make in a month?" Simon grabbed my arm and dragged me to the vanity mirror. He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at my own reflection. "Chloe, do you think it’s disgusting that I paint on women’s bodies for inspiration? But who are you to act all high and mighty? Haven’t I been the one supporting you all these years? "Look at yourself—every single thing you’re wearing, from head to toe, I bought it for you. “You want to break up? Fine. "Strip. Leave everything behind and get out." I didn’t cry or make a scene. I simply pulled away from Simon’s grip. Right in front of him, I took off each piece of clothing like shedding layers of restraint. What Simon never knew was that I never liked these designer brands in the first place. He was the one who insisted on buying them, forcing me to wear them. And every time, he would gaslight me. "Chloe, I’m a renowned artist now. Being my girlfriend is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. "So don’t embarrass me. When you’re out in public, you need to watch how you speak and act. Even your style has to be refined and high-end." To fit the role of Simon’s perfect girlfriend, I wore clothes that didn’t fit, heels I despised, accompanied him to events I hated, and said things I never meant. The heels looked beautiful but cut into my skin, leaving my heels raw and bleeding. Scabs formed, only to break open again, until all that remained were hardened calluses. By the time I was done stripping, I was left in just my underwear. I reached into the bottom of my closet and pulled out the only set of clothes I had bought for myself—my old workout gear. Simon always said it looked cheap, but to me, it was the most comfortable thing I owned. Finally, I packed my ID, passport, and phone charger into my bag, then looked up at Simon. "Can I leave now?" Without waiting for an answer, I stepped past him and walked toward the door. Just as my hand pressed down on the doorknob, Simon suddenly made a call and deliberately put it on speaker. A sweet, delicate voice came through the line. "Simon, why are you calling so late? Do you miss me?" Simon chuckled. "Mm." "Baby, send me your address. I’ll come right over." I didn’t listen to the rest. I didn’t need to. From now on, whoever Simon painted on for inspiration had nothing to do with me. I walked out without looking back. Behind me, something crashed hard against the door with a loud bang. Then, from the other side of the door, Simon's voice rang out. "Chloe, don’t you dare regret this! I wouldn’t take you back in this life or the next!" … After the breakup, I blocked Simon on every possible contact. My life fell into a monotonous cycle—work, home, repeat—until one evening after work when I suddenly got a call from my high school class president. "Chloe, I’m organizing a class reunion at Latinx Bar this weekend. Noah will be there too." … For several nights, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally, the weekend arrived. I rummaged through my closet, trying on over a dozen outfits. Then, I spent two hours doing my makeup in the bathroom. I arrived at Latinx Bar half an hour early. Chapter 3 In the elevator, I watched the numbers on the digital display climb higher and higher, my heartbeat rising with them. Unfortunately, when the doors slid open, I ran into one of Simon’s buddies. The moment he saw me, his face lit up with surprise and excitement. "Chloe?! You’re here to see Simon, aren’t you?" Reeking of alcohol, he could not walk straight, but his grip was ridiculously strong. No matter what I said or how I resisted, he forcefully dragged me into the private lounge ahead. Inside, the room was drenched in neon lights and the thick scent of alcohol. The moment I stepped in, I heard Simon’s voice. "Yeah, Chloe’s pretty, but she’s nothing special. If she weren’t so obedient and easy to handle, I would’ve dumped her a long time ago." Laughter erupted around him. A girl was straddling Simon’s lap, her arms wrapped around his neck as she fed him cherries from her fingers. They almost kissed. Then, she saw me. The room went dead silent. Even she froze in place. The suffocating tension lingered until Simon’s buddy finally broke it. "I knew it! Chloe was bound to come crawling back to beg for forgiveness!" "And look at her—all dressed up just for Simon. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is!" The man who had dragged me in seized the moment, giving me a shove forward. "Chloe, don’t get me wrong. Women are practically lining up for a guy like Simon. If you don’t hold onto him now, someone else will, and you’ll regret it. "I’m just looking out for you. With what you’ve got going for you right now, you’ll never find a man better than Simon. You should be grateful." Around the room, knowing glances were exchanged. Everyone was sneering. They were all waiting for me to break down in tears and beg Simon to take me back. Simon kept his hand on the girl’s body, idly stroking her, but his gaze was fixed on me, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Chloe, stop playing these boring little games. I don’t have the patience to humor you every time. This time, I’ll let it slide. But don’t pull this stunt again. Understood?" He casually nudged the girl off his lap, dismissing her like a pet. Then, with the same arrogance, he crooked a finger at me. "Come here." His eyes flicked toward his lap, making it clear what he expected. His voice was as condescending as ever. "Pour me a drink, Chloe. Consider it an apology, and we’ll call it even." The room erupted in cheers. "Come on, Chloe, Simon’s giving you an easy way out. Just take it." "Yeah! And don’t forget—three shots as a penalty!" Under the expectant gazes of the crowd, I stepped forward, picked up a glass of beer from the table and threw it straight into Simon’s face. The liquid soaked his hair, strands clinging to his forehead. His eyes squeezed shut from the sudden impact, but after a brief pause, they snapped open. Silence crashed over the room. The dim lights flickered weakly above, struggling like a breath on its last legs. Simon clenched his teeth, his jaw tight as he glared at me. I met his stare without a trace of emotion. "Are you sober now, Simon? It appears you didn’t hear me clearly that night, so let me say it again, in front of everyone. "Simon, we’re done." I didn’t wait for a reaction. I turned and walked out the door. One of Simon’s friends couldn’t hold back and asked, “Simon, you’re really not going after her? She seemed serious this time.” Simon kicked over the coffee table, sending fruit platters and glasses shattering to the floor. “You think I’d go after her? Ha! As if she’s worth it. I’d love to see what Chloe amounts to without me.” … That night, around a dozen of our old high school classmates gathered for the reunion. It had been years since we last saw each other, and the drinks flowed freely as laughter and conversation filled the air. Chapter 4 The class president had always been close to Noah back in school. He told me that Noah came tonight just for me. "Chloe, we all thought you two would end up together after graduation. Who could’ve guessed his biological parents would suddenly show up and take him overseas?" That was the year I found out the truth. The same Noah I grew up with—the boy who ate plain bread and pickled vegetables with me in our small rural town, who never had a decent winter coat and was always mistaken for a street beggar—turned out to be the long-lost heir of a wealthy family. Just then, the door swung open, and Noah walked in. All eyes turned toward him in an instant. I glanced back. He stood taller than the crowd, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit. Having broad shoulders and a lean waist, he looked like he had stepped straight off the cover of a high-end magazine. "Well, well, if it isn’t our very own Noah Wells. It’s been years, and you finally decided to show up." "Noah, you’re late. That means you owe us a few extra drinks tonight." He greeted everyone politely. "Of course." At the same time, his gaze drifted through the room until it locked onto me. The moment our eyes met, my heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break free from my chest. … During the second half of the reunion, I stepped out of the restroom only to be yanked into the dimly lit stairwell. The space was narrow, the air thick with the scent of alcohol clinging to Noah. "Why haven’t you answered my messages?" I looked away. "Work’s been busy. I forgot." "You're lying." His breath was hot against my skin, his gaze burning with frustration. "Chloe, why didn’t you tell me my mother came to see you two years ago?" The truth was, she had. Two years ago, Noah’s mother sought me out. She told me he was already engaged. His fiancée was a graduate of Royal West College, a prestigious university, and came from a wealthy family, someone who was perfectly suited for Noah. His mother even showed me their photos together. The girl stood beside Noah, her smile warm and radiant. They looked perfect together. "I never planned on marrying her," Noah said, his grip tightening around my wrist, pinning it in place. "This time, I came back ready to risk everything. No one can keep us apart anymore." His breath hitched as his fingers slid to my jaw, pressing firmly. "So, Chloe… Break up with Simon and come back to me." My lashes fluttered, my eyes widening in surprise. Then, Noah forced my jaw open, his tongue claiming me in a searing kiss, as if determined to erase any trace of another man. … After that night, Noah started showing up at my office every day with roses—each time in a different color. He was always there, waiting to take me home. Tonight, I left work later than usual, still finishing up a few tasks. Through the glass doors, I saw him leaning casually against his car, a bouquet of blue roses in hand. Dressed in a fitted black trench coat, the sharp cut of the fabric framed his broad shoulders and lean waist effortlessly. I couldn’t help but quicken my pace, a smile spreading across my face as I ran toward Noah. As always, no matter how many people were watching, he opened his arms the moment he saw me, laughing as he pulled me into his embrace. I took the flowers from his hands and brought them to my nose, inhaling softly. "Hmm, not as fragrant as yesterday’s pink roses." Noah playfully pinched the tip of my nose. "You’re getting pickier by the day." He walked me to the car, opening the door himself and placing a hand over the top to shield my head. "Get in, my lady. Tonight, I’m taking you for fine dining." Hugging the bouquet, I slid into the passenger seat with a grin. "Then I’ll make sure to eat my fill." What I didn’t expect was to run into Simon at the restaurant. … Halfway through dinner, Noah stepped outside to take a call. I was scrolling through my phone when I suddenly heard a familiar, mocking voice. Chapter 5 "No way, Chloe—did you find out I was coming here tonight and deliberately wait for me?" I looked up. Simon stood in front of me with his arm wrapped around a girl in a cropped top. They had just arrived, with a server leading the way. The girl clung to Simon and pouted. "Who’s she?" Chewing gum, Simon smirked, his usual careless demeanor on full display. "Just an ex from some backwater town who likes to act all high and mighty." The girl covered her mouth and giggled before turning to the server. "I thought this was supposed to be the most exclusive restaurant in town, only open to elite members. Since when did they start letting just anyone walk in?" Her gaze drifted to my table, eyeing the oysters and caviar. She leaned into Simon and whispered, "That must’ve cost a fortune." Simon tilted his head and lazily reminded the server, "You might want to keep an eye on this one. She’s from the countryside—first time in a place like this. Wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to dine and dash." The young server broke into a nervous sweat, caught in an awkward situation. But I could see right through Simon’s little game. I set down my utensils, wiped my hands with a warm towel, and calmly said, "Simon, being obnoxious isn’t a survival skill. You don’t need to use me to feel relevant." The girl scoffed. "Wow, you’re really trying to provoke him just to get his attention, aren’t you?" It was almost laughable how ridiculous people could be. The server looked like she was about to step in when Noah returned. Without a word, he walked straight to my side. Dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, the sharp lines accentuated his broad shoulders and lean waist. Noah looked down at Simon with an air of quiet authority, his voice low and icy. "Just because you have some money in your pocket and a bit of fame, you think that gives you the right to trample on other people’s dignity? "Mr. Jones, do you really think acting like this makes you impressive?" Simon swept his gaze over Noah from head to toe, his eyes filled with nothing but mockery and disdain. "And who are you?" I stood up from my seat, casually linking my arm through Noah’s. With a smile, I looked straight at Simon. "Let me formally introduce you—He’s Noah Wells, my boyfriend." Simon’s expression instantly darkened. His eyes locked onto our intertwined fingers, and for a moment, hesitation flickered across his face. However, that hesitation was quickly drowned by a wave of anger that spread through him like wildfire. "I should’ve known, Chloe. You spent all this time following me around like a lapdog, and now, all of a sudden, you’ve grown a spine?" His gaze turned sharp as he glared at Noah. "How long have you even known this pretty boy? You’re dumping me for him?" Noah cut him off before he could finish. "I’m Chloe’s first love." It was as if an invisible force had sucked the air from the room, making every breath feel heavy and slow. Simon’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Something clicked in his mind, and his entire expression shifted. He finally understood. The way he looked at me now—it was pure, unfiltered rage, as if he wanted to tear me apart. Just then, a group of security guards strode in from outside. They lined up neatly, their presence imposing. Then, in perfect unison, they dipped their heads respectfully toward Noah. "Mr. Wells." The room fell silent. Even Simon and those around him looked stunned. And for a moment, even I was caught off guard. Noah pulled me into his arms, his grip firm, his gaze icy as he stared Simon down. It was a silent declaration of ownership. "Throw these two out.” "Yes, sir." The security guards surged forward. Simon had never been humiliated like this before. He pointed a finger at them, his tone laced with fury. "You guys dare lay a hand on me? Go ahead, try it!" The girl clung to Simon’s back, trembling, but still managed to put on a defiant front. "Do you even know who he is? He’s Simon Jones, a famous artist, a big name in the industry! If you touch him, I guarantee you’ll be all over the news tomorrow, getting dragged through the mud!" Chapter 6 However, the security guards didn’t waste time arguing. Seeing that Simon and the girl were resisting, they didn’t bother with pleasantries. A few guards seized them, effortlessly hoisting them off the ground before tossing them out the restaurant’s front door, their limbs flailing midair. The girl’s relentless screaming only drew more attention, gathering a crowd of onlookers. Dozens of phones were raised, capturing the scene, and within no time, the footage spread online. In less than an hour, the video of Simon being thrown out of the restaurant hit the top trending spot. … On the way home, I sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through the comment section. Some people did not hesitate to call Simon out: "I’ve been fed up with him for ages. Just because he can paint a few strokes, he thinks he’s a genius. Always acting like a diva, showing up late and leaving early like it’s a privilege." "Simon has zero respect for others. When we collaborated with his company for an art exhibition, my coworker accidentally placed one of his paintings in the wrong spot. He berated her in front of everyone. The poor girl was so shaken she fell sick for days." Someone even posted a video of Simon losing his temper, cursing while the girl in the footage sobbed helplessly. Public opinion turned against him in an instant. His reputation crumbled. But I knew better. Simon’s PR team was airtight—nothing ever leaked unless someone made sure it did. There was only one explanation. Noah had orchestrated and planned it all. I put my phone down and turned to look at him as he drove. "Thank you, Mr. Wells, for standing up for me." Noah’s expression darkened. Reaching over, he pinched my nose hard. "Try calling me that again, and you’ll regret it tonight." "Mmmph…" I let out a small, defeated whimper like a scolded pet. It wasn’t until tonight that I realized Noah was a shareholder in the restaurant. … We sped home, the car slicing through the night. The moment we stepped inside, Noah didn’t waste a second. He pinned me against the wall, kissing me intensely. Buttons flew from my shirt, scattering across the floor. The motion-sensor light at the entry flickered on, then off, then on again, struggling to keep up with us. He kissed me endlessly. By the time he pulled away, I was weak in his arms, unable to catch my breath. His rough fingertips brushed over my mouth, his warm breath fanning my face as his dark eyes held mine for a long, intense moment. "Chloe, do you know what I was thinking about the whole drive here? I kept wondering… did Simon ever kiss you like this?" He pushed my hair from my forehead, his lashes lowering, heavy with desire. "Just picturing you with him drives me insane. I swear, I could kill him for it… "So, tell me, Chloe—why did you choose him?" Noah’s gaze bore down on me, half-lidded, carrying an almost suffocating sense of danger. I pressed a helpless palm against him, my voice a whisper. "Because… his side profile looks a lot like yours. "When I heard you were engaged, I broke down. And then you disappeared. I had no way of reaching you. “At the same time, my grandmother was gravely ill, and the weight of everything crushed me. “My hair started falling out in clumps, and every night, I needed sleeping pills just to get a few hours of rest. "Noah, I wanted to go overseas and find you. But my grandmother was in the hospital. She needed me." My shoulders trembled as tears spilled over, blurring my vision. "And then Simon showed up. It was like I was drowning, and he was the only thing keeping me afloat. He became my anchor, my last grip on sanity. Just seeing him felt like having you close again. "I knew it was wrong. I knew he wasn’t right for me. But I just wanted to survive. That was all—I just wanted to survive." Before I could say another word, Noah bent down and kissed me hard. Tears mixed between us, salty and warm, bleeding into the kiss. He choked back a sob, murmuring over and over, "I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…" Chapter 7 He lifted me into his arms and gently laid me down on the bed. Pinned beneath him, I felt his kiss traced all over my body. His hand slid along my leg, fingertips brushing against my skin. A shiver ran through me, completely out of my control. That night, Noah lost himself completely. But not once did he mention why he had disappeared for two years. And I didn’t dare ask—afraid that if I did, this fragile moment of happiness would shatter. … For the next two weeks, aside from work, I was practically glued to Noah’s side. When he worked late, I sat quietly by his desk, reading. When he had free time, I dragged him to food stalls, making him try every kind of street food. After dinner, we drove to the beach. Like when we were kids, we chased each other along the shore, laughter ringing through the night. Standing in the shallow tide, I held my canvas shoes in one hand while splashing seawater at Noah with the other. He wasn’t quick enough to dodge, and his shirt was drenched in an instant. Feigning annoyance, he strode toward me with purpose and threw me over his shoulder. I kicked my legs in the air, squirming. "Okay, okay! I was wrong! Noah, put me down!" He smacked my backside playfully. "Save your strength. You’ll need it later." The full moon hung high, casting silver light over the waves. Outside the car window, the tide rolled in, crashing against the shore in rhythmic waves. But it was nothing compared to the storm inside the backseat. Fingers intertwined, breath mingled, Noah traced his teeth over my earlobe, his voice hoarse as he whispered over and over, "Chloe, I love you." … On the fifth day of Noah’s business trip, I got a call from one of Simon’s buddies. "Chloe, you need to come to the hospital. It’s Simon… he got into a fight at a bar tonight, and now he’s in the emergency room. He was unconscious, but the whole time, he kept calling your name." I was standing at a jewelry counter in a department store, picking out a watch for Noah. Without missing a beat, I handed the one I chose to the sales associate. "This one, please. Thank you." There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "Chloe? Are you listening?" I turned, leaning back against the counter. "If he’s still in the ER, then you guys should stay with him. I’m not a doctor. I can’t save him even if I go. "And one more thing—don’t ever call me about Simon again. I don’t care." With that, I ended the call. After paying for the watch, I left the store in a good mood. On the way home, I even stopped by the supermarket to pick up groceries. Noah was coming back tonight. I wanted to cook for him myself. … Around seven, the doorbell rang. I rushed out of the kitchen to open the door with a smile. But the moment I saw who was standing there, my smile froze. It was Noah’s mother, Grace White. … The living room was eerily silent, the only sound was the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Grace sat on the sofa, idly twisting the massive diamond ring on her middle finger as her sharp gaze swept over the room, taking in every detail. I carefully poured a glass of warm water and set it down on the coffee table in front of her. "Miss Sanders, have a seat. We need to talk." Her presence was commanding, leaving little room for argument. I lowered myself onto the sofa across from her, my hands stiff in my lap, feeling uncharacteristically uneasy. Without a word, she reached into her orange Hermès bag and pulled out a document, sliding it toward me. "This is Noah and Sharon’s marriage certificate."