Chapter 1

Tags: Possessive Girlfriend, Isolation, Kicked Out, Standing Up

During our first year together, my girlfriend, Chloe, treated a thirteen-year-old orphan girl I was sponsoring through charity as her imaginary rival.

Behind my back, she forced the girl out of school. I let it slide.

In our second year, she isolated my female coworker, harassing her until she quit her job.

From then on, I had no friends left. I swallowed my pride and endured it.

By our fifth year, she smashed the only heirloom my late parents had left me and kicked me out of the house.

I wandered the streets all night, but not a single apology ever came from Chloe.

I’m done compromising. She will never admit she’s wrong.

Her endless need for control, built on my endless patience, has completely suffocated me.

This time, I’m done putting up with it.

I carried a bag of groceries, feeling a wave of excitement as I pushed open the front door, planning what delicious dinner I was going to cook for Chloe tonight.

The moment the door opened, though, my eyes landed on scattered photos all over the floor.

Chloe held a torn picture, glaring at me with bloodshot, furious eyes.

I froze for a second, then gave an exhausted sigh, setting the groceries down to crouch and pick up the pieces.

This was a custom photo album of Iceland that I had pulled strings to get printed and delivered.

Iceland was her dream destination. I wanted to give it to her as an anniversary gift and tell her that one day, we’d go there together.

Now, it was reduced to confetti.

The apartment didn’t have the warm, cozy vibe I had envisioned. The only sounds were the quiet rustle of torn paper in my hands and Chloe’s heavy, erratic breathing.

Chloe walked over and kicked the pile I had gathered.

"Is this garbage really that important to you?"

"Did a woman send it, and that’s why you treasure it so damn much?"

I looked up in shock, ready to defend myself, only to notice cuts on her hand. Bright streaks of red stood out sharply against her pale skin.

Seeing her stubborn face refuse to shed a tear, turning away in childish spite the second I looked at her, I let out a tired sigh.

I gave up.

In every fight between us, I was always the one to surrender.

Resigned, I pulled out the first-aid kit, gently took her hand, led her to the couch, and carefully disinfected her cuts as if handling fragile porcelain.

"Don't do this next time. You're the one who ends up bleeding."

Chloe tried to pull her hand away petulantly, but I held on firm.

"Who told that bitch to send you packages in the first place?"

I kept my head down, focusing on bandaging her fingers.

"She's just an acquaintance."

"You love Iceland, so I asked her to take some high-res shots for you. I wanted to show you where we’re going together someday."

Chloe refused to let it go. As always, the interrogation began.

"You only have one acquaintance?"

"And of course, the second you want pictures of Iceland, she just happens to be there?"

"Iceland was just an excuse. You just wanted a reason to text her, didn't you?"

"Logan, gifting your girlfriend photos taken by another woman—are you sick in the head?"

"You want her, don't you?"

"Did she flirt with you?"

"You two are definitely talking behind my back!"

Her rapid-fire accusations made my head pound.

I stopped wrapping the bandage, leaned back against the sofa, and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"I didn't even know her before this. I searched for a freelance photographer specifically for you."

"She just happened to be in Iceland."

"And she just happened to be a woman."

I thought my explanation was completely clear.

Even a saint would lose their temper facing such baseless, irrational accusations.

Chloe, however, was like an enraged beast. She sprang to her feet.

She slapped me across the face with all her might.

"You admitted it! You admitted you're in contact with her!"

"How dare you take that tone with me?"

"Logan, you don't love me anymore, do you?!"