Chapter 1

I gave up my tech career for my professor boyfriend, Donovan. For ten years, I was his perfect, supportive partner, but he repaid me by cheating with his student, Brie. On our anniversary, he brought her favorite peanut butter into our home-forgetting my deadly allergy-and then left me to be with her.

I finally escaped to Europe, but he hunted me down.

Consumed by a possessive rage, he found me with my new partner, Kevin, and brutally attacked him. I had to smash a wine bottle over Donovan's head just to make him stop.

As he stood there bleeding, he actually tried to propose, swearing she meant nothing to him.

But then my phone rang. A frantic woman on the other end sobbed, "Brie is at his mother's house! She's pregnant with his baby!"

That's when I decided leaving wasn't enough. I would use the very skills I sacrificed for him to expose every single one of his lies and burn his entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Aria Chen POV:

I hauled the massive box of Donovan' s sentimental junk to the curb, the cardboard scraping against the concrete. It was heavy, just like everything else he' d left behind. My muscles screamed, but I didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting it all out.

Three years ago, I wouldn't have dared. I would have carefully sorted, labeled, and stored every single piece of his past. Not anymore. Not after a decade of him.

Stepping back inside, the apartment felt... lighter. Even before I noticed the unfamiliar scent of peanut butter wafting from the kitchen. My stomach churned. I' m deathly allergic.

That' s when I saw it. A half-eaten jar of chunky peanut butter on the counter, next to a sparkly, childish mug that definitely wasn't mine. It was a slap to the face, a bright red flag I'd been too blind to see.

A chilling calm settled over me. I grabbed the jar and the mug without a second thought. Straight into the trash they went, the thick spread adhering to the plastic, clinging like a bad memory.

My phone buzzed. It was a notification for my flight. Europe. In two days. The timing was almost poetic. It was our tenth anniversary.

The front door clicked open. Donovan walked in, whistling a jaunty tune. He stopped dead, his eyes scanning the noticeably emptier living room.

"What happened to the vintage record player?" he asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the pleasant silence I' d just created.

I didn't flinch. "It was gathering dust. I donated it."

His jaw tightened. "Donated it? Aria, that was a gift from my grandmother. You know how much that meant to me."

He always did this. Everything was about him. His feelings, his things, his past. Never mine.

"It was broken," I stated plainly, my voice flat. "And it was taking up space."

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "You' re so dramatic sometimes. We could have fixed it."

I just stared at him. He didn' t even remember the argument we' d had last year about fixing it, how he promised he would, and then just let it sit there. Just like he let so many other things in our life sit, broken and ignored.

His gaze drifted to the kitchen. His eyes narrowed, then widened slightly. "Where' s my special peanut butter? The organic kind Brie found for me?"

My breath hitched. Brie. Of course. The student he' d been "mentoring" for the past year. The student my best friend had recommended for a scholarship. The student who was now seemingly living in our apartment.

"I threw it out," I said, my voice dangerously calm.

Donovan laughed, a short, dismissive sound. "You' re joking, right? Go get it. I just bought it." He walked to the trash can, ready to retrieve it himself.

"Donovan," I said, a tremor in my voice, "I told you, I threw it out. I'm highly allergic to peanuts. You know this."

He froze, his hand hovering over the rim of the bin. For a split second, a flicker of guilt crossed his face. It was quickly replaced by annoyance.

"Oh, right. I forgot," he mumbled, sounding more put-out than apologetic. "But it was in a sealed jar. It wouldn' t have hurt you."

My blood ran cold. He forgot my life-threatening allergy. For her. For Brie.

"You used to be so careful," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "You threw out everything with peanuts when we first moved in together. You even made sure the restaurant knew every time we went out."

He walked over to me, attempting to wrap an arm around my waist. His touch felt foreign, contaminated. "Hey, hey. I' m sorry. My mind' s been a million places. You know how stressful work is." He tried to pull me closer. "Let me make it up to you. I' ll order your favorite takeout. How about that?"

He rubbed my lower back, right where a bruised knot of muscle pulsed with pain. I winced, pulling away from his touch.

"I can' t believe you actually suggested that after yesterday," I said, my voice sharp. "My back is still killing me."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The hiking trip, Donovan. When you tried to show off, pushing me up that hill, and I slipped. You didn' t even notice I twisted my back until we were halfway home." My voice hardened. "You were too busy talking on the phone with Brie."

He bristled. "That was an accident, Aria. And it was your fault for not watching your step. Besides, I told you I was sorry. What do you want me to do, grovel?"

"No," I said, a strange, hollow feeling settling in my chest. "Just... have Brie make you dinner tonight. I hear she' s quite the cook."

His eyes widened, then a slow, pleased smile spread across his face. "Really? You wouldn' t mind?"

My stomach turned. He was actually happy about this.

He pulled a crumpled, colorful coupon from his pocket. "Here. It' s for that new artisanal ice cream place. Brie loves it. We can go together tomorrow."

I took the coupon. It was for a vegan, gluten-free ice cream shop. My eyes dropped to the small print. A special promotion for "first-time visitors" to their new location. I' d seen Brie post about it on her Instagram story just last week. A selfie of her and Donovan, laughing, holding two vibrant scoops. The caption read, "Best dessert date ever! Thanks, D!"

My phone vibrated. Donovan glanced at it, his face paling. He snatched it up, his back to me, his voice low and hushed. "Yeah, I' m on my way. Be there in five."

He turned, a hurried look on his face. "Something came up with Brie. Urgent. I have to go. I' ll be back later. Promise." He squeezed my arm once, a fleeting, disconnected gesture, and then he was gone.

I stood there, the ice cream coupon clenched in my hand. He hadn't even waited for my response. He rushed out of our home, on our anniversary, to go to her.

I looked down at the colorful paper. Then, slowly, deliberately, I tore it in half, then quarters, letting the pieces flutter to the floor.

The silence that followed was deafening.