Introduction

For seven years, I lived as "Chloe' s boyfriend," a quiet coder whose entire self-worth was built around her "saving" me from social anxiety.

Our Austin apartment was loud, packed for the Super Bowl party, until the music died and everyone stared as Chloe walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, carried by her ex-boyfriend, Blake.

His smirk was a dare, a familiar test of my manufactured jealousy, but this time, something inside me was just... quiet.

My unexpected calm ignited a terrifying rage in Chloe, shattering her control and escalating her manipulations from fake tears and public flirtations to a staged car crash and a chilling threat to jump from our 15th-floor balcony.

I calmly moved on, started a new life, and was building my own success, finally free of her endless drama.

Then, just weeks later, at my promotion celebration, she appeared in a white wedding gown, asked for one last photo, and plunged a knife into her own stomach, collapsing into my arms.

Her final, horrifying act left me tragically, undeniably free.