A love that makes you lower yourself isn’t real love—it’s just one-sided devotion.
I loved her with all I had.
She gave me only a sliver in return.
Before my friend could finish drafting the divorce agreement, a message came in from Bianca.
[The project’s finished. Celebration banquet tonight. Change into the suit I bought you a few days ago. I’ll swing by to pick you up.]
I laughed under my breath, opened the wardrobe and stared at the ill-fitting, worn-out suit hanging inside. The collar was frayed, the cuffs thinning.
I pulled it out and threw it straight into the trash.
I didn’t want anyone’s used leftovers. Not even hers.
Half an hour later, Bianca came in, her expression immediately darkening when she saw me in casual clothes.
“I told you to wear the suit.”
I walked past her, heading for the door and replied flatly, “It’s not my celebration. It doesn’t matter what I wear.”
Downstairs, Darren rolled down the passenger-side window as I approached.
He was dressed to the nines—brand-new suit, styled hair, even makeup lightly done. He grinned at me.
“Mr. Scott, I forgot to remind you earlier—sorry you had to trouble Ms. Bianca to come pick me up.”
Then he glanced over my clothes and chuckled.