“That’s the thing about Ethan,” I said quietly. “He tells people what they need to hear to get what he wants.”
When she reached across the table, I pulled my hand away. “You weren’t just my friend,” I said. “You were family. And you burned ten years of trust.”
I left her there, crying into her coffee. “We’re done, Chloe. Don’t call me again.”
Outside, the night air was cold against my face. I felt empty but strangely free.
In the weeks that followed, I watched Ethan’s world crumble. Clients withdrew. His business came under review. The house deal collapsed when I retracted the payment. When he tried to threaten me, I forwarded his incriminating emails to his investors. Within days, his reputation was ruined.
He once mocked me for being weak. Now, he was the one begging.
Six months later, I lived alone in a small apartment overlooking the Chicago River. Modest but peaceful. I made my own coffee, ran by the water, breathed without bitterness. People say heartbreak destroys you but it doesn’t. It strips you down until all that’s left is strength.
Ethan moved to Indiana. His company folded. Chloe left him soon after. I didn’t hate them. I simply stopped caring.