To My Childhood Sweetheart, See You Never

Wendy clasped her trembling hand tightly over her mouth, as if trying to suppress the overwhelming torrent of emotions threatening to break free. She couldn't bear to watch any longer. Turning sharply, she fled the suffocating scene.

She ran—further, faster—until her legs gave out beneath her, leaving her to collapse in a stairwell. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each intake of air sharp and piercing, as though it scraped against her lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and unrelenting. She pressed her hand to her chest, futilely trying to steady the erratic pounding of her heart.

The auction had been painful enough—every glance, every word a tiny wound. But what she'd just witnessed in the car was a fatal blow. Memories surfaced unbidden, vivid and cruel.

She thought of Grayson's careful tenderness, the purity of his affection when they first started dating.

He had been shy then, almost boyishly so. Holding her hand would make him blush; kissing her brought a tremor to his lips. He had waited patiently for their first night together, steadfast until she agreed to his marriage proposal.

She once teased him for his restraint, only to find herself wrapped in his embrace, his voice low and gravelly against her ear.

"No man can resist the woman he loves," he'd said. "But I love you too much to rush things. I want everything to be perfect. I don't want you to ever regret it."

Those words, spoken with such sincerity, had warmed her heart back then. Now, their echo only deepened her despair. Her fingers dug into her face as she sobbed silently into the stairwell, her grief spilling into the emptiness around her.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled herself together. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by invisible chains, but she willed herself to move. Step by step, she made her way to the bathroom.

Just then, her phone vibrated in her hand.

Another message from Rita.

She hesitated before opening it, her fingers cold and reluctant. The image struck her like a slap: the car's disheveled backseat, and a tangle of ripped stockings in the corner.

"The car's filled with the scent of our passion. Oh, and by the way, Grayson promised me your necklace. The Heart of True Love? It's mine now."

Wendy's chest tightened. She powered off the phone without another glance. She walked out of the bathroom after fixing her makeup.

When Grayson finally appeared, his arms reached out to hold her, carrying a faint trace of perfume that wasn't hers.

"I'm sorry, Wendy," he murmured against her hair, his tone laced with contrition. "That necklace was a little chipped. It wasn't perfect for you. I'll find you something more dazzling next time, alright?"

Her breath caught. She tilted her head up, her voice weighted with emotion. "What if I only want that necklace?"

Her tear-streaked face and quivering words struck him like a blow. He cupped her cheeks, his voice soft, coaxing. "Don't cry, baby. Please, don't cry. I'll get you something even better, right now if you want. Anything for you."

She let out a laugh—bitter, hollow. Once, he had given her anything she desired. Now, even her simplest wish came with conditions, tangled in another woman's lies.

"It's fine. I don't want it anymore," she said, exhaustion seeping into her tone. She stepped out of his arms, the distance between them suddenly insurmountable.

He moved as if to follow, but froze when her gaze shifted past him. He turned and saw Rita saunter by, the Heart of True Love glimmering on her neck like a mockery. His face turned ashen.

"Wendy—" he started, but she didn't look back, walking past Rita without so much as a glance.

When Wendy was gone, Grayson whirled on Rita, his hand gripping her wrist tightly. "Are you insane? I told you to stay away from her! Wendy is off-limits. She's my bottom line."

Rita smiled faintly, unbothered by his outburst. "Relax, she didn't notice anything. And if it bothers you so much, I won't do it again. Promise." She leaned closer, letting the fabric of her dress slip slightly from her shoulders. "How about I make it up to you tonight? I have another surprise."

The tension in his jaw eased as his eyes darkened.

He didn't return the entire night. He fed Wendy some excuse about urgent business at the company. She knew it was a lie but didn't question him.

Instead, she quietly set about her task. If she was going to disappear, she would leave nothing behind—no trace of her existence, no memories to tether him, just a fake corpse.

Three hours later, she stood before a pile of her belongings, a lighter in hand. Everything went up in flames, the smoke curling around her like a shroud.

Then, she opened a storage box from the bottom of a book rack and pulled out a collection of gifts Grayson had given her over the years.

At sixteen, his first love letter, its boyish handwriting brimming with earnest affection.

At eighteen, her first pair of crystal heels, promising to walk life's path together.

At twenty, a pink diamond crown, declaring her his princess.

At twenty-two, a custom-made ring, designed by him. He had vowed to propose every year until she said yes.

Now, all of it was meaningless.

She packed up the gifts without a second thought and listed everything online for 1 dollar, postage included. Those items worth millions were snatched up by eager buyers in mere moments.

After arranging for someone to collect the goods, she was about to retreat to her room when the front door suddenly burst open. Grayson stormed in, drenched from the rain, his face a mix of panic and disbelief.

He seized her hand, his voice trembling. "Wendy, why? Why did you sell everything I gave you for 1 dollar?"