Whiskey in My Shirley Temple

Cole and I met in college. We fell in love while studying architectural design at one of the top schools in the country.

Most students in our department were from prominent families, their futures already paved in gold. But Cole was different.

He had gotten in on pure merit, determined to build a future from scratch.

His fierce ambition was what drew me to him. It felt inevitable that we would end up together.

I was the one who pursued him, and I learned so much just by being by his side.

My family never approved of Cole.

In fact, as graduation loomed, they had already arranged a marriage for me, assuming I was just having a college fling and would eventually fall in line.

But I was young and rebellious. Looking back, that youthful recklessness seems almost laughable.

I cut ties with my family and chose Cole.

We were married for three years, together for five. In those three years, with my support, Cole's career took off.

He had once protected me as fiercely as he was now protecting Chloe.

I remember him shielding me from clients who tried to ply me with alcohol or made lewd remarks, telling them off in front of everyone without a second thought.

Afterward, he would stay up all night just to take care of me. I truly believed Cole was the man I would spend my life with.

Our life got better, but the love between us slowly withered.

Ever since Chloe joined the firm as an intern, Cole’s attitude toward me had become cold and distant.

I’d heard he personally requested her transfer to his team.

From then on, it was constant late nights at the office and business trips, always with Chloe in tow.

He said it was to "develop her potential." I had my own ideas about what kind of "potential" he was developing.

Soon enough, rumors began to swirl around the office that Cole was giving his new assistant "special treatment."

The memories shattered as a second slap landed squarely on my other cheek.

I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his. He gritted his teeth, spitting the words out one by one.

"Claire, accept Chloe's apology right now, or else."

"Mr. Harrison, stop hitting her! Please, don't fight because of me!"

Seeing the situation escalate, Chloe finally intervened, but only after he’d already struck me. Then, her expression hardening with resolve, she stood up.

"Claire, if you won't forgive me, I'll go turn myself in. I'm willing to spend the rest of my life making up for my mistake!"

Before we could react, she bolted from the hospital room.

"Chloe! What are you doing? Don't do anything stupid!"

Cole scrambled after her in a panic, but not before turning to leave me with one last threat.

"If anything happens to her, Claire, I will never forgive you!"

The door slammed shut, and the room fell blessedly silent. I let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion settle over me.

Chloe wouldn't turn herself in. This was all a performance designed to drive a wedge between Cole and me.

Only a man as blinded by lust as Cole would fall for such an obvious ploy.

Sure enough, a short while later, a notification popped up on my phone. Cole had posted on Instagram. The photo was a scenic shot from just outside the hospital, captioned: "I'll always protect you."

He hadn't bothered to hide it, posting it for the world to see.

Of course, he never came back to check on me. Why would he? My life was no longer in danger, so I was no longer his problem.

I sneered, unfazed by his pathetic attempt at provocation.

After having my stomach pumped, I had no appetite and no desire to spend another minute in that hospital. I cleared my discharge with the doctor for the next morning.

When I’d gathered my things and returned to our penthouse apartment in Manhattan, I found Cole was already there.