I am a professional breakup coach. My specialty is helping young women untangle themselves from toxic, deadend relationships with toxic men.

Lately, though, I’d been consulting for an unusually strange client.

I told "him" that the very first step in initiating a breakup was to drop all pet names and intimate forms of address. The next morning, Beckett stopped calling me "babe".

My name became, strictly, Piper. I told "him" that the second step was a total purge—getting rid of every shared item, every couple’s keepsake in the house.

Almost immediately, under the guise of an overdue spring cleaning, Beckett threw out our matching silk pajamas, the custom throw pillows, and even the silver promise rings we’d worn for years.

When I asked him about it, he brushed it off with a casual shrug. "I’m just sick of looking at them." I told "him" that the third step was behavioral indifference.

So when we went on vacation, Beckett stranded me in a foreign city and flew back to Chicago alone. That was the day the cold dread finally took root.

Pushed to my limit, I sent my anonymous client a probing text: "Why are you so desperate to break up with her?" His response was immediate and devoid of armor: "Because I don't love her anymore.

I fell in love with someone else—someone she knows.

I just want to get rid of my fiancée as quickly as possible." Every time a text popped up on my screen, the phone sitting across from me on the coffee table vibrated in exact sync.

My entire body froze. A wave of sickening desolation washed over me as the horrific truth clicked into place. If he wanted a lesson in how to break up, fine.

I was going to teach him personally. … I looked up at Beckett. He really was a model student. The matching silver chain and the ring he usually wore around his neck were gone.

Vanished. "Where’s your ring?" I asked, keeping my voice level. "I haven't seen you wear it lately." He didn't even lift his eyes from his screen, his tone dripping with dismissive boredom. "Didn't feel like wearing it.

It’s just cheap copper anyway. It was starting to tarnish." A sharp knot tightened in my throat. I had forged that ring by hand.

He finally looked up, his brow furrowing into a scowl of irritation. "Piper, we aren't broke college kids living in a basement apartment anymore.

Stop handing me cheap, discolored metal. It makes me look lowclass." He went back to tapping furiously on his phone, completely unbothered by how pale my face had turned.

Text notifications pinged on my screen. "I want to end things fast. Do you have any good ideas on how to speed this up?" I took a slow, agonizing breath.

I didn't answer his question directly. Instead, I typed back: "Who is she? The woman you fell in love with?" He didn't suspect a thing.

To him, my anonymous coach profile was simply a safe, voidlike outlet for his repressed guilt. "It doesn't matter anyway," he replied. "We don't know each other in real life, so I might as well tell you.

Her name is Jenny. My fiancée saved her a year ago from a remote town back in the mountains." My eyes widened.

The shock hit me like a physical blow, leaving my mind completely blank. Jenny... It was "Jenny".

A year ago, I had traveled to a rural town in West Virginia searching for artistic inspiration for a choreography piece. That was where I found her.

She was eighteen, covered in bruises from her abusive stepfather, who was preparing to sell her off to a disabled neighbor to bear children.

Looking at that terrified, desperate girl, my heart had broken. I paid her stepfather fifteen thousand dollars in cash to buy her freedom.

That day, covered in tears, she had fallen to her knees in the dirt, clutching my hands. "Thank you, Piper! Thank you so much!

I’ll work like a dog for the rest of my life to repay you! You saved my life!" I brought her back to Chicago, paid for her medical bills, and let her heal.

And this... this was how she repaid me. I closed my eyes tight as a wave of nausea and suffocating rage rushed through my veins.

Another message pinged from Beckett. "She's so fragile. I can't help but pity her, but she feels so guilty toward my fiancée that she's in constant pain.

That's why I have to end my relationship fast." I stared at those words until they burned into my retinas.

When I looked over at Beckett, the hard, impatient grimace he’d given me moments ago was completely gone. Just thinking about Jenny softened his features into a gentle, tender glow.

The contrast pierced straight through my chest.

I forced my breathing to steady and typed back: "If you do this, how do you think your fiancée will feel?" He didn't text back immediately.

Across the sofa, I felt his heavy, complex gaze land on me. "What is it?" I asked, forcing the words past the raw ache in my throat. Beckett stared at me deeply.

His lips parted, but in the end, he closed his mouth and looked away. "Nothing." My coach phone buzzed again: "I can't bring myself to say it to her face.

I know I owe her everything. So...

I'm planning on leaving all my assets to her when I walk away." My expression froze. "You mean... you're willing to walk away with nothing, just to be with this girl?" His reply was instantaneous: "Yes." I stared at that single word, my nails digging so hard into my palms that my skin nearly broke, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I knew better than anyone what it had taken him to build his company over the last decade. The sweat, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices.

And for Jenny, he was ready to throw it all away. I lowered my eyes, hiding the redness creeping into them.

All those memories—eating stale bread with him in a drafty basement, running through the scorching heat to pitch clients, riding a rusted scooter together through pouring rain—had been reduced to a pathetic joke.

A moment later, he messaged again: "So, what do you think? Do we have a good chance of pulling off this breakup?

Are you going to guide me through it or not?" I could sense the desperation in his eyes across the room.

I let out a hollow, selfdeprecating laugh. "I'll guide you." I would personally teach him how to sever a tenyear bond. "First step: Stop keeping your distance from Jenny in front of your fiancée." Beckett's brows knitted slightly. "Won't that be too direct?" he replied. "I'm afraid of hurting her too much.

After all, she gave me ten years of her life." A wave of intense irony washed over me. What a hypocrite. I didn't bother responding.

Across from me, Beckett locked his phone, pondered for a moment, and then looked at me. "The girl you rescued gets discharged from the hospital today.

Aren't you going to pick her up?" "That's my business," I said evenly. "If you want to go, go by yourself." His thin lips snapped shut, a flicker of defensive anger rising in his eyes, as if I’d exposed a secret desire. "Why the attitude this morning?" he snapped. "If she wasn't your charity case, I wouldn't even waste my time looking at her!" I clenched my fists under my coat. "Is that so?

Then I must have misunderstood.

Let's go together." A flash of genuine delight lit up the depths of his eyes, though he quickly suppressed it, putting on a forced, putout expression. "Fine.

I'll come along to carry her bags." He walked over and reached out to ruffle my hair. "Only because she's your rescue. I have to look after your people." I subtly dodged his touch.

The gesture, which I used to find warm and affectionate, now filled me with pure repulsion. He didn't notice. He was far too consumed by the giddy anticipation of seeing Jenny.

His steps were practically light. I pulled out my phone and messaged him through my coach persona: "When did you fall in love with Jenny?" He didn't answer right away.

I realized he had walked into the kitchen to mix a mug of warm honey water for me—a small ritual he had maintained for years whenever I suffered from severe period cramps.

He remembered every detail. On one hand, there was this lingering, thoughtful care.

On the other, a message popped up on my phone that rendered me breathless: "The very first time I saw her." Love at first sight. The phrase stabbed through me like a needle.

He kept typing: "A few months ago, my fiancée was out of town on a business trip and couldn't be there for Jenny's surgery.

She was worried no one would be there to sign the consent forms, so she asked me to go." His tone through the screen was drenched in gentleness. "The moment I saw her, I felt this overwhelming, instinctive need to protect her, to make her happy.

I've never felt that kind of protective urge with my fiancée." My fingers felt numb against the screen. "Then what do you feel for your fiancée?" "Duty," he replied.

A bitter smile broke across my face.

Ten years of devotion, from a damp basement to a suburban mansion, from an entrylevel clerk to the CEO of a publicly traded firm—and all I had earned was the word "duty".

Beckett stepped out of the kitchen, handing me the warm mug. "Ready to go?

What are you looking at so intently?" I tucked my phone away and shook my head. "Nothing." The entire drive there, I stared out the passenger window, my heart heavy as lead.

Beside me, Beckett hummed a tune under his breath, unable to hide his buoyant mood. I didn't call him out. I was simply too exhausted. An hour later, we arrived at the hospital.

Beckett rushed ahead of me, pushing open the door to Jenny's room with unmistakable urgency. "Jenny, I'm here." The young woman resting on the bed lit up instantly. "Beck—" The intimate name died on her lips the moment I stepped into the room behind him. "Mr.

Hollister," she corrected herself smoothly, her posture turning modest. Then she looked at me with bright, emotional eyes. "Piper! You came to pick me up!

I knew I was getting discharged today—thank you so much." A wave of disgust churned in my stomach.

I gave a faint, detached nod and asked pointedly, "Now that you're discharged, what are your plans? Where are you going to stay?" Jenny froze.

Ever since I brought her out of the mountains, she had been staying in hospitals and care facilities, recovering from her trauma.

She had zero means of supporting herself in a city like this. She wrung her fingers nervously, looking helpless. "I...

I..." Beckett stepped in smoothly, adopting a reasonable, considerate tone. "Piper, how about this?

Since Jenny is your person, I'll make an exception and hire her as my personal assistant.

As for housing... why doesn't she stay at our place for now?" Jenny's eyes sparkled, though she carefully kept her expression timid, looking to me for permission.

I looked at the expectant glow in Beckett's eyes, an overwhelming sorrow settling in my chest. What a brilliant student he was.

He was executing the advice I gave him to the absolute letter. "Sure," I said quietly. It didn't matter anymore. I was preparing to walk away anyway.

While Beckett went to finalize the discharge paperwork, my phone buzzed. "I'm bringing Jenny home with us," he messaged. "What's the next step?" I stared at the screen for a moment before typing back: "Breakup Step Two: Differential treatment." He replied instantly: "That's easy.

I'm already struggling not to do that anyway." When Beckett returned from the billing office, he picked up Jenny's small suitcase and turned to me. "Jenny still has trouble walking long distances.

I'll carry her out. You don't mind, right?" Without waiting for my answer, he stepped forward, looking down at her with intense tenderness.

Before she could protest, he swept her up into a bridal carry and walked right past me. A faint, mocking smile touched my lips as I walked behind them.

I saw the soft blush creeping up Jenny's neck, and the deep flush burning on the tips of Beckett's ears. My mind flashed back ten years ago, to that cramped, dark basement.

He had taken a pulltab from a soda can and slipped it onto my finger. "Piper, will you marry me?

I swear, I'm going to work until I can give you the real thing and make you the happiest woman in the world." I had nodded, crying tears of joy.

His ears had burned with that exact same shade of red back then. Ten years had passed.

We never got married, the soda tab never turned into a wedding band, and his ears no longer turned red for me.

I lowered my eyes to my bare hand, only to notice something sparkling on Jenny's ring finger. A diamond ring. I recognized it instantly.

It was a custom piece Beckett had spent two million dollars on at a private auction six months ago. He had told me it was an investment for the company.

Turns out, it was a gift for Jenny. The driver was waiting at the curb.

I instinctively moved toward the back door, but Beckett blocked my path. "Take the front passenger seat," he said, gently settling Jenny into the back row. "There's more legroom back here, and Jenny can't bend her knee properly." With that, he slid into the backseat right beside her.

I let out a soft, ironic breath and didn't argue. I opened the front door and sat down.

In the rearview mirror, I caught Jenny biting her lip, looking at me with faint, performative anxiety. "Piper... maybe you should sit back here with Mr. Hollister.

I really don't mind..." Beckett was about to speak, but I cut in first. "No need." He blinked, taken aback.

He glanced at me with a complex, flicking expression, a sudden swell of irritation flaring in his eyes before vanishing just as quickly.

He patted Jenny's head softly. "Listen to her. Sit still and don't agitate your knee." Jenny gave a shy, obedient nod, leaning closer to him.

Sitting in the front seat, I watched the whole display in the mirror. Quietly, I pulled up my browser and booked a oneway flight to New York.

Back in college, I had majored in psychology, which eventually led to my side gig as a behavioral consultant—a "breakup coach." NYU had one of the top psychology programs in the world, and my application for a doctoral fellowship there had been accepted months ago.

I had delayed my enrollment purely for Beckett. Now, I could finally go.

When we pulled up to the estate, Beckett hopped out and hurried around to open Jenny's door, lifting her into his arms naturally. Jenny glanced at me hesitantly. "Mr.

Hollister, I can walk on my own, really..." Beckett pulled her closer against his chest. "What are you afraid of? Piper won't mind.

She's not unreasonable." With a single sentence, he backed me into a corner where showing any anger would make me the petty, immature one. I trailed behind them, my phone ringing.

It was Jenny's primary care physician from the hospital. "Ms.

Raines, I saw that Jenny was discharged today, but I need to remind you of something critical," the doctor said over the line. "Her constitution is very fragile.

On top of that, she suffered a severe miscarriage six months ago.

Please ensure she avoids raw or cold foods, especially seafood." The world seemed to go silent around me. "A miscarriage?" Whose child could it have been?

My mind raced back six months.

That was the exact twomonth window when I was away attending an intensive seminar in California—the exact period I had asked Beckett to check in on her.

The betrayal ran deeper and was far more sickening than I had ever imagined.

I forced myself to draw a long, deep breath, crushing the suffocating storm rising in my chest, and walked into the house. My flight was tonight. It was almost over.

Everything was almost over. In the living room, Beckett was kneeling on the rug, gently massaging Jenny's leg. I paused at the threshold.

I hadn't seen such devotion and tenderness on his face in years.

A moment later, Beckett finished the massage and sent a message to the "Breakup Coach." "I've done everything you said, but why isn't my fiancée reacting at all?

She's completely calm." I looked at my phone, my heart a flat, lifeless plain. "Maybe she just doesn't care anymore. Isn't that the exact outcome you wanted?" Beckett froze.

Across the room, I saw his body go stiff, a shadow of confusion and discomfort crossing his features. He typed back: "Is there anything else I should do?" I replied: "No.

Just wait for her to leave on her own." Beckett's brow furrowed tightly as he typed: "I don't think she'll ever leave me.

You don't understand—I'm the person she loves most in this world. She wouldn't just walk away. Whatever, forget it. I just sent your fee." He went offline.

I felt a cold wave of amusement. To him, my ten years of love were nothing more than a stubborn inconvenience he assumed he could never shake.

That afternoon, Beckett personally took Jenny to the firm to finalize her employment paperwork.

I worked at the company too, though I held a lowprofile position in the research department. Within minutes of their arrival, the executive floor was buzzing.

A coworker grabbed my arm and pulled me into the breakroom, her face red with indignation. "What is going on out there?! Who is that girl with Mr. Hollister?

Don't you feel like something is completely wrong?" I remained silent for a beat. "What's wrong?" "They're acting practically attached at the hip!" She pulled up a video someone had secretly recorded and held it out for me to see.

I looked down at the screen. Beckett was walking through the main lobby holding Jenny's hand, their fingers intertwined. He didn't care who saw them.

He led her directly to the desk closest to his private office, setting her down gently before cupping her face with his hand. "Just hang out here and relax.

You don't actually have to do any real work. Just stay where I can see you." His gaze was dripping with affection. Jenny bit her lip, blushing furiously. The video ended.

The coworkers in the breakroom looked at me with varying degrees of pity and shock.

Everyone knew I was the one who had stood by Beckett back when the company was nothing more than a dream in a garage. "Piper... you guys..." My expression didn't change.

I offered a faint, lifeless smile. "Honestly, Beckett and I don't have that kind of relationship anymore." Before they could recover from the shock, I turned and walked out.

Behind me, the whispers erupted immediately. "Not together? Yeah, right!" "I knew Mr. Hollister wouldn't stay with someone like her forever.

Have you ever seen him hold her hand in public like that?" "Look at the new girl! If you ask me, "she's" the real future Mrs. Hollister.

Piper was just fooling herself thinking she meant something." They pieced together their theories with total confidence.

My spine stiffened, a quiet pang of humiliation washing over me. But objectively, they weren't entirely wrong.

In the five years since the company went public, Beckett had never once publicly acknowledged our relationship. He had always told me sternly, "It’s bad for corporate image.

I'm the CEO—if I bring romance into the workplace, it looks unprofessional. Be mature, Piper." Now, watching him shatter every rule for Jenny, I finally understood.

It wasn't that he cared about corporate image. I just wasn't the woman he wanted to break the rules for. Later that afternoon, Jenny found me in the breakroom.

She bit her lower lip, looking at me with watery, pleading eyes. "Piper... you know everything now, right?" she whimpered, her voice dripping with helpless desperation. "Can't you just let him go?

Can't you give Beckett to me? You have everything—an education, a career. I'm just a poor girl from the mountains. He's all I have.

Please don't take him from me!" I almost laughed out loud.

I stared at her, my eyes colder than ice. "Jenny, I really should have let your stepfather beat you to death." Her face went pale, tears instantly streaming down her cheeks. "I know I owe you my life!

But you can't use gratitude to hold me hostage emotionally!" I rolled my eyes, muttered, "You're insane," and walked straight out of the room.

I went back to my desk, submitted my formal resignation through the portal, and began packing my personal belongings.

Suddenly, an uproar broke out down the hall. "Someone's on the roof! She's going to jump!" Before I could react, Beckett burst out of his office, his face thunderous.

He stormed over, grabbed my wrist in a vicelike grip, and dragged me forcefully toward the stairwell. "Let go of me!" I struggled.

His breath was ragged, his eyes wild with terror and rage. "What the hell did you say to her?!

Jenny just called me—she said she's going to give her life back to you!" He shoved me against the wall, stepping close, his voice a low, vicious threat. "Piper, if anything happens to her, I swear to God I will make you pay!" With a violent push, he threw me to the ground and sprinted up the stairs toward the roof.

The whispers of the watching employees echoed around me like buzzing hornets. I closed my eyes tightly, lying on the cold floor.

When I opened them again, there was nothing left inside me. No pain, no anger—just absolute emptiness. I stood up, adjusted my coat, and walked out of the building.

Standing in the parking lot, I opened my phone, took complete screenshots of my chat logs with Beckett under my "Breakup Coach" profile, and posted them online.

Then, I drove straight to the airport, boarding my flight to pursue the dream I had deferred for far too long.