Viola’s profile picture had been the same sterile, professional headshot for as long as I could remember. Then, without warning, she changed it to a cartoon of a little brown bear.

I thought it was sweet, maybe even a little playful. Laughing to myself, I screenshotted the bear’s paw and cropped it to use as my own, making them a matching pair.

That evening, Viola, who famously ignored the company group chat, personally posted an announcement about the upcoming office dinner.

Chase was the first to reply. "Received!" The thread fell silent for a few seconds.

Then, someone in marketing couldn't help themselves, posting a whispered gossip emoji: "Wait, Chase, are you and Viola using matching profile pics?

Is tonight’s dinner actually an engagement party? ;)" Viola replied almost instantly: "He’s sensitive.

Don’t tease him." A flurry of emojis and teasing remarks erupted beneath her message. My heart did a strange, sudden drop.

I stared at the screen for a long time, then quietly changed my profile picture back to a default landscape. Five years of a secret, backalley relationship.

Suddenly, the whole thing just felt incredibly cheap. 1. After leaving the company group chat, I tapped on the thread with my dad.

His last message had come in three hours ago, asking if I could make it home for dinner this weekend. The tone was hesitant, almost apologetic, and it made my throat tight.

My eyes stung.

I forced down the lump in my throat and typed back a quick reply: "I’m coming home tonight." For the last five years, I had poured everything into Viola, leaving nothing but scraps for the people who actually loved me.

On my dad's birthday, I had stayed up late knitting a scarf for her.

When my mother was hospitalized, I was too busy worrying over the fact that Viola had only eaten half a bowl of soup to properly sit by my mother's bed.

When friends invited me to go skiing or hiking, I’d offer a polite, rehearsed smile and say, "Viola doesn’t really like the cold." I had made her my entire universe.

But I didn't want to live in that universe anymore. At five o'clock on the dot, I clocked out and packed my things.

As I passed the executive suite, the door swung open, and Viola stepped out, looking thoroughly annoyed. She was shaking a few wet drops of coffee from her fingers.

When she saw me, her posture relaxed just a fraction. "Connor, go buy an XL men’s thermal shirt and bring it to my office." She barely looked at me, her voice clipped and professional, as if she were talking to a temp she’d hired yesterday.

This was how we had operated in this building for half a decade. I clenched my fists in my pockets, the familiar, metallic taste of bitterness rising in my mouth. An extralarge.

That was Chase's size. When I didn't answer right away, Viola’s brows knit together. She didn't offer an explanation.

She just stood there, waiting for me to comply, exactly as she had a hundred times before.

When Chase's apartment pipes burst, she had pulled herself out of my bed midembrace and left without a word.

When Chase had a stomach flareup, she had walked out on me while I was curled on the bathroom floor with agonizing abdominal cramps. She never explained.

She didn't think she had to. In her mind, my job as her boyfriend was to be endlessly understanding, to offer a blind, unwavering faith.

I let out a slow, tired breath, my fingers relaxing inside my pockets. "It’s past five, Viola.

I’m going home." I kept my voice strictly professional, turned on my heel, and walked away. I didn't look back to see the shadow that fell over her face.

I drove to the far side of town to pick up the takeout my parents loved. Seeing the sheer, surprised joy on their faces when I walked through the door made my chest ache.

It didn't matter how far I drove or how much effort I put into finding the things Viola liked; she always met my gestures with a cool, detached indifference.

Sometimes, she even scolded me for them. "Are you stupid, Connor? Driving three hundred miles with a fever just to find a vintage wooden carving?

Learn to weigh the cost against the benefit." I suppose I really had been stupid. Halfway through dinner, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Viola. "Upset?

Why?" The warm atmosphere of my parents' dining room suddenly felt very far away. I scrolled up through our chat history. Her messages to me were rare, mostly dry and functional.

Most of our thread consisted of my long, enthusiastic paragraphs met with her oneword replies. This text was actually long for her.

I let out a quiet, mocking laugh and flipped the phone face down. The roasted chicken on my plate suddenly tasted like cardboard. My parents noticed, of course.

They exchanged a look before my dad spoke up, his voice cautious. "Connor? Did you and Viola have a disagreement?" I shook my head, keeping my eyes on my plate.

Dad hesitated, clearing his throat. "You’re twentyeight now. Have you two... talked about the future? About marriage?

When are you planning to—" "Dad," I interrupted gently, setting my fork down.

The decision came to me with a strange, quiet clarity. "We aren't getting married." I looked up, meeting his eyes. "We’re not right for each other. It’s over." 2.

Before bed, Viola called. When I answered, there was only silence on the line. She was waiting for me to start the conversation, to offer the usual apologies and smooth things over.

But this time, I stayed silent too, matching her quiet. Finally, her patience snapped. Her voice came through the receiver, heavy with controlled irritation. "Connor.

Explain." To the point. Always so economical with her words.

I let out a soft, dry laugh. "Is there something wrong with me leaving work on time, Viola?" The line went dead silent for a few seconds.

When she spoke again, she sounded genuinely baffled. "What are you doing right now? Are you actually throwing a tantrum over a thermal shirt?

You skipped the company dinner for this?" She let out a sharp breath. "I’ve told you a thousand times, Chase is just like a younger brother to me." "A brother." She had used that word so often she’d managed to convince herself.

But there wasn't a single soul in that office who couldn't see the blinding favoritism she showered on him.

In five years of dating, she had never once agreed to a matching couple's profile, and hearing her say "I love you" in private was a rare, hardwon luxury.

I was just so tired. "Didn’t you always say we should keep things strictly professional at the office?" I asked, my voice flat. "I clocked out at five.

Is the company social mandatory now?" Viola choked on her next words.

I could picture her expression perfectly—the dark, simmering anger, the cold disappointment, the quiet judgment. "Connor, how old are you?" My knuckles turned white around the phone.

I bit my lip to keep from shaking. "Connor, can you please be rational?" "Connor, can you grow up?" "Connor, why can't you be more like Chase?" I had heard those phrases so many times they had worn grooves into my mind.

Every single time, they had made me want to scream, to cry, to beg her to see me.

But tonight, I just smiled. "I’m twentyeight, Viola." "If you’re going to be this stubborn, we have nothing to talk about," she snapped, her voice tight with rage.

Before I could reply, the line went dead. My hand stayed frozen in the air for a long time. Then, despite everything, the tears came.

I pressed my face into the pillow, muffling the dry, shaking sobs that tore through my chest, feeling as though something inside me was being slowly, violently ripped apart.

Sometime after midnight, my phone began to buzz incessantly. The company group chat was flooded with photos and videos from the dinner. I tapped on the first video.

Viola, who never let her guard down, was visibly drunk. She was leaning her head heavily against Chase’s shoulder, murmuring softly back to him every time he spoke.

But it was the second video that made my breath catch. Viola was reaching into her coat pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box.

She opened it, slid a diamond ring onto Chase’s finger, and then, tilting her head, she gently kissed the back of his hand.

A cold, numbing sensation washed over me, starting at the back of my neck and spreading down to my fingertips.

I stared at the looping video, watching her expression over and over, looking for any sign of hesitation. There was none. That was the moment the last string snapped.

My face felt cold; my lips were bitten raw.

Below the video, the chat was losing its mind. "Oh my god, is this what I think it is?" "Did Viola just propose while drunk?!" "I always knew they were together.

Look how soft she is when she’s with him." "Matching profiles, matching rings... I’m ready for the wedding!" "Go check her personal feed right now!

Oh my god!" My fingers shook so violently I could barely navigate the screen. Viola had never posted a single personal photo in the five years I’d known her.

But there it was—a photo of her and Chase. Her eyes were glazed and soft with alcohol, and Chase was leaning into her side, a shy, triumphant smile on his face.

The public acknowledgement I had begged for, the simple validation I had waited five years to receive, had been handed to Chase without him even having to ask.

The room seemed to tilt. The air in my chest felt thick, like water, and the tears started to pour down my face in silent, heavy streams. I wanted to call her.

I wanted to scream at her, to demand to know why she had treated me like a secret shame while presenting him to the world. But my fingers wouldn't move.

The urge to fight simply evaporated, leaving me hollowed out and entirely empty. 3. I didn't sleep. By morning, my eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

Before the workday started, I texted my manager to request three days of paid leave.

He approved it immediately, but less than two hours after I finally drifted off, my phone began to blare.

It was my manager's number, but when I answered, Viola’s cold voice cut through the line. "Connor. What is the reason for this sudden leave?

The company policy is clear—no unexcused absences. Get out of bed and get to my office. Now." She hung up before I could speak.

I forced myself out of bed, my head throbbing with a dull, feverish ache. I dressed in a daze and drove to the office, my face pale and drawn.

When I reached the executive floor, my manager was waiting outside her door, looking anxious. He gave me a sympathetic, worried look. "She’s in a terrible mood today, Connor.

Just... apologize and keep your head down, okay?" I offered a weak, tired smile.

As I reached for the doorknob, a burst of laughter came from inside the room. "Viola, this ring is absolutely beautiful!

I love the setting so much!" There was a brief pause, but the moment the door swung open and Viola saw me standing there, her eyes instantly cooled. "If you like it, keep it," she said, her voice indifferent as she looked at Chase. "Wear it as a prop." Chase beamed, stepping forward to throw his arms around her neck in an enthusiastic hug.

My eyes drifted to the ring on his finger. It was the same one from the video. It fit him perfectly.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I had to grip the doorframe to keep my balance. By the time my vision cleared, Viola was standing directly in front of me.

She reached out, her thumb brushing against my swollen eyelid. "Have you been crying?" she asked, her tone dry. "Your emotional resilience is still so incredibly low." I flinched away from her touch, my chest burning with a sudden, sharp anger.

Always the same. If she wasn't dismissing me, she was mocking me. In five years, she had never once spoken to me with the softness she used for Chase.

I had spent half a decade waiting for her to take one step toward me, ready to throw myself into the fire for her if she did.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my voice to remain steady. "If there’s nothing else, Viola, I’d like to go back to my desk." "Connor!" "Viola!" I snapped, matching her tone for the first time in my life. "You’re the one who insisted we keep our private lives out of the office.

I’m doing exactly what you asked. What more do you want from me?" I turned and walked out, ignoring the sudden, dark fury that took over her face.

But as I sat at my desk, the room began to spin. The dull ache in my head grew into a raging fire, and by the time the lunch hour arrived, I couldn't hold myself upright anymore.

The last thing I saw before blacking out was Viola’s silhouette as she walked through the department for her daily floor inspection.

When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I was in a hospital room.

One of my colleagues from accounting was sitting in the chair beside the bed, looking at me with wide, gossiphungry eyes. "Connor, you’re awake! Honestly, we were all so shocked.

Viola looked absolutely terrified when you collapsed.

She was the first one to reach you." She leaned closer. "What’s going on between you two?" I turned my head away, looking out the window at the gray sky. "Nothing." Later that evening, the door clicked open.

Viola walked in, carrying a paper bag.

She walked over to the bed and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, letting out a quiet sigh of relief when she felt my skin. "Your fever is down," she said, setting a container of soup on the bedside table. "Chase made this soup.

He insisted I bring it to you." She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Why didn't you say you were sick? You’re an adult, Connor.

You shouldn't be neglecting your health like this." There was a genuine flicker of concern in her eyes. I saw it, but for the first time, it didn't do anything to me.

I didn't feel the usual rush of gratitude or the desperate urge to make her happy. I just felt a profound, exhausting emptiness. "Let’s break up," I said.

Viola’s hand froze midair as she reached for the soup container. The plastic lid rattled, and a few drops spilled onto the table.

Her eyes darkened with immediate irritation, but she quickly smoothed her expression back into her usual, cool mask. "And your reason?" It felt like punching a wall of wet clay.

There was no impact, no reaction, just a slow, suffocating drag. I shook my head and closed my eyes. "I’m tired. Is that enough of a reason?" At work, I was her subordinate.

At home, I was her subordinate. Even here, in a hospital bed, I was being lectured. All I wanted was a simple, quiet gesture of care. Why was that so impossible for her to give me?

She seemed to have no trouble giving it to Chase. 4.

Viola’s breath caught, the first real crack appearing on her stony face. "Connor, have I been too lenient with you?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave. "Your temper has only gotten worse over the years.

You could really learn a thing or two from Chase's maturity." The exhaustion settled deep into my bones. I didn't want to argue anymore.

I rolled over, pulling the hospital blanket over my shoulders and turning my back to her. Chase, Chase, always Chase. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard the sharp scrape of the plastic container hitting the metal trash can, followed by the heavy, echoing slam of the hospital door.

I kept my eyes shut tight, but the tears leaked out anyway, soaking into the stiff hospital pillow.

I gripped the sheets until my fingers cramped, the metallic taste of blood on my tongue.

By the time I was discharged three days later, the office gossip mill had already spun a web of rumors. "Do you think Connor is trying to climb his way up through Viola?" "I wouldn't doubt it.

Chase looked like he’d been crying all last week. I bet Connor did something to him." "Everyone knows Viola and Chase are basically together.

Connor is just trying to insert himself where he doesn't belong." "Some people will do anything for a promotion." The whispers followed me down the hallways.

I did my best to ignore them, but when I walked into the breakroom and heard Derek say, "Honestly, who knows how many wealthy women he’s had to crawl after," something inside me snapped.

I didn't think. I just lunged forward and slapped him hard across the face. We ended up on the floor, tearing at each other’s clothes, a chaotic mess of fists and anger.

By the time Viola arrived, my collar was torn, my cheek was bruised, and a thin trickle of blood was running from the corner of my mouth.

I tried to pull myself up to go after him again, but Viola’s voice cut through the room like ice. "Enough!" She stepped between us, her eyes blazing. "Connor!

Instigating a physical altercation in the workplace? You’re acting like an animal!" "Apologize. Now." I stared at her, disbelieving.

Then I looked past her shoulder and saw Chase standing there, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. I understood then.

I had hit Chase's close friend, and Viola was here to play the protector.

I let out a harsh, dry laugh, stepped around her, and delivered another hard slap to Derek's face before anyone could stop me. "Connor!" "Connor, stop!

How can you do this right in front of Viola?" Chase cried, his voice trembling as he stepped forward.

Viola’s brow furrowed so deeply her eyes were almost hidden in shadow. "Unprovoked violence?" I asked, staring directly at her. "Is that what you think this is?" "Am I wrong?" she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, freezing register. "If Chase hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known how arrogant and hostile you’ve been acting in this office." "You will apologize to Derek immediately.

Then you will write a threethousandword formal apology and post it to the entire company channel. If this happens again, you’re fired." I clenched my fists, my eyes burning.

My chest felt so tight I could barely draw breath. Every single time there was a conflict, she stood on the other side of the line. She was always my judge, never my partner.

Because when Chase was involved, her loyalty was absolute and unconditional. "Viola," I whispered, my voice shaking with a mix of rage and grief. "Are you really that certain I’m the one in the wrong?" "Your credibility with me is zero, Connor." Her face was entirely devoid of warmth. "You know exactly what you did.

I won’t ask you again. Apologize." A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. The tears spilled over, hot and fast.

The very last shred of hope I had held for her—the tiny, stupid hope that she might actually care about me—withered and died. I should have known. I had always known.

A flicker of hesitation passed through Viola’s eyes, her fingers twitching at her side, but it was too late. I raised my hand and slapped Viola across the face.

The breakroom fell into absolute, deafening silence. Chase went pale. "Connor... how could you hit her?" I didn't look at him.

I watched Viola as she slowly turned her head back to face me, her cheek reddening.

I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand and let out a cold, quiet laugh. "We’re done, Viola." "I’m leaving the company. And I’m leaving you."