Happy story

Whenever they played Truth or Dare, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Clara would deliberately dare him to pull the same prank on me, and Ronan would always willingly play along: he would pretend to propose to me. The last time, I fell for it. I joyfully held out my hand, but a mechanism inside the ring snapped shut, and I cried out in pain. Ronan and Clara doubled over with laughter, ignoring my finger, which had been pinched purple. Afterward, Ronan pinned me against the wall and swore that this year, he would give me a real proposal. So when his bodyguards brought me to the private club where we first met, I changed into an expensive white silk gown, styled my hair, and applied my most exquisite makeup. I even played the touching scene out in my head, imagining myself nodding and saying yes. But as I pushed open the door to the VIP room, my heart pounding, someone threw a full glass of deep red wine in my face. It streamed down my chin and onto my gown. A woman's laughter erupted from the crowd. "I told you Aurora would show up, didn't I? Ronan, you lose!" Ronan walked over, looking resigned. He gently dabbed at my face with a napkin, his tone as soft as ever. "Dressed up just for me? A shame to ruin a good dress." "Clara dared me to bet on whether you would have the guts to come to our turf tonight. I bet that you would. The wager was this: if you didn't, I'd propose tomorrow. If you came, we'd have to wait another year." "Sorry, baby. Since you showed up, I guess we can't get married this year." The wine trickled down my collarbone, cold and sticky. I shivered. Suddenly, the whole thing felt utterly pointless. Our anniversary meant nothing compared to one of their pranks. Just like me. I could never win against Clara, his childhood sweetheart. I unclasped the simple silver bracelet, the one I'd worn for six years, from my wrist. "This is over. We're breaking up." Chapter 1 Whenever they played Truth or Dare, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Clara would deliberately dare him to pull the same prank on me, and Ronan would always willingly play along: he would pretend to propose to me. The last time, I fell for it. I joyfully held out my hand, but a mechanism inside the ring snapped shut, and I cried out in pain. Ronan and Clara doubled over with laughter, ignoring my finger, which had been pinched purple. Afterward, Ronan pinned me against the wall and swore that this year, he would give me a real proposal. So when his bodyguards brought me to the private club where we first met, I changed into an expensive white silk gown, styled my hair, and applied my most exquisite makeup. I even played the touching scene out in my head, imagining myself nodding and saying yes. But as I pushed open the door to the VIP room, my heart pounding, someone threw a full glass of deep red wine in my face. It streamed down my chin and onto my gown. A woman's laughter erupted from the crowd. "I told you Aurora would show up, didn't I? Ronan, you lose!" Ronan walked over, looking resigned. He gently dabbed at my face with a napkin, his tone as soft as ever. "Dressed up just for me? A shame to ruin a good dress." "Clara dared me to bet on whether you would have the guts to come to our turf tonight. I bet that you would. The wager was this: if you didn't, I'd propose tomorrow. If you came, we'd have to wait another year." "Sorry, baby. Since you showed up, I guess we can't get married this year." I looked into his eyes. After a long moment, I asked him, "Then, do you remember what tomorrow is?" He shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. "Of course. Our sixth anniversary. I couldn't forget that." The wine trickled down my collarbone, cold and sticky. I shivered. Suddenly, the whole thing felt utterly pointless. Our anniversary meant nothing compared to one of their pranks. Just like me. I could never win against Clara, his childhood sweetheart. I unclasped the simple silver bracelet, the one I'd worn for six years, from my wrist. "This is over. We're breaking up." ... The silver bracelet clattered on the cold marble floor. With that single clink, the whole room fell silent. Ronan's smile vanished, his brow furrowing. "Stop throwing a tantrum. It's just a dirty dress. I will help you out of it and wash it for you when we get back to the room." "You know how Clara is. She's been like this since we were kids, and her games used to be much wilder. She was actually going easy on you today." "You usually don't have the nerve to set foot on our turf. Now that you're finally here, don't make my men think my woman doesn't know her place." Clara leaned against the card table, pouting. "Aurora, it was just a simple game. If you can't take a joke, I just won't tease you anymore. What's the point of threatening Ronan with a breakup over every little thing?" "I told you she was too sensitive, but you insisted she come. Now look at the mess you've made." She crossed her arms and dropped into the sofa. All eyes in the room turned to me, unfriendly. It was as if they blamed me for ruining their fun. Clara was the only girl in their circle, the apple of everyone's eye. If she so much as frowned, they all had to fall all over themselves to appease her. Ronan, of course, was no exception. I still remember the first time I met her. She loved Truth or Dare, and each dare was more outrageous than the last. Other people's punishments were to go pick a fight with some punk on the street; when it was my turn, she ordered me to act out our favorite sexual position with Ronan in front of everyone. I only whispered that the dare was crass, and Clara immediately stormed out, red-eyed, slamming the door behind her. The mood in the room soured instantly, and they all rushed out after her, with Ronan leading the pack. That dinner, which was supposed to be my formal introduction to the family, ended with me sitting all alone at the long table. Ronan never mentioned it when he came back, but from then on, if Clara didn't approve, he would never bring me into his circle for any gathering. Even now, though we've been together for six years, very few of his brothers even know me. Now, Ronan was frowning at me. "Aurora, go apologize to Clara." In the past, to stay by his side, to fit into his circle, and to protect his pride in front of his men, I would have swallowed my own pride. I wouldn't have even waited for him to ask; I would have been the first to bow my head. But now, my declaration of a breakup was still less important than Clara simply saying she was "unhappy." It finally clicked. From the very beginning, in Ronan's heart, our relationship had never outweighed his bond with his childhood sweetheart. I picked up the handbag and trench coat I had so carefully chosen to meet his family. Facing the roomful of scrutinizing gazes, I said, word by word, "Ronan, we are completely over. I mean it." I turned around. My heels were unsteady on the slippery floor, but I walked out without a single glance back. Chapter 2 The moment the door closed, Clara's triumphant taunt drifted through the crack: "Aren't you going to chase after that little pet you keep?" Ronan let out a contemptuous scoff. "She's just looking for attention. If I stoop to her level and chase after her, how would that reflect on you?" "She has nothing in this city but me. She's a lot easier to handle than a princess like you." My once-fervent heart was torn to shreds. His words were like salt in a wound, each one cutting deeper than the last. ... The wind on the street was cold. The wine on my gown had turned into a frigid, sticky patch against my skin. I hailed a cab and huddled in the back seat, my mind uncontrollably drifting back six years. Six years ago, on the steps of this very private club, Ronan told me that I was the only one for him in this life. It had actually taken him considerable effort to win me over. I was barely eighteen then, trying to escape my broken home and survive on my own in a strange city. I was extremely insecure and wary of any man who got too close. He pursued me, and I rejected him five times. The sixth time was different. I had just moved into a cheap apartment in the south part of the city. The neighborhood had a notoriously bad reputation for crime. A few local thugs started targeting me, blocking me on the stairwell to demand money, then my phone. Soon, they started leering at me. That's when Ronan appeared. The thugs pulled knives. He took a knife for me, getting a long gash that ran from his elbow to his wrist. Blood dripped from his fingertips to the ground. Later, in the emergency room, as a nurse tended to his wound, he looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Can you just stop being so stubborn and let someone protect you?" "Like me, for instance?" I admit, my heart completely melted. In that moment, I thought I had finally found a harbor where I could anchor my drifting life. He asked me to be his girlfriend that very night, simple and direct, just the way I liked it. After I nodded, this notoriously ruthless man swept me into his arms, so excited he nearly dropped us both. But back then, because I was in his arms, I wasn't afraid at all. The moon was full that night. His promise of love and companionship gave me all the courage I needed and became the sum of all my hopes. But now... I laughed at my own foolishness. The car stopped in front of my apartment building. The warmth of the memory collided with the cold of reality, and I began to tremble. I went upstairs, opened my laptop, and clicked on the resignation letter draft I'd left untouched for days. The cursor hovered over "Send." I took a deep breath and clicked. Cutting ties with the past, it turned out, was as simple as a few keystrokes. You see, Ronan? I'm not so easy to handle after all. But from now on, you won't have to bother. My flight out was scheduled for next week, which didn't leave me much time. Back at the apartment, I took a quick shower, washing away the stench of red wine, and began to pack. I never had much to begin with, and everything I owned fit into two suitcases. At two in the morning, just as I zipped up the last bag and was about to head to a hotel, the front door swung open. Ronan walked in, half-carrying a dead-drunk Clara. She was draped over his shoulder, muttering about wanting fruit. "Ronan, I want one of those fruit platters, the kind cut into little rabbit shapes." Ronan helped her onto the sofa, then turned to me, his tone matter-of-fact. "Aurora, go cut one for her." I froze. He had forgotten. When we had just gotten together, he came home from a party and was violently ill in the bathroom. Worried, I got up in the middle of the night to peel an apple for him, and the blade sliced a shallow cut across my finger. He rushed out of the bathroom and saw what happened. The color drained from his face, his drunkenness vanishing instantly. He pressed on the cut to stop the bleeding, his voice trembling as he apologized over and over. The next day, he locked every knife, peeler, and pair of scissors in the kitchen inside a safe. He had kissed my fingertips and sworn that from then on, he would be the one to cut fruit in our home, that I was never to touch a knife again. For all these years, I really hadn't touched a knife. Even now, next to my dinner plate, there was a custom-made sterling silver butter knife he had ordered just for me. The most laughable part was the small wooden plaque he had made himself, still hanging on the kitchen door. It read: "Kitchen Off-Limits to Aurora." I ripped the plaque off the door and threw it in the trash. And now, he was asking me to go cut a fruit platter for another woman. Vows are the most ridiculous things in this world. "If you want some, cut it yourself," I said, my face a blank mask. I snapped my suitcase shut, pulled up the handle, and headed for the door. "I'm leaving." Only then did he notice the two suitcases. His face darkened, and in a few strides, he blocked the doorway. "Alright, Aurora, that's enough. You have made your point. Are you really packing? I already told you, it was just a game." He reached out to grab my wrist, his grip tight, and pressed me against the door. His breath, smelling of alcohol, fell on my ear, carrying with it the familiar, possessive control he was so used to exerting over me. "Aurora, don't play these childish games." He was convinced I was still throwing a fit about what happened tonight. "I know you want to settle down. I do too. Next year. We'll get married next year for sure, alright?" I stared at him, and in his eyes, which still expected me to soften, I saw the reflection of my last six years. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. "Ronan, haven't I made myself clear? We're broken up, and I will never, ever marry you!" Chapter 3 The slap echoed in the room. Hearing the noise, Clara shot up from the sofa. She stumbled over and backhanded me across the face, the force of it whipping my head to the side. "Who the hell do you think you are? You think you can just hit Ronan whenever you want?" "You should take a good look at yourself and see what you're worth." My cheek was instantly on fire. I instinctively raised my hand to strike back, but Ronan grabbed my wrist and shoved me violently aside. My lower back slammed into the doorknob. A sharp pain shot up my spine to the top of my head, and I sucked in a sharp breath. And he, the first thing he did was pull Clara into his arms. "She's drunk. Why are you picking a fight with her?" "Aurora, just go outside and cool off." He did not even look at me, his hand patting Clara's back in a steady rhythm. "Even this drunk, you're still trying to play the hero." I stared at him, stunned. I watched his nonchalant expression, as if I were just an insignificant outsider, not even worthy of a second glance after being slapped. Clara sobbed into his chest, her shoulders shaking with perfectly timed tremors. Ronan whispered to her, his voice soft, as if coaxing a frightened kitten. All his gentleness was reserved for her. From beginning to end, he never once asked if I was hurt. I used the doorknob to pull myself upright, the spot on my lower back numb with pain. I didn't say another word. I just grabbed my suitcase and walked out alone. In the few dozen seconds it took for the elevator to descend, I started leaving the group chats from Ronan's circle, deleting them one by one. Aside from the pointless prank messages, most were from colleagues asking why I hadn't clocked in for work, or gossiping and teasing me about whether I was already wearing an engagement ring. My heart felt like it was being squeezed tight, a wave of sorrow washing over me. I sent a single, blanket reply: "We broke up." A profound exhaustion immediately washed over me. The notification sounds kept ringing. Some in the group treated it as a post-party joke. Others exclaimed in disbelief, even telling me not to be difficult just because I didn't get a proposal ring. After all, to outsiders, Ronan always presented a calm and elegant facade, a man who could control any situation. A seemingly flawless lover. But what they couldn't see was this: this same man would charter a yacht to stage a fake romantic proposal, all so Clara could have the fun of pressing a loaded Browning to my temple. For our fifth anniversary, he knelt before me with a trick ring given to him by Clara, a ring with a hidden blade that sent me to the clinic for emergency treatment that night, nearly severing the nerves in my right index finger. He did indeed have the power to handle anything, but the person he protected and shielded was never me. In the past, I always deceived myself, filtering out these moments, desperately telling myself that as long as Clara was not involved, he was passionate and generous with me in our private life. Only now, with a clear head, did I see the truth: a relationship like this, even if it led to marriage, would never last. I pulled my lips into a bitter smile, but my fingers, out of habit, swiped open my social media feed. Clara had posted a new update. A nine-photo grid: at an underground shooting range, she was in a black bodysuit holding a gun, with Ronan standing behind her, his hand over hers, helping her adjust her stance. The next photo was from a private poker game, chips piled high, with her sitting by Ronan's leg, smiling without a care in the world. The caption read: "Best day ever." Those were places I had once mentioned wanting to go. Each time, he would smile and stroke my hair, saying those places were too chaotic, not suitable for a girl like me. He said he didn't want me to be tainted by that kind of atmosphere. At the time, I thought he was protecting me, that it was a unique part of his gentleness, so I suppressed all my little fantasies about adventure and excitement from my first love. It was only now, seeing the wild, relaxed smile on his face as he held a cigar between his lips, that I realized it was not that I was unsuitable. It was that he already had someone more suitable to accompany him. The comments below were a flood of "A match made in heaven." Everyone in that circle had liked the post, the number of likes several times higher than when we had first announced our relationship. I was about to lock my screen when a new message popped up. It was from Ronan. "Don't overthink it. I was just taking her out to clear her head. Come back when you've cooled off. She said she wants to apologize to you in person." My brow furrowed. I was just about to type "No need." A package delivery notification popped up at the top of my screen. The delivery address was our apartment. I stared at the line of text for a moment, deciding that some things were better said in person. And the key. I should return it to him as well. It had been six years. A clean break was more dignified for everyone. I changed my clothes, fixed my hair, and took a cab over. The door was unlocked. But as I pushed it open, a pungent, chemical-smelling liquid sprayed into my face, so acrid that tears immediately welled in my eyes. "Surprise! The party's not over! I've been dying to wash that cheap perfume smell off you!" Before I could even open my eyes, Clara lunged at me. She was holding a spray bottle, aiming it right at my face, her smile utterly vicious. A burning pain began to spread across my skin, growing more intense by the second. It was mixed with a searing, agonizing itch, as if a million venomous ants were gnawing at my bones. The pain was so violent it felt like my skin was being peeled from my face. Chapter 4 I shoved her away with all my strength. My hand instinctively went to scratch my face, but the slightest touch sent a wave of skin-crawling pain through me. "Cough... cough... my face, what was that..." Ronan rushed out from the bedroom and froze the moment he saw me. He grabbed Clara's wrist, his voice sharp with fury. "You said you were just going to switch her perfume! How could her face react like this?!" "What the hell are you trying to do?" Clara wrenched her hand free, her face flushed and her lips trembling. "I... I don't know! I just grabbed a random bottle!" "How was I supposed to know she was so delicate? Besides, you were the one complaining a few days ago about how you hated her boring perfume. You basically gave me permission to do it!" The volatile chemical made my body tremble, my skin going numb. My windpipe was swelling rapidly, making each breath feel like swallowing razor blades. "So you were willing to let her apologize to me... Ronan, you don't deserve the dignity of a clean break." I leaned against the wall, trying to make my way to the bathroom to wash my face. But after just two steps, my vision went black. The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was his panicked voice, calling my name, just like he had six years ago when I'd cut my finger. "Aurora—Aurora, don't scare me!" When I opened my eyes again, it was evening. The air was thick with the heavy smell of medical alcohol. The pain on my face and neck was still intense enough to make me wish for death. I vaguely remembered hearing the doctor say, as I was being carried in, that I had suffered a severe allergic reaction to the chemical. The skin on my jaw and right cheek was badly blistered and inflamed, and it would take considerable time and treatment to fully recover. My faint gasp alerted Ronan, who was sitting in the shadows. "Aurora, you're finally awake... you scared me to death. The doctor said you were exposed to a highly acidic chemical and went into anaphylactic shock." He leaned closer, his voice low. "Clara really did want to apologize. You know she has been spoiled since she was a kid. She's arrogant, but she absolutely did not do it on purpose. Stop being difficult. Whatever you want, jewelry, a sports car, just name it." I looked at him. As he eagerly defended her, he never once asked if I was in pain, never mentioned how much I would suffer during the recovery process. It did not even occur to him how agonizing it was for me to endure this burning sensation, or how hard it would be to deal with my swollen face. Everything he said was to absolve his precious childhood sweetheart. His mouth, his heart, they were all full of her. The tears just started falling then, making the inflamed skin on my face burn with an unbearable pain. But in that moment, I couldn't tell which hurt more, my body or my heart. "I'm not angry," I heard myself say. "I just regret it. I should never have said yes to you back then." His body went rigid. He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone lit up on the side table. He glanced down. From the corner of my eye, I saw it was a call from his family's Don. The emotion on his face vanished, replaced by the calm, controlled expression I knew so well. "I'm going to take this outside. You rest. I'll be right back." He walked briskly out of the room. I watched his retreating back and, with a courage I didn't know I possessed, threw off the covers, pulled out my IV, and followed him out on bare feet. In a dim corner of the hallway, I saw him standing with Clara, who was leaning against the wall, smoking. "Alright, cut the act. She's awake. Once she's done with her little drama, it'll be fine." "She's always like this." Clara blew a smoke ring, her expression showing not a shred of guilt. "She can't even handle a little excitement? What if she finds out that you chasing her wasn't some 'love at first sight' bullshit? That it was just because you lost a game of Truth or Dare to me that year." "And that anniversary she's so obsessed with? It was just the deadline for our bet." "She'd go completely insane if she knew all that, wouldn't she?" Ronan's expression hardened, and he snatched the cigarette from her hand. "Shut up! You'd better bury that story and take it to your grave!" In that instant, a roar filled my ears. I couldn't hear anything but a constant, high-pitched ringing. I leaned against the wall, my legs weak, as if my bones were being pulled out one by one. I could barely stand. All the things that had been stuck in my heart for years, things I could never figure out, now had an answer. Why he always chose her over me. Why he said he loved me so much, yet let her hurt me every single time. I had thought he was a man of loyalty and honor, deeply devoted to his family, maybe just lacking a sense of boundaries. I had never dared to imagine that from the very first second we met, everything he had given me was a lie. Even that night I thought was my salvation, his words "you're the only one for me," were just a chip in a bet. It turned out that in their eyes, I was never Ronan's lover. I was just a clown in their game, there for their amusement. In that moment, the self-respect and dignity I had spent six years trying to maintain were torn to shreds. I bit down hard on the back of my hand, forcing back the sob that was about to escape my throat. I had to get out of here. Leave this place, leave this suffocatingly fake world, leave everything that had ever borne his name or been touched by his influence. While no one was looking, I slipped out the back door of the clinic, went back to the hotel, grabbed my luggage, and headed straight for the airport. I paid a hefty fee to change my ticket to the next flight to San Loro City. Just before going through security, my phone screen lit up with a text from Ronan. "The doctor said you need to be under observation. Don't run off. Where are you? I'll come get you." I stared at the urgent message, a bitter laugh escaping me as tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn't reply. One by one, I blocked and deleted his number and the contact information of everyone in his circle. I finally stopped at his contact name. love Ronan. I hit delete. The screen flickered, and the name that had defined my life for the last six years vanished completely. The final boarding call echoed through the terminal. I picked up my bag and walked into the jet bridge without looking back. Now you and Clara can play your games of Truth or Dare all you want.