Too Late for Regret, Liam

Too Late for Regret, Liam

Gavin

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For six years, I believed Liam and I were building a real life together in our Chicago apartment. I always thought our love was solid, unbreakable. One quiet Tuesday night, searching his laptop for a tax document, I stumbled upon a folder simply named "C." Curiosity, that stupid little nudge, made me click. It wasn't finances; it was Chloe. Thousands of photos, her smiling face, and then the "Journal" subfolder. My hands shook as I read devastating entries. The flowers he bought me after my promotion, the romantic trip to Italy, even our engagement-each cherished moment a desperate reaction to a woman he still couldn't let go of. He worried I was pregnant, clearly terrified of being tied to me while Chloe was "still out there." Then Chloe herself started sending me messages, photos of her and Liam, bragging I was just a "placeholder." I heard him tell his best friend he was "stringing me along" to make Chloe jealous. The man I loved saw me only as a prop in his silent play for another woman. How could I have been so blind, so completely fooled? His ring on my finger was never for me. With a cold, hard clarity, I realized my entire relationship was a meticulously crafted lie. I saved every message, every damning photo, and wrote a short note: "We're done." I closed our joint accounts, changed my number, and bought a bus ticket out of Chicago. There was no sadness, just a firm click of a door closing on a life that was never truly mine.

Introduction

For six years, I believed Liam and I were building a real life together in our Chicago apartment.

I always thought our love was solid, unbreakable.

One quiet Tuesday night, searching his laptop for a tax document, I stumbled upon a folder simply named "C."

Curiosity, that stupid little nudge, made me click.

It wasn't finances; it was Chloe.

Thousands of photos, her smiling face, and then the "Journal" subfolder.

My hands shook as I read devastating entries.

The flowers he bought me after my promotion, the romantic trip to Italy, even our engagement-each cherished moment a desperate reaction to a woman he still couldn't let go of.

He worried I was pregnant, clearly terrified of being tied to me while Chloe was "still out there."

Then Chloe herself started sending me messages, photos of her and Liam, bragging I was just a "placeholder."

I heard him tell his best friend he was "stringing me along" to make Chloe jealous.

The man I loved saw me only as a prop in his silent play for another woman.

How could I have been so blind, so completely fooled?

His ring on my finger was never for me.

With a cold, hard clarity, I realized my entire relationship was a meticulously crafted lie.

I saved every message, every damning photo, and wrote a short note: "We're done."

I closed our joint accounts, changed my number, and bought a bus ticket out of Chicago.

There was no sadness, just a firm click of a door closing on a life that was never truly mine.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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