Those eyes were ice-cold—a silent warning not to expose anything.

Looking at him like that, the bitterness I'd been choking back finally broke free.

"Miles, don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

The moment I spoke, Stacy whipped around, her face a picture of surprise.

"Oh! So you're not the cleaning lady?"

She paused, as if something had just clicked. "Ah, I get it now. You must be Marilyn Swanson."

I froze, about to ask how she knew my name, when she continued:

"You're always calling Miles, aren't you? I was right there listening the whole time."

"I know all about you two. I know you've had a crush on him for years." She tilted her head, eyes wide with mock innocence. "But I never imagined you'd actually have the nerve to show up at our home."

Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. My ears rang. Everything around me seemed to lose its sound.

So that was why. Every time I'd called Miles, every video chat—he'd always said he was busy, his voice impatient, rushing me to hang up, telling me not to bother him.

Stacy had been right there beside him the entire time.

My chest felt like it was caving in. It took me a long moment to steady myself. I lifted my gaze to Miles and spoke, each word deliberate:

"Miles. Tell her exactly what I am to you."

Even now, some part of me clung to hope.

If he would just admit I was his girlfriend—four years of long-distance—I would treat this as a misunderstanding. I would forgive him.

But all he did was frown. He reached for my arm, trying to push me toward the door, his voice a low hiss:

"Stop making a scene. We can talk outside."

I wrenched my arm free, my eyes burning. "I'm the one making a scene?"

"You're the one who's a coward! You're the one playing both of us! You're the one who lied to me for four years!"

I lost control completely. I swept my arm across the coffee table, sending the matching couple's mugs crashing to the floor. Then I grabbed the couple's pajamas hanging on the wardrobe and hurled them down.

Stacy let out a shriek.

Miles's expression turned thunderous.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me roughly toward the door.

"Marilyn, what the hell are you doing?"

"If there's something you want to say, why can't we talk about it in private? Why did you have to make a scene in front of Stacy?"

I looked at him, unable to hold back any longer, and slapped him across the face.