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Celia’s eyes widened in disbelief. She
knew better than anyone how much I
loved Karry. Why else would I have paid
his mother’s medical bills for six years?
Why would I have kept him without
complaint after countless rejections and
cold shoulders?
And now, I was actively trying to get
Celia together with him.
“I’m not joking,” I said seriously. “I
really want to make peace with you. You
don’t have to frame me or something. I
don’t have much time left. I’ll be leaving
Karry soon. Stop seeing me as a rival,
please.”
My sincerity was evident, but Celia
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remained skeptical, wondering if it was a trap. I didn’t care if she believed me; I was
committed to action.
The next day, I stopped Karry as he
was leaving.
“I bought two tickets to tonight’s
concert. Come with me.”
“I’m very busy…” His expression was
cold. I wouldn’t allow him to refuse,
though.
“Our agreement states you can’t
refuse any
of
my requests, remember?”
That single sentence silenced him.
He took the tickets and left in a hurry.
After he left, I called Celia.“Did the
ticket arrive? I gave one to Karry. Make
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sure to dress up nicely tonight and really
connect with him.”
Celia was surprised that I was really
trying to help her. She mumbled a
hesitant agreement. Just as I was about to
hang up, she asked, “Why are you helping
me?”
The question hung in the air. I
thought for a while and then said, “You
don’t need to know. Just do as we agreed.
I’ll help you, and you stop framing me.”
After hanging up, I stared at my
phone, replaying her question in my
mind.
I wasn’t helping Celia. I was helping
myself. Besides, Karry loved her. I was just
accelerating the plot while securing my
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own escape.
As darkness fell, Celia sent me a
series of photos of her and Karry.
In one, Karry had his arm around her,
his eyes filled with the tenderness and
affection I’d never seen when he was
with me. For six years, I’d asked him
countless times to take a photo with me,
but he never did. He’d said he disliked
taking photos. Apparently, that rule didn‘
t apply to the woman he loved.
Scrolling through the photos, one
caught my eye. It was taken in a
restaurant; before Karry was a plate of
peeled shrimp and a mountain of shells.
For six years straight, I’d been the shrimp—
peeling master in this relationship, and
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not once did it cross his mind to return
the damn favor.
This hit me hard. After a long silence,
I typed a message.
“Great. You two look perfect together.”
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