My Ex-Boyfriend Regretted It After We Broke Up

When my asthma attack hit, Julian was in the center of the ballroom, slow-dancing with his blonde secretary.

My chest tightened, and I struggled to breathe. I fumbled for my inhaler, my vision blurring from the lack of oxygen.

Yet, that man didn't even glance my way. He kept his arm wrapped around her waist, whispering something into her ear that made her giggle.

It was as if I didn't exist.

On the ride home, I opened the glove compartment and found a Tiffany diamond ring box.

Before I could even ask, Julian snatched it away, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

"That isn't for you."

I nodded slowly. I pointed to the bridal boutique coming up on the right.

"Pull over, please."

I had a custom white silk wedding dress waiting for me there. Now that I thought about it, it was time to cancel the order.

...

I had just walked into the store when Julian locked the car and chased after me.

He grabbed a women’s blazer from the car and threw it aggressively at my face.

"Chloe, fix this bad habit of yours. Stop leaving your trash everywhere."

Julian had severe OCD—a typical affliction of the Manhattan elite. He never allowed a single personal item of mine to remain in his car.

I looked at the jacket on the floor and spoke calmly.

"That’s not mine."

Hearing that, his expression softened slightly. He picked up the dusty jacket without a hint of disgust and folded it carefully.

I knew who it belonged to. It was Sienna’s.

Every time Sienna "accidentally" left her lipstick or scarf in his car, Julian and I would end up in a hysterical fight.

But this time, I didn't complain.

I just turned to the sales associate, Clara, and gave her my phone number.

Clara smiled brightly. "Perfect timing! The alterations are done. You two can head to the fitting rooms."

Before I could refuse, Julian, who had just been yelling at me, walked into the men’s changing room with a cold face.

Ten minutes later.

I stood before Julian wearing the dress meant for our church wedding.

He curled his lip in a sneer.

"Tacky. You look like a cheap stripper from Vegas."

I didn't argue. I simply asked Clara to take a photo of me.

Seeing this, Julian looked impatient. He stepped forward, ready to reluctantly put his arm around me for the picture.

Just then, his phone rang.

It was a custom ringtone—a Taylor Swift love song. It was Sienna.

She was crying on the other end. She sobbed that she had lost her favorite vintage blazer.

She said if a kind soul found it and brought it to her Brooklyn apartment, she’d give them anything. Even herself.

Julian hung up. He didn't even change out of his suit. He stormed out of the shop without a backward glance.

I listened to the roar of his Aston Martin fading into the distance.

Then, I picked up the scissors on the counter.

Without hesitation, I shredded the expensive wedding dress into ribbons.

At 1:30 AM.

I was in the apartment, packing my personal belongings into boxes. My phone buzzed.

It was a text from Julian:

[Drinking in SoHo.]

In eight years together, this man rarely reported his whereabouts to me.

I looked at the cleaning gloves on my hands, covered in dust. I didn't reply. I just locked the screen.

I cleared out the last of the trash, took a hot shower, and went to sleep.

When Julian came home hungover the next morning, he bumped into me as I was heading out to throw away a trash bag.

He looked at me with a strange expression.

"Is your phone broken?"

I shook my head. He frowned instinctively.

I knew why he asked.

In the past, if he was out even a little late, I would text and call incessantly, like an anxious housewife.

But last night, his phone had been terrifyingly quiet.

As I was about to step out the door, Julian asked again.

"Chloe, where did that photo of us in Central Park go? The one on the wall."

I looked down at the black trash bag in my hand. Just as I was about to tell him the truth, his Apple Watch buzzed.

He shoved past my shoulder, pressing the voice memo button as he walked inside.

"Don't worry, kiddo. Once the dry cleaners are done with it, I'll bring it over to you."

I heard the shower turn on. I continued downstairs to the dumpster.

On my way back up, my blood sugar dropped.

I walked into the apartment covered in cold sweat. I grabbed a bagel and some cream cheese from the kitchen island.

I took one bite.

Then I heard Julian’s voice, full of resentment.

"Chloe, are you a starving ghost reincarnated?"

He snatched the bagel I had just bitten—along with the plate—and swept it all into the trash can.

I looked at him, my eyes dull.

"I’ve made you breakfast for eight years. Do I not deserve a single bite of the food you bought when I’m having a hypoglycemia attack?"

Julian’s eyes were cold and hard as he adjusted his custom Italian cufflinks.

"You have no manners. Taking without asking is stealing."

He put on his suit jacket and slammed the door as he left.

Facing yet another round of Julian's silent treatment, I subconsciously picked up my phone and opened his Instagram.

He had changed his profile picture.

It was a selfie of Sienna, wearing a cute cat-ear filter.

I liked the photo.

Then, I unfollowed him.