Part 1From Heartbreak to Triumph

When my boyfriend was hospitalized, I hurried to the hospital with a pot of soup, only to overhear a conversation between him and his friend.

"Your first love is back. When are you planning to break up with the person who's been taking her place?

"After you guys break up, can I have a go? I haven't had a woman like her before."

Maxwell didn't rebut him as I expected but instead casually said, "Sure, she's easy to get. Just sweet-talk her a bit, and you'll have her in bed."

That night, I found a secret Twitter account, which recorded his years of lingering feelings for his first love.

I didn't confront him, didn't make a scene. I calmly booked a flight to Peregrinia.

Chapter On the day of our third anniversary, Maxwell Finch sprained his ankle by tripping down the stairs at work.

I rushed to the hospital after getting his call. He explained he'd been in a hurry to meet me at the restaurant, worried I'd be waiting too long, and had missed a step.

So, I took a few days off work to care for him, staying by his side in the hospital.

On the day he was discharged, his good friend, George Martin, came to visit him, so I felt at ease and went home to make soup.

I grabbed the warm thermos of freshly made chicken soup and rushed back to the hospital.

As I approached the ward, the door was slightly ajar, and I overheard their conversation.

George was patting him on the shoulder, trying not to laugh.

"Eleanor's back and you're this happy? You even managed to trip on the stairs rushing to the airport to pick her up."

When I heard the name, Eleanor, my heart skipped a beat.

Eleanor Dashwood had been Maxwell's college friend and the only woman in their close-knit group of four.

She was also Maxwell's first love. They had dated for two years before parting ways when she moved abroad.

Despite their breakup, they were still considered the perfect couple by their friends, and occasionally, the other two guys would joke about how Maxwell should have ended up with Eleanor, not me.

In their eyes, if Eleanor hadn't left, I would have never stood a chance as Maxwell's girlfriend.

He used to defend me when they joked like this.

But this time, perhaps because I wasn't around, Maxwell said nothing.

George continued with his teasing, "Eleanor's back. So, when are you going to kick out her replacement?

"After you break up, can I date her? I've never been with a woman like her before."

Finally, Maxwell looked up, his brow furrowing, and smacked George playfully on the shoulder.

"Eleanor hasn't said anything yet, so why rush?

"Plus, I'm not even fully recovered yet. I'll still need her to take care of me at home."

At that moment, my ears seemed to ring. It felt like a heavy weight had settled over my senses, and the shock quickly gave way to a numb, dazed feeling.

George didn't seem bothered at all. He casually peeled an orange I had bought.

"She seems so sweet, but you always tell me how wild she is in bed.

"I really don't get the contrast."

Though I was holding the warm thermos, it felt as if I had fallen into an icy abyss.

I had never imagined that the boyfriend I had been with for three years could speak about me in such a degrading way behind my back.

Maxwell's voice rang out, cold and indifferent.

"If you want to chase her, go ahead. She's starved for attention and easy to get.

"I just said a few sweet words to her back then, and that's how we ended up in bed."

My breath caught in my throat. A deep, searing pain shot through my chest.

I heard the two of them laughing softly in the room, and I felt a wave of nausea rise in my throat.

I quickly covered my mouth and ran to the bathroom, gagging and crying, the tears streaming down my face.

It hit me then, after three years of loving him, I was nothing more than his first love's substitute.

I had thought maybe he didn't care for me as much, but I never imagined the level of contempt he held for me.

He didn't just love me, and he didn't even regard me as a human being.

To him, I might as well have been the trash on the street.

The fantasy I had built crumbled. I could barely comprehend that the man I had imagined spending my life with was so fundamentally flawed.

Looking back, it made sense. Maxwell's friends could joke openly in front of me about him and other women. How could they possibly respect me behind my back?

Every time they came over, they treated me like a maid, ordering me around.

And Maxwell's failure to stop them from disrespecting me was essentially his approval.

In front of me, he merely pretended to be decent.

I wiped my tears away and threw the chicken soup, which I had spent hours making, into the trash.

At that moment, breaking up with him had never seemed so clear.

When I walked into the room, I had managed to pull myself together.

Upon seeing me empty-handed, Maxwell's face instantly darkened, his displeasure clear.

"Didn't you say you were going to make soup for me? Why did you come back empty-handed?"

George, standing next to him, added, "Yeah, Adeline, Maxwell just told me how thoughtful you are."

With a sly grin, George leaned in and said, "Adeline, you might not even get the chance to cook soup for Maxwell anymore."

I instinctively looked at Maxwell, but he made no move to stop George's comment.

It dawned on me then. Perhaps, with Eleanor back, Maxwell wanted to get rid of me immediately. He wasn't even pretending anymore, or maybe this was his way of giving me a little "punishment" for my defiance.

Chapter