He Chose Her for the World Cup. I Chose To Leave

I finally scored the World Cup tickets my fiancé, Louis, had been dying to get. I was thrilled and about to tell him the good news when I overheard his friend talking to him: "Skyler turned down a design gig at Milan Fashion Week just to be with you, and now you’re giving the ticket to Monica? That’s a dick move, man." Louis just chuckled, his tone dismissive. "Watching it with her is boring. You know I’m used to having Monica around for every World Cup." So he had already gotten tickets, and he never planned on taking me. The realization hit me then: for the past twelve years, every single World Cup, he had been by Monica’s side. Every time their team scored, she was the first person he hugged to celebrate. Back then, he would coax me: "Monica and I grew up together. I’m just used to it—she was around long before you were. Don't be mad, okay? Next time, I promise it’ll just be you and me." Suddenly, I just felt exhausted. I tore up the tickets, canceled our marriage registration scheduled for next month, packed my bags, and booked a flight back to my hometown for the very next day. This time, I was the one walking away. Chapter 1 When Louis got home, he casually tossed a thick stack of files onto the living room coffee table. "Monica says this design proposal is really important to her. Do me a favor and finish it up for her." This wasn't the first time he'd asked me to do Monica's work. In the beginning, he would give me pleading looks and whisper all sorts of high-sounding excuses. I never wanted to see him disappointed, so even though it meant pulling several all-nighters, I always agreed. Now, he just expected it as a given. After he spoke, he noticed my open suitcase on the floor and frowned. "Stop packing." "It was Monica’s birthday last month, and her only wish was for me to watch this World Cup with her." "I already promised her." His tone was gentle, but there was absolutely no room for discussion. He was just informing me of the decision. I quietly shoved the documents I had prepared for our marriage registration into the very bottom of my suitcase. We had originally agreed to get married on the 9th of next month, the day after the World Cup ended. Just yesterday, I was happily talking to him about my wedding dress and our invitations. But all of that was shattered by his plan to take Monica to the World Cup. None of it matters now. Thank God I can just walk away, instead of going through a divorce. I kept my eyes down, refusing to look at him. "Four years ago, you swore that for the next World Cup, you’d only go with me." Louis’s brows instantly knit together. A flash of impatience crossed his eyes. "But we’re getting married. We’ve got the rest of our lives together, right?" "Skyler, every time Monica comes up, you lose it. Can you stop being so sensitive? This endless jealousy is exhausting." He was always like this. He would take the time that belonged to me, give it to Monica, and if I got upset, he’d accuse me of being overly sensitive and petty. But after twelve years of compromising, I was exhausted too. "I’m not stopping you. Go find Monica like you always do," I said, my face completely calm. "I don’t need to go with you." The tension in Louis's shoulders instantly vanished. He let out a long breath, a satisfied 'I knew you'd give in' look washing over his face. "I knew you'd understand." He walked over, reaching out to stroke my hair. I turned my head, pulling away from his touch. His hand froze in mid-air, but he didn't seem to care. "Monica’s been under a lot of pressure at work lately, and she’s been really down. I just want to take her out to clear her head," he muttered, almost as if saying it out loud would absolve him of breaking his promise to me. "You stay home and get some rest. Don’t overthink it." Right then, his phone screen lit up. A FaceTime request popped up. The screen flashed Monica’s name, complete with a cheeky heart emoji. Louis’s eyes instantly softened. Before taking his call, he casually tossed out, "Monica said you can just email that work straight to her boss when you're done." "Oh, and don't forget to pack my bags for the World Cup. And iron my shirts, I need them for tomorrow." Like I was just his assistant. He was so used to me taking care of everything, making his life completely effortless. But not this time. I was done being an idiot. Before I could even say no, he walked straight into his study and shut the door behind him. I glanced at the flight confirmation on my phone. Departure time: tomorrow. I was a freelance designer; I could live anywhere. The only reason I stayed in New York was Louis, and now, that reason was gone. Walking past the study door, I heard Monica’s sickly-sweet voice. "Louis, are you really sure you want to go to the World Cup with me? Is Skyler going to be mad at me? If she’s upset, I can just watch it by myself..." "Don't be silly. She's not mad." "Skyler’s been with me for twelve years. She knows how things work, and she can’t leave me anyway. Besides, which World Cup haven't I watched with you? She’s used to it. Don't worry, she won't make a fuss. Just pack your bags, I’m definitely going with you." I stopped in my tracks outside the door. So that was it. From eighteen to thirty. My unreserved devotion, my endless compromises—in his eyes, they were just capital that allowed him to hurt me without consequence. In that moment, the very last shred of affection I had for him evaporated. Chapter 2 I tore the apartment apart, but I couldn't find the necklace my grandmother left me before she died. It was the only memento I had left of her. Forcing down my rising panic, I walked out of the bedroom and looked at Louis. "Did you see the sapphire necklace I kept in my vanity drawer?" Louis was lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He didn't even look up, his tone entirely nonchalant: "Oh, that. Monica was over the other day and thought it was pretty, so I let her borrow it for a few days." My blood instantly ran cold. "When was she at our place?" My voice trembled slightly. I was a neat freak and hated people touching my personal belongings. Louis had explicitly promised me he would never bring anyone back to our apartment. "Last week, when you were out with a client. She got drunk, and I didn't feel right leaving her alone, so I let her crash here." Louis seemed to finally remember his promise and gave me an apologetic, coaxing smile. "I swear, it was just this once." If this were the past, I would have blown up and started a massive fight. But right now, all I could think about was that necklace. I shot him a flat stare, grabbed my car keys without a word, and walked out, slamming the door behind me. Half an hour later, I knocked on the door of Monica’s apartment. She opened it, covering her mouth in exaggerated surprise. "Skyler? What are you doing here?" She stepped aside to let me in, slipping into the kitchen to pour water while quickly tapping away on her phone. I guessed she was texting Louis to tattle on me, but I didn't care. "I’m here to get my necklace," I said, standing in the middle of her living room, my voice ice-cold. Monica walked over with a glass of water and sighed. "Louis is just impossible. He always treats my place like it’s his own." She pointed to an open bottle of whiskey on the counter. "A few days ago, he was in a bad mood and insisted he could only cheer up if he hung out with me. I stayed up talking with him all night, I was exhausted." I spotted one of Louis’s favorite suit jackets draped casually over her sofa. Catching my gaze, Monica rolled her eyes playfully and put on an apologetic face. "Oh, sorry Skyler, I didn’t mean to imply that Louis isn't happy with you." "But honestly, you are a bit too controlling. Louis mentions all the time that being with you makes him feel suffocated..." I just stood there, quietly watching her put on her little show. Seeing I wasn't reacting, Monica looked a bit put out. "Come on in and get it," she said, turning toward her bedroom. I followed her. As we passed the bathroom, the door was half-open. On the sink, lined up perfectly, were two matching toothbrushes and a pair of couple’s towels. "Sorry, it’s a bit messy." Monica followed my line of sight and giggled behind her hand. "Louis crashes here so often, I just got him his own set of stuff. You know how he is—he's picky about his bed and his things." My heart completely hit rock bottom. For the past year, Louis kept saying the company was busy, that he had business trips or overnight meetings at the office. Turns out, all those nights he didn't come home, he was right here in this apartment, using his designated toothbrush, spending the night with Monica. But I didn't freak out or get jealous the way Monica was clearly hoping I would. I just gave a flat, "Okay." My total indifference made the smile freeze on Monica’s face, a flash of frustration crossing her eyes. "Where’s the necklace?" I demanded, staring her down. Monica bit her lip and walked over to an open suitcase by her closet. She crouched down and started digging through it. Right on top of her clothes were several sets of incredibly revealing, sexy lingerie. And scattered right next to them were a few individual condoms, already torn from their box. Monica looked up, meeting my eyes with a suggestive smirk: "Might need these when we go watch the World Cup." Chapter 3 Unfortunately for her, I genuinely did not care what kind of wild nights she and Louis had planned. I looked at her, my voice as steady as ever: "Give me back the necklace." A flash of pure annoyance crossed Monica's eyes. She stood up, begrudgingly walked over to her vanity, and pulled open a drawer. It was stuffed full of expensive jewelry, sparkling under the lights. "Louis bought me all of these." Monica trailed her fingers over a diamond bracelet, her voice dripping with superiority. "He got me this for my birthday the year before last. I thought it was too expensive, but you know what Louis said? He said as long as I like it, he’ll buy it for me." "And this one, he gave me this last year..." Seeing that I was still completely unfazed, she smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Actually, all those holiday gifts he gives you? I picked those out for him." "After all, my place in his heart isn't something just anyone can replace." Looking at her smug, provoking face, my mind drifted back twelve years. It was the first time Louis and I watched the World Cup together at home. He had invited Monica over. They chatted the whole night, while I sat there feeling like an intruder crashing their private date. But I didn't want to make a scene, so I swallowed it all down. That was, until the Argentine team Louis was rooting for scored a goal. Monica excitedly threw herself into his arms and planted a huge kiss on his cheek. Louis caught her naturally, his expression a mix of helplessness and total indulgence. They looked like a real couple. I lost my temper on the spot and kicked Monica out. That night, Louis apologized to me. But from that day forward, he never watched another soccer game with me again. I should have known right then that in Louis's heart, I would never compare to Monica. It's just a shame it took me twelve years to figure it out. I was done watching Monica's one-woman show. My patience had completely run out. "Monica, your bragging means absolutely nothing to me," I said, looking at her coldly. "Since you love recycling trash so much, you can have Louis. Now, give me the necklace!" Monica’s face went through shades of green and white. Gritting her teeth, she dug the sapphire necklace out from the bottom of her jewelry box. "Take it," she snapped, holding it out. Just as my fingers were about to brush the metal, Monica suddenly let go. Crack. The necklace hit the hardwood floor. That brilliant blue sapphire cracked right down the middle, a glaring, ugly fracture ruining it completely. "Oops, my bad." Monica covered her mouth, her tone half-innocent, half-taunting. "My hand slipped. Don't be mad, I'll just have Louis buy you a new one." I stared dead at the broken necklace on the floor. That was the last thing my grandmother left me. The blood rushed to my head, and every ounce of suppression I’d held onto exploded. I raised my hand and slapped Monica across the face as hard as I could. "You did that on purpose!" I screamed. Monica’s head snapped to the side. She let out a shriek, her eyes instantly welling with tears. "Skyler! Are you crazy?!" A furious roar came from behind me. The apartment door was thrown open. Louis barged in and immediately pulled Monica into his arms, shielding her. He glared at me with absolute rage, looking at me like I was a hysterical madwoman. "It’s just a cheap necklace, did you really have to hit her?!" Louis spat, tenderly touching Monica’s red, swollen cheek. I looked at the two of them clinging to each other, my eyes red with fury. I took a step forward, raised my hand, and slapped Louis right across the face with a resounding smack. "Yes, I did!" I screamed at him. "Louis, I regret ever loving you for the last twelve years!" While Louis was still stunned by the blow, I picked up the broken necklace from the floor, turned around, and marched out of the apartment. I could hear Louis angrily shouting behind me, but I didn't even look back. Early the next morning. Sitting in the back of a cab heading to the airport, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Monica. It was an Amazon link for a $19.99 knock-off sapphire necklace. Attached was a taunting message: [So sorry. I guess this cheap piece of junk will have to do as compensation.] Right after, a message from Louis popped up. [You were completely out of line last night! We'll talk when you've calmed down in a few days.] [I'll be back in New York on the 9th of next month, and we'll go get our marriage license then.] Staring at the words on the screen, I actually let out a cold laugh. Louis, I don't care who you watch the World Cup with anymore. And I'm certainly not marrying you. Chapter 4 (Louis’s POV) On the afternoon of the 8th, Louis and Monica arrived back in New York. Sitting in the back of the cab heading into the city, Louis unlocked his phone and opened his chat with Skyler. The last message was from ten days ago—his cold, commanding "we'll go get our marriage license." Skyler hadn't replied. Louis tapped the screen and sent a text: "I'm on my way home. Miss you." Silence. Louis tossed his phone aside, completely unbothered, and rubbed his temples. He and Monica had a great time on their ten-day World Cup trip. As far as he was concerned, Skyler’s little explosion in the apartment was just a woman throwing a tantrum because she felt insecure. Once they went to City Hall tomorrow and got their marriage certificate, everything would go back to normal. He was planning to take Skyler to the South of France for their honeymoon—her favorite place. He knew once she heard the news, she would throw herself into his arms in excitement. He knew Skyler too well. She had loved him for twelve years; there was no way she would actually leave him. All he had to do was lower his head a little and coax her, and she’d come right back to him, as obedient as ever. Sitting next to him, Monica stared out the window, her face dark and miserable. Over the past twelve years, every time Louis brought up marriage, she had managed to talk him out of it with seemingly well-meaning excuses. "Getting married too early ruins your freedom." "Who's going to hang out with me when you're married? I'll be so lonely." In the past, Louis had always reluctantly agreed. But this time, no matter how much she hinted, Louis refused to budge. "We’re thirty now. I can’t make Skyler wait any longer." Louis’s words had been like a needle to Monica's heart. During their ten-day trip, Monica had worn every piece of sexy lingerie she packed. She even knocked on his hotel room door late at night, pretending to be drunk, trying to initiate something. But Louis held his boundary. He just walked her back to her room without a single extra word. Monica was furious. Over the ten days, she had secretly sent Skyler countless provocative texts, even taking photos of Louis while he was asleep and sending them, hoping to mentally break Skyler and force her to call off the wedding. But all those messages vanished into a black hole. Not a single reply. The cab pulled up to their apartment building. Louis pushed the door open, fully expecting to see Skyler’s silhouette bustling around in the kitchen. Instead, the apartment was dead silent. No smell of dinner cooking. No warm lights turned on. Louis changed his shoes, walked into the living room, and casually ran a finger across the coffee table. A thin layer of dust coated his fingertip. Which meant no one had been living in this apartment for the last ten days. "Skyler?" Louis frowned, calling out. Silence. A sudden, inexplicable wave of panic washed over him. Did something happen to her? He immediately pulled out his phone and dialed her number. "Sorry, the number you have dialed is powered off." Louis refused to give up, calling over a dozen times, but he only got the cold, automated voice. Monica, trailing behind him, saw this and couldn't hide the gleam of joy in her eyes. She stepped forward, pretending to comfort him by rubbing his back. "Louis, don't worry too much," Monica purred, feeding the flames. "Skyler’s probably just jealous that we went to the World Cup together. She's throwing a fit and ran away from home just to get your attention. She’s thirty years old, why does she still act like a little girl throwing tantrums?" Hearing this, Louis's frown relaxed slightly. Maybe Monica was right. Skyler just wanted to see him panic. Right then, Monica’s phone started ringing. It was her boss. Monica quickly fixed her expression and answered: "Boss! Is there something..." Before she could finish, her boss’s harsh voice blasted through the speaker: "Monica, don't bother coming into the office. You failed to submit the design proposal on time, and we lost a major client. You're fired."