Out of sight, out of mind.
I retreated to my room, burying myself in work.
A knock on the door.
Qiana, a mango pudding in hand, stood there, beaming.
Her captivating almond eyes sparkled, a few flecks of yellow pudding dusting her pretty face.
“Lanie, the party’s hopping downstairs. Come join the fun!”
I saw right through her feigned enthusiasm.
“I’ve got work to
Ha
fun,”
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I said, my tone flar
Suddenly, tears welled in Qiana’s eyes.
She looked utterly
wronged.
Is
that why you’re rejecting me?”
“Lanie, do you hate me?
I frowned.
I hadn’t done anything!
How could she play the victim?
*Seriously? I thought, my patience wearing thin.
“Save that act for Ethan and Mason. It won’t work on me.”
I started to close the door.
“Lanie, please…”
Qiana lunged, trying to stop the door.
Her hand got caught in the jamb.
Her fingers instantly turned red and purple.
She gasped in pain.
“Ouch!”
Ethan and Mason, were coming upstairs.
They saw the scene.
Both men rushed to her side, tending to her injured hand, their faces etched with concern. Mason’s eyes were practically red–rimmed seeing Qiana’s hurt hand.
His usually blunt personality flared.
“Lanie, if you don’t like Qiana, just say it! Why would you do something so low? What’s gotten into you?”
Ethan, usually reserved, looked disappointed.
“Lanie, it’s Qiana’s birthday. You shouldn’t have done that.”
But when he looked at Qiana, his voice softened.
“Qiana, does it hurt? Let’s get you some ointment.”
With Ethan tending to her, Mason quickly followed, soothing her.
“Qiana, don’t be upset. After the party, I’ll take you for a drive. It’ll cheer you up!”
With both men showering her with attention, Qiana’s face cleared.
“Thank you, Ethan.”
Then, turning to Mason, her eyes still teary, she pleaded, “Mason, don’t ride your motorcycle tonight. It’s dangerous, and I’ll worry.”
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Mason readily agreed.
“Okay, okay, my love. Anything to make you happy!”
Watching them descend the stairs, I felt a strange sense of unreality.
I remembered a time when Ethan and Mason had showered me with that kind of affection.
I was frail as a child, prone to asthma.
Miami’s humidity was terrible for my health.
So, at five, my parents sent me to live with my aunt in sunny California, where she worked as a doctor.
That’s where I met Ethan and Mason, who lived next door.
We grew up together, inseparably.
At seven, they wouldn’t let go of me when they first saw me.
At thirteen, I developed a fondness for a particular soda.
Ethan bought every single can from every store in town.
Mason had his family acquire the soda company, ensuring a lifetime supply just for me.
At seventeen, I was in a car accident.
The car caught fire.
Everyone hesitated, but young Ethan and Mason plunged into the inferno, saving me. The scars on their backs are still visible.
At eighteen, when my health improved and my family pressed me to return to Miami, they begged me not to leave, threatening to follow me even if it meant abandoning everything.
For years, they were my protectors, my loyal knights, keeping every other boy at bay. Because of them, I delayed my return to Miami.
But then Qiana arrived and everything changed.
She was my intern.
On her first day, she wouldn’t join the others for lunch.
It happened every day until I found her alone, eating a meager meal of bread and pickled vegetables.
She was from a poor, rural background, struggling to make ends meet in the big city.
As a wealthy heiress, I was shocked.
I felt immense sympathy for her.
I treated her to meals.
I helped her with her work.
I introduced her to Ethan and Mason.
But I didn’t expect that in just three months, she’d systematically replaced me.
Ethan, usually aloof, was now attending noisy parties for Qiana.
Mason, who lived and breathed motorcycles, now listened to Qiana’s every whim.
Things like this had been happening for a month.
Listening to them defend Qiana and condemn me..
I laughed, a bitter, angry sound.
Once, their affections were so blatant, they’d created countless dramatic scenes, practically forcing me to choose between them.
I’d even been tempted, considering choosing one of them.
Now… maybe this arranged marriage wasn’t so bad after all.
I smirked, setting a countdown timer on my phone.
From now on, I wouldn’t interfere in their little triangle.
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3
I shut the door, shoved in my earbuds, blocking out the party’s noise.
I’d decided to move back to Miami, meaning I needed to quit my job.
But I wanted to finish my current projects, to avoid causing any trouble.
I sat by the floor–to–ceiling window, working.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues.
Darkness crept in.
I removed my earbuds, stretching.
Work finally done.
Downstairs was silent.
I absentmindedly opened my phone to unwind.
message from Qiana popped up.
I opened it.
“Why didn’t you like my Instagram post?”
A moment later, another message.
“Sorry, Lanie. I sent that to the wrong person. Don’t be mad!”
I opened her Instagram and wanted to know what she post.
Nine photos.
All showcasing the gifts from Ethan and Mason.
A stunning emerald necklace, easily worth a seven–figure sum, adorned her neck.
To match, Ethan had given her a diamond bracelet.
Sparkling diamonds reflected the light, luxurious and dazzling.
FT
The red sports car, obviously from Mason, was in the background.
The central photo showed Qiana nestled between Ethan and Mason, her arms linked with each of them, a radiant smile on her face.
The caption read:“Yay! I got to be a princess today~”
She’d done this on purpose to provoke a reaction.
In the past, I wouldn’t have been able to handle Qiana’s manipulative behavior, or the fact that Ethan and Mason were lavishing their attention on her, someone they barely knew.
But I was leaving.
It didn’t matter anymore.
I tapped the screen.
A red heart appeared.
From now on, Ethan, Mason, and I were just casual friends.
Qiana could have them.
The next day, I submitted my resignation.
Back home, I gathered our shared photo albums.
Twenty years of memories, countless photos, filling over a dozen thick albums.
Pictures of childhood games, school awards, college trips…
At the very bottom, I found the three–finger grass rings.
We’d made them as kids, mimicking a wedding ceremony.
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Ethan and Mason had both wanted to be my “groom,” almost coming to blows.
I’d run into the yard, plucked some blades of grass, and woven two rings to appease them.
They’d insisted that, when I got married, one of their rings would have to be discarded. I’d blinked and asked, “How do you know I’ll marry one of you?”
They’d both exploded, demanding I choose between them.
The memories were vivid.
But irrelevant now.
One by one, I lit the photos, tossing them into a trash can.
The flames devoured the images, leaving only ashes.
As I reached for the rings, Ethan and Mason arrived, witnessing the scene.
They charged toward me.
Ethan rushed forward, his voice trembling. “What are you doing?”
I glanced at him, calm.“Nothing. These photos are old and mildewed. I’m burning them.”
Mason instinctively lunged for the rings.
I let them slip from my hand, into the fire.
The flames quickly consumed them, leaving no chance for rescue.
Mason tried to grab the burning photos and rings, but the heat forced him back.
“Even if they were mildewed, you didn’t have to burn them! Those were memories!”
He was heartbroken, his eyes welling up.
Ethan stared at the fire, helpless.
I found their reaction almost funny.
They could hurt me repeatedly for Qiana, yet they were this distraught over a few photos.
What if I told them I’d secretly accepted a marriage proposal, planning to leave them forever?
They’d probably lose their minds.
