Chapter 2

Ethan and Scarlett had been entangled for seven years, and their breakup was anything but amicable.

I had been living in Ethan's apartment for three years, and Scarlett had been causing trouble for three years.

At first, she secretly made a spare key and, when he wasn't home, stole the dog they had raised together.

Ethan spent three days tracking her down, finally retrieving the dog from a rental in the suburbs.

Later, she attached a miniature device to the bottom of his car. Every time we drove out, the car's GPS would loop the voice message of Ethan confessing his feelings to her from back in the day.

After that, every time she drank, she'd come to our building and cause a huge scene, pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell incessantly, until he came down.

Such was the tangled mess of their love and hate.

Ethan would clench his teeth in anger every time, swearing he'd cut ties with her completely.

Yet he never truly pursued any action against her.

This time, I was the one who got hit.

But she was clinging to him, still sobbing, her face streaked with tears.

Ethan didn't look at me.

He didn't even ask if I was hurt.

He just held her patiently in his arms, comforting her in a soft, low voice:

"There, there, it's okay now. I'm here, stop crying."

"I hate you, Ethan!"

Scarlett clung to him, feigning drunkenness, tearing and biting at him.

Ethan was a severe germaphobe.

He couldn't stand physical contact with others.

Every time I tried to kiss him, he'd turn his head.

Frowning, he'd say, "Chloe, cut it out, it's not hygienic."

But now.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her wet kisses landing on his cheek, his neck, the corner of his lips.

The sounds of her wet kisses were jarring.

He didn't pull away.

Even when she bit his Adam's apple, he only let out a muffled groan and tightened his arms around her.

"Chloe, don't mind her, she's had too much to drink."

He finally spared me a glance.

"You go on back to sleep. I'll take her home."

With that, he lifted her into his arms and turned to leave.

Scarlett lay on his shoulder, her previously closed eyes suddenly opening.

There was no trace of drunkenness in those eyes, only triumph.

She looked over his shoulder at me, a defiant smirk playing on her lips.

As if to say, "See? I won again."

I watched Ethan's retreating figure.

It was strange; he seemed to have lost his light.

I had tried hard to convince myself that for a crazy woman like Scarlett, Ethan felt nothing but disgust.

It wasn't until this moment, watching him carry her away and disappear around the street corner, that I finally understood.

His fondness for her was almost physiological.

It would always override his reason.