He Mocked Me; After I Joined the National Lab He Went Mad

Three days before we were supposed to sign the marriage license, I found out that the prayer tag Ezra James bought for me at the wishing shrine had his female assistant's name written on it, not mine.

I took the tag out to the back courtyard to find him, and instead heard one of his buddies lowering his voice to warn him.

"You're about to get married. You deliberately wrote the wrong name on a prayer tag. If Greta Fox sees this, she's going to come after you."

Ezra just smiled, fiddling with his phone. "I lost a bet to Pearl Harmon. So what if I owe her one lucky-charm prayer tag?"

His assistant piped up from the side, cheeks pink, teasing. "You lost the bet. You promised that this whole month all your favoritism goes to me. No taking it back."

"When the time comes, we'll just explain to Greta that it was a punishment from a murder-mystery game. Totally innocent."

The buddy frowned. "Marriage is no joke. Don't come crying to me later when you regret it."

Ezra let out a scoff. "Relax. She quit her job and I've supported her at home for three years. Who else does she have besides me? Worst case, tomorrow I spend twenty bucks and have a new one written for her."

So that was it. My whole future, my marriage, meant less to him than a punishment from his assistant's little game.

I picked up my phone and sent an email to my old mentor. Professor, that spot you mentioned before, at the national key laboratory, is it still open for me?

...

I held the prayer tag with "Pearl" carved into it and walked toward him, step by step.

"Ezra."

I said it out loud.

The laughing and joking stopped.

Ezra turned and saw me, saw the wooden tag in my hand, and there wasn't a trace of panic on his face.

He came over smiling, took the tag from my hand, didn't even glance at it, and casually tossed it into the trash can beside him.

He took my hand, his voice carrying the same doting tone I'd heard for three years.

"Greta, it's just a formality souvenir. Don't blow a little mood into a matter of principle, okay?"

"Throwing a fit at a time like this isn't rational."

Before I could say anything, he pulled a black velvet box out of his pocket.

The box opened.

In the sunlight, that enormous diamond ring threw off a piercing glare.

It was the one he'd talked about for so long, custom-made by a Belgian designer.

He dropped to one knee, looked up at me, his eyes full of devotion.

"This is the real thing. The tag is fake."

"Stop letting your mind run wild, hmm?"

Behind him, his buddies started cheering, whistling.

"Marry him! Marry him!"

Pearl was standing in the crowd too, hands pressed together, eyes bright as she looked at me, her voice innocent and thrilled.

"Greta, you're so lucky! Ezra prepared this surprise for so long. Our whole department is dying of envy!"

That diamond ring was the last shred of hope left in me.

I reached out my hand.

The smile at the corner of Ezra's mouth deepened. He picked up the ring, ready to slide it onto my ring finger.

Just then, my eyes fell on the inside of the band.

There was a line of English letters engraved in flowing script.

It wasn't the "S&X" we'd agreed on, for Ezra and Greta.

It was "S&Y."

Ezra and Pearl.

My mind went blank with a ringing hum.

Last week, Pearl had posted a hand-drawn ring design on her feed, captioned: "Dream Ring! Hoping that one day I'll have a ring engraved with the first letters of my name and his~"

The design in the picture was that same flowing "S&Y."

Ezra followed my gaze, and his smile froze for an instant.

He recovered right away and, without a word, tried to push the ring onto my hand.

"The factory engraved it wrong. I'll take it back and have them fix it. Small problem."

His movements were a little frantic, trying to cover up that moment of awkwardness and guilt.

I didn't let him get his way.

I lifted that cold ring out of the box myself.

Then I set it gently in his warm palm.

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, Ezra's buddy was still smoothing things over. "Hey, Greta's really upset. Ezra, go make it up to her, quick!"

Pearl's voice came out choked with tears. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't bet with Ezra... Greta, please don't misunderstand..."

For the first time, Ezra's voice carried a note of irritation.

"Enough. All of you, stop talking."

I didn't stop for a single step.

Late that night, a cramp twisted through my lower belly.

I rolled off the bed and curled up on the carpet, my nightgown soaked through with cold sweat.

Acute gastroenteritis. It had finally caught up with me.

With shaking hands, I dialed Ezra.

It rang for a long time before he picked up.

On the other end came deafening music and a wall of noise.

"Hello?" His voice was thick with impatience. "I'm out with a client, going over a project. What is it?"

"I... my stomach hurts..."

The pain was so bad I could barely finish a sentence.

"You're sick. Go find some medicine, or order some for delivery. This is really important right now. Hanging up."

The line went dead, clean and quick.

I stared at the black phone screen, my own pale, wrecked face reflected back at me.

I pushed myself up against the wall and called for an ambulance myself.

The emergency room reeked of disinfectant.

Cold fluid crept down the IV line, dripping into me bit by bit.

I lay on the bed in the observation room, drifting in and out.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, I heard a familiar laugh coming from the VIP room next door.

It was Ezra.

His voice was low, gentle in that way you'd use to coax a child.

"Okay, okay, you just twisted your ankle, the bone's fine. Stop crying. Look at you, all swollen up like a little piglet's foot."

Then a woman's voice, thick with tears and a whining, coaxing lilt.

"Ezra, you're the best... good thing you got here fast, or I'd have been all alone at the office, hurting so bad, scared out of my mind..."

It was Pearl.

A nurse pushed a cart past my bed, and I caught her sleeve.

"Excuse me, the room next door... what's the patient in for?"

The nurse made a face, the look of someone who'd seen it all.

"A young woman twisted her ankle on the stairs at her office. Her boss was beside himself, carried her in himself, ran a bunch of red lights on the way. Booked her a specialist, got a CT scan, practically had us call the hospital director in for a consult." She shook her head. "We thought it was a fracture. Turned out to be a mild sprain."

She walked off, still shaking her head.

My heart sank.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Ezra.

"Baby, still tied up here, can't get away. Be a good girl on your own. Love you."

A little kissing emoji trailed after it.

I opened his feed.

Ten minutes ago, Ezra had posted something set to a group only I could see.

"Our little trooper works too hard. Sprained her ankle and still won't stop. She's earned a real reward."

The photo showed him in the VIP room, carefully icing Pearl's ankle.

His head was bent, expression focused.

Her foot rested on his knee, her other hand holding up a phone to snap a selfie of the two of them.

She was flashing a peace sign at the camera, grinning wide and pleased with herself.

Quietly, I screenshotted that post, along with the message he'd sent me.

Just then, the phone buzzed again.

A new email.

From my mentor.

"Greta, welcome back. Your spot has been waiting for you this whole time. Monday, the national key laboratory. We'll be expecting you."

I read that last line, and the tears fell without warning.

I sat up sharply and pulled the needle from my hand.

A bead of blood welled at the puncture point, but I couldn't feel it.

"Hey, what are you doing! Your IV isn't finished!"

The nurse's alarmed cry rose behind me.

I walked straight to the nurses' station and checked myself out.

Smiling, I said to the nurse:

"Could you do me a favor? When the gentleman in the VIP room next door leaves, remind him that his girlfriend's bed fee over here in the general ward hasn't been settled."

"Just leave the bill on his table. Thank you."

I didn't look back to see the nurse's stunned face. I walked straight out of the hospital.

Three days later came the third anniversary of the day we'd gotten together.

Maybe what had happened at the hospital left him feeling guilty, because Ezra, wanting to "make it up to me," went out of his way to be attentive.

He booked out the French restaurant where we'd had our first date, the entire rooftop terrace, and said tonight belonged to just the two of us.

That afternoon a courier delivered a box. Inside was a new white gown from my favorite designer label.

Then a message came through: "Take a hot bath, do your makeup, make yourself gorgeous. Tonight, my queen."

I looked at myself in the mirror, my makeup done just so, at that pure white gown, and the last bit of resentment and leftover love in me was still putting up its dying struggle.

I went to the restaurant.

At the door, the manager greeted me himself and led me up to the terrace.

Soft lighting, the lilt of a violin, the city's night skyline under a sky full of stars.

Ezra stood there in a crisp suit, already waiting.

When he saw me, his eyes brightened and he rose to greet me.

Then I saw the person sitting beside him.

A girl in the same white gown.

It was Pearl.

She saw me too, and her face took on a startled, flustered look as she quickly stood.

"Greta..."

Ezra came over fast, took my hand, an apologetic smile on his face.

"Baby, let me explain. Pearl pulled an all-nighter for a project and just finished. She had nowhere to eat. I figured we're all like family, so I brought her along. You don't mind, right?"

His words shut down every reaction I might have had.

Pearl came over timidly too and tugged at the hem of Ezra's jacket.

"Ezra, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was your anniversary today... Maybe I should just go, I can grab something quick on my own."

As she spoke, her eyes went red.

Ezra caught her arm at once.

"Go where? Sit down. I said you're like family. Greta's the most generous person there is, aren't you, baby?"

He turned to look at me, and in his eyes was a pressure that left no room for refusal.

He pressed down on my shoulders and sat me in the head seat.

He slid the menu in front of me. "See what you feel like eating."

I opened it, and before I could even look, I saw the dishes had already been marked off in pencil.

Australian lobster, French baked escargot, pan-seared foie gras...

All seafood and organ meats, every one of them something I was allergic to and couldn't so much as touch.

And every one of them was food Pearl had posted about, the things she'd called "the loves of my life."

Under the table, my hand slowly tightened.

The dishes came out one by one.

Ezra and Pearl chatted about funny things at the company, laughing now and then.

Every so often he'd remember and put a bite of greens into my bowl.

"Eat more vegetables. You've gotten thin lately."

I felt like an extra, an intruder who'd wandered into someone else's private world for two.

At last a waiter wheeled over an elegant anniversary cake.

Across the top, written in chocolate: Happy Anniversary, S&X.

Ezra lit the candles, then smiled and said to Pearl,

"Come on, our little hero, you did the most work today, so you make this wish for us."

He pushed the cake in front of her.

Pearl glanced at Ezra, overwhelmed by the honor, then stole a careful look at me.

Then she closed her eyes, pressed her palms together, and made a wish.

When she opened them, she smiled with all that innocence and said,

"My wish is to get to spend the anniversary with you, Ezra, and with Greta, every single year."

I looked at the absurd scene in front of me and laughed.

I picked up the very expensive bottle of Romane-Conti on the table.

Over that elegant cake with our initials on it, I poured the red wine down, slow.

The wine soaked through the cream and ruined the words "Happy Anniversary."

The smiles froze on Ezra's and Pearl's faces.

The whole terrace went dead silent.

I set the bottle down, stood, and looked at Ezra.

"Ezra," I said quietly. "I wish you both... a long and happy life together."

I turned to leave.

That was when Ezra finally panicked.

He grabbed my wrist.

"Greta, are you done making a scene!"

It was the first time in three years he'd ever raised his voice at me.

His face was full of the fury and shame of a man who'd just been humiliated in public.

He hauled me out of the restaurant and shoved me into the passenger seat.

The car door slammed shut with a violent crash.

He started the car without a word and drove home fast the whole way.

When we got there, he dragged me out of the car and pushed me into the living room.

Then he locked me hard against his chest, chin pressed to the top of my head.

The anger drained out of him, and his voice softened, tired.

"I was wrong, Greta. I really was wrong."

"It's just, Pearl's a young girl, fresh out of school, all alone trying to make it in a big city. I felt sorry for her, that's all. So I looked out for her a little more."

"There's really nothing between me and her. I swear."

"Don't be angry anymore. Let's go register the marriage. Tomorrow, first thing. Okay?"

I leaned against his chest, not moving.

Just then his phone rang.

The shrill ringtone cut through this brief, counterfeit warmth.

He glanced at the screen. It was his mother.

He hit the speaker button, wanting her to talk me down.

On the other end came his mother's voice, kind as ever.

"Ezra, honey, how are things with you and Greta? Have you made up?"

"Mom, help me talk to her..."

"Oh," Ezra's mother sighed. "I just finished talking with that Pearl. She's really a lovely girl. Well-mannered, sensible."

Ezra's face changed in an instant, and he scrambled to hang up.

But his mother's voice still came through the receiver, perfectly clear.

"Pearl told me Greta had some kind of surgery a while back, hurt her body, and the doctor said... it'd be hard for her to get pregnant?"

"Ezra, the James line has been an only son for three generations. We can't be left without an heir."

"This thing with you and Greta, why don't you... give it some more thought?"

Every drop of blood in me froze in that instant.

This was the deepest pain and secret I kept buried in my heart.

Years ago, because of an accident, I'd had surgery, and the doctor said my chances of conceiving were lower than most women's.

I had told this to one person only. Ezra.

I'd told him because I wanted him to know all of my past. The good and the bad.

And he had taken my honesty and treated it as leverage to be tossed aside whenever it suited him.

To make his own betrayal look reasonable.

To give himself a respectable excuse for wanting to trade me in.

He took my deepest scar and used it as proof that I was "defective," and he handed it to his family, handed it to that assistant circling like a vulture.

I could no longer feel any warmth in his arms.

I didn't look at him again. With all the strength I had, I pushed him away.

I stood up straight, calm, and looked at him with cold, unfamiliar eyes, and said each word slowly and clearly:

"Ezra, you're truly filthy."

Then I turned, and step by step, without looking back, I walked out into the rain.

I flagged down a taxi at the roadside and headed straight for the airport.