I've been chasing after Oliver Smith for ten years, and he finally proposed to me.

The night before our engagement party, at around one in the morning, I received a message from an unknown number:

"Oliver's had too much to drink. Please come pick him up."

When I rushed over, I saw Oliver and Mia clinking their glasses in a toast.

A provocatively dressed girl nestled in his arms, flashed me a taunting smile, and said in her sweetest voice,

"Lynn, don't misunderstand. We're just playing a game of Truth or Dare."

Oliver's eyes were full of impatience.

"It's just a bachelor's night, Linda. Stop making a fuss over everything."

I took off the plain silver ring from my middle finger. His smile was mocking.

"You chased after me for ten years and finally got what you wanted. Don't act dramatic. I won't give you a second chance."

But I only whispered,

"Oliver, this is the fifty-first time. I'm tired. Let's break up."

He sneered, throwing the ring into the trash.

I cut off all contact and left his life.

Yet he went mad trying to find the ring again, begging over and over for forgiveness in front of me.

But Oliver, I don't love you anymore.