He Called Me His Charity Case, So I Walked Away

Ethan froze, his eyes casually drifting to the screen. His brows instantly knitted together. "Were you snooping through my messages?" "The notification popped up on its own," I explained calmly, looking straight at him. "So you couldn't just ignore it?" He snatched the tablet and tossed it irritably onto the sofa. "It’s just an inside joke between coworkers. Do you have to be so dramatic?" "Chloe, when are you going to fix this insecure, paranoid attitude of yours?" He stood up, walked to the hallway, grabbed his jacket, and threw it on. "Fine. Since you're not in the mood to listen to reason, I'll give you some space to cool off." "Think about what you did." The front door slammed shut with a heavy thud. I stood in the open kitchen, staring at the half-sliced fish on the cutting board. An overwhelming wave of grievance washed over me. I used to never step foot in the kitchen. When we first got together, Ethan worked himself to the bone for two weeks straight to land a major client, ending up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach ulcer. I stayed by his bedside for half a month, heartbroken to see him ruin his health. To nurse his stomach back to health, I signed up for cooking classes, packing him different homemade lunches every single day. My hands still bore faint scars from learning how to chop and toss pans. Back then, after finishing his meals, he would always show them off on Instagram. He’d brag that I was the best girlfriend in the world and that having me was the greatest blessing of his life. But ever since Amber returned to the country and joined his company... That devotion had turned into "charity work" in his words? Amber was his junior from college. She was young, beautiful, and always wore perfectly tailored pantsuits. She ate low-calorie salads, drank iced Americanos, and talked about funding rounds and project roadmaps. Meanwhile, to take care of Ethan's daily life, I had turned down several job offers. I worked from home as a freelance illustrator, my days revolving around groceries and chores. In his eyes, I had probably become a useless, dowdy housewife who only knew how to make greasy lunches. I silently swept the fish off the cutting board and into the trash, washed my hands, and went to the bedroom. Just as I opened my laptop, a client messaged me, pressing for the first draft of my upcoming art exhibition. I searched my desk, only to realize the flash drive I always kept close by was missing. I hurried to the hallway. Ethan had left in such a rush that he must have scooped up my flash drive along with his car keys. I took a deep breath and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. The background noise was loud, sounding like a bar. "What now?" his tone was incredibly impatient. "I told you I'm out. Can you stop blowing up my phone?" "You took my flash drive," I said, trying my best to stay calm. "My draft is on there. It's very important, and the client needs it tomorrow." There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by Amber's giggling voice. "Ethan, who is that? Is she checking up on you? Chloe keeps such a tight leash on you." Ethan covered the mic slightly, his voice muffled as he spoke to me. "I have the drive. I don't have time to head back right now. Come to the office and grab it tomorrow." With that, he hung up. Listening to the dial tone, I clenched my phone tightly.The next morning, I went to Ethan's office. The receptionist recognized me and let me right in. As I approached the project team's workspace, I heard laughter coming from inside. Ethan was sitting at his desk, and Amber was leaning against a chair next to him, holding a low-cal salad. "This salad is amazing. Low calorie and super tasty." Amber picked up a piece of chicken breast with her fork. "Thanks for having a conscience, Ethan. You saved me from eating those greasy takeouts." Ethan laughed, looking at her with a patience he never showed me. "You're a picky eater. I ran across three blocks to get that for you, so eat up." I stood a short distance away, frozen in place. Just yesterday, he said eating my lunches was "charity work." Today, he gladly ran three blocks to buy another woman a salad. Amber caught sight of me from the corner of her eye. She immediately stood up, her sweet smile flawless. "Oh, Chloe, you're here!" "I'm so sorry. Ethan said your lunches are a bit too heavy and his stomach couldn't take it lately, so I had him join me for salads." "You don't mind, do you?" Her words were laced with needles, making my throat tighten. I ignored her, walked straight up to Ethan, and held out my hand. "Give me my flash drive." The smile on Ethan's face vanished instantly. He casually opened his drawer, rummaged through it, and paused. "The drive is plugged into the computer in the conference room." His tone was indifferent. "Amber was rushing a proposal yesterday. I saw some good references on your drive, so I let her use them." I stared at him in disbelief. "Those are my original drafts! How could you let her use them without my permission?" Amber quickly stepped in, looking innocent. "Chloe, please don't be mad." "Ethan said you just draw for fun at home anyway, and those pieces haven't even been approved yet. I just used them for an internal presentation. I'm not going to sell them or anything." I stared at Ethan. For this exhibition, I had pulled all-nighters for two weeks, revising the drafts dozens of times. My neck hurt so badly I couldn't sleep. Yet, to the man sharing my bed, my hard work was just "drawing for fun"—useless paper he could hand over to make another woman look good. "It's not a big deal," Ethan frowned, standing up to shield Amber. "Amber did it for a major company project. You should be happy your practice sketches actually came in handy." "Don't be so petty." The surrounding coworkers started throwing strange looks our way. Their hushed whispers drifted into my ears. My breathing grew shallow, and my stomach began to ache from not having eaten since yesterday. "Unplug the drive and give it back to me." Ethan's face darkened completely. Seeing this, Amber tried to play peacemaker, tugging at Ethan's sleeve. "Alright, alright, Ethan, don't yell at Chloe." "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'll go unplug it for you right now." She trotted into the conference room in her heels and returned shortly, handing me a silver flash drive. "Here you go, Chloe. Really sorry about that." I took the drive and turned to leave.Back home, without even taking a bite of food, I immediately plugged in the flash drive to send the drafts to my client. The moment I opened the folder, I froze. The source files were completely gone. In their place were a few corrupted temp files and Amber's saved PowerPoint presentation. Panicking, I tried using data recovery software, messing with it for three agonizing hours. In the end, all I recovered was a mess of broken layers and unreadable pixels. Amber hadn't just "borrowed" my work. She had directly edited over my source files, saving over them and corrupting them in the process. Two weeks of hard work, sleepless nights, and physical pain—all destroyed in an instant. At 10 PM, the beep of the smart lock sounded at the door. Ethan walked in carrying a beautifully packaged cake. He set it on the coffee table, speaking to me as if coaxing a spoiled child. "Alright, stop being mad. I was a bit harsh earlier today." "This is your favorite cake. I stood in line for half an hour to get it. Consider it my apology." I looked down at the cake. Inside the clear box was a green matcha crepe cake. I have a severe matcha allergy. Just one bite would cause my neck to break out in hives. We had been together for three whole years, and he couldn't even remember my dietary restrictions. Yet, I clearly remembered that Amber's desk was always stocked with matcha-flavored snacks. "I can't eat this," I said, looking up at him coldly. "Also, Amber ruined my source files." Ethan stopped taking off his coat, turned around, and knitted his brows tightly. "Chloe, are you serious right now?"