The Past Is in the Past

I'm rejected after asking for my boyfriend's hand in marriage for the 99th time. To my devastation, he turns and proposes to my best friend.

I storm over to his office to demand an answer, but I hear them making out. My boyfriend says, "Don't worry. She offered herself to me in bed several times, but I've never touched her."

I head home and trash the place. When I run out of strength, I make a call. "I'll marry you, Spencer."

Since the man I chose doesn't love me, I'll now go for someone who does.

My senior, Spencer Salter, spoke with excitement on the phone. He was thrilled that he was able to marry me.

I used to feel the same way about my boyfriend, Zeke Pedersen.

After confirming my relationship with Zeke and moving in together, I had eagerly looked forward to the day we would get married. I loved him deeply, but I also felt insecure.

That was why I foolishly tried to bind him to me through marriage. That was why I insisted, over and over again, that we should get married.

After rejecting me for the 99th time, he turned around and proposed to my best friend instead. Her victory made all my years of effort feel like a joke.

As I leaned against the couch, silent tears streamed down my face.

I remained slumped there until Zeke came home that evening. He pushed open the door, frowned at the mess, and scolded me, "Why is the house such a disaster? With the way you are, what man would want to marry you?"

I slowly moved my gaze to him. I supposed time truly changed people.

When we first moved into our new home, he had said I didn't need to lift a finger to do housework—I only needed to be his happy little princess. Back then, he would even scold me if I tried to carry anything heavy.

Now, he simply took it for granted that household chores were my responsibility.

I said nothing. I got up, walked past him into the master bedroom, and started packing my clothes.

Zeke followed me in, and his body reeked of an overpowering women's perfume. It was the scent my best friend, Brooke Fuller, loved the most.

He simply smirked when he saw me placing my clothes into a suitcase. With his hands in his pockets, he looked at me coldly.

"Running away from home again? What's the point of it? In the end, you'll just come crawling back, looking pathetic. Even if you're not embarrassed, I feel ashamed for you.

"How many times have you thrown tantrums and threatened to break up? Have I ever taken you seriously?

"Heidi Yates, you love me so much that you can't live without me. If you were just a little more obedient, I might have treated you better. But no—you just have to be difficult!"

My hands froze. So, he had always known.

He knew my so-called tantrums were