We're Over, and You Want Me to Be Jealous?

Everyone said I was too possessive when it came to my girlfriend, Amanda Crane.

When Amanda first started taking photos of her childhood friend, Ian Lewis, I ripped apart all the rolls of film.

When she helped him fix his computer, I called her 100 times in an hour.

And when he called her from the airport, asking her to pick him up because the rain made it impossible to get a cab, I held a knife to my throat. I told her I'd take my own life if she went to him.

Fed up, Amanda shipped me off to a psychiatric hospital that same night.

When I got out, I vanished. Amanda was certain I was hiding somewhere, spying on her and Ian, but I never showed up—until the celebration party for a business project three years later.

Ian put his arm around Amanda and swirled the wine glass he was holding. He shot me a taunting look, remarking, "You used to get so jealous, Steven. I'm sure you no longer mind if Mandy and I drink from the same glass now, right?"

He waited for me to go berserk the way I used to three years ago, but I simply moved the bottle of wine closer to them.

"I don't mind at all, of course. Have as many glasses as you want. It's great to see that your relationship has been progressing so well."

Amanda paused. Her eyes started to redden. She stared fixedly at me and questioned, "Why don't you feel jealous anymore, Steven?"

"You must be joking, Ms. Crane," I said. "As long as the project goes smoothly, who cares if you two drink from the same glass? Even if you set off on your honeymoon right here, right now, I'd be the first to applaud. In fact, I wish you two a lifetime of happiness. May you have lots of children."

The moment I finished speaking, the taunting look on Ian Lewis' face froze. The wine glass he was holding hovered awkwardly midair, and he didn't know whether to withdraw it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Steven," Ian said to me. "Mandy and I are just friends. This was just a joke—"

"Either way, it doesn't matter to me." I smiled and nodded at them. "I sincerely wish you two the best."

The other colleagues around the table exchanged uneasy glances, their cutlery suspended midair as well. It was as if they didn't know what to do with themselves.

"So… Mr. Walsh, are you and Ms. Crane acquainted? It feels like there's some tension in the air."

Amanda Crane had just opened her mouth to speak, but I cut in first with a polite yet distant smile. "Yes. We used to be schoolmates. But now we're simply a client and a service provider—nothing more."

The wineglass slammed hard against the table, making me flinch. Dark red liquid splashed out, staining Amanda's sleeve.

She reached out to grab my wrist. "I'm just your client, huh? Do you get