Chapter 2The Low-Maintenance Ex Paying Me Back In Full

By the time my plane landed, it was already 7:30 PM.

The tropical air was hot and sticky, completely unlike the chill of the midnight breeze I breathed every night when leaving the office.

In the cab ride toward Atlantis, I kept wondering what I should do when I arrived.

Storm in and yell? Throw a fit? Or pretend nothing happened, smile, and say, "What a coincidence, I'm vacationing here too"?

None of that felt like me.

In my twenty-eight years of life, I was never the type to make a scene.

When Lucas stole my toys as a kid, I didn't make a scene, because doing so only earned me lectures from my parents about being "immature."

When classmates picked on me at school, I didn't make a scene, because it only brought more trouble.

When my boss chewed me out at work, I didn't make a scene, because that would get me fired.

I had become accustomed to swallowing every drop of resentment and pasting on an agreeable smile.

But today was different.

What I couldn't swallow today wasn't mere unfairness. It was four whole years of pure, wasted devotion.

The taxi pulled up to the resort lobby. I paid, stepped out, and walked inside.

The front desk clerk was a young woman who smiled and asked if I had a reservation.

"I'd like to check which room Serena Vance is staying in," I said with an easy smile. "I'm her fiancé. I want to surprise her."

She hesitated for a second, but my calm demeanor seemed completely reassuring. She typed into her system. "Ms. Vance booked an ocean-view suite, Room 1712. Would you like me to ring up?"

"No need, thank you."

I walked into the elevator and pressed 17.

As the doors slid shut, I looked at my reflection in the mirrored wall.

My hair was a mess. Dark purple bags hung under my eyes.

When I dashed out of the house this morning, I hadn't bothered grooming myself; I had only finger-combed my hair.

My jeans were a year old, and the collar of my T-shirt was stretched out from too many washes.

Meanwhile, on Lucas's Instagram, he wore a crisp white linen shirt, his hair styled to perfection, looking radiant and handsome.

I suddenly felt a wave of self-mockery.

No matter what went down today, I was not going to face them looking like a wreck.

The elevator stopped at the tenth floor as someone stepped in.

Using that brief pause, I whipped out my phone and placed a rush delivery order from the luxury mall nearby—some high-end grooming essentials and a fresh designer polo, express delivery in twenty minutes.

The front desk allowed me into a private lounge to freshen up.

I washed my face thoroughly and styled my hair properly. The man in the mirror slowly transformed; the look in his eyes was far calmer and colder than I expected. I put on the brand-new navy polo.

Looking in the mirror, was I missing anything compared to the boy in that Instagram photo?

Nothing at all.

My only flaw had been that I was "too low-maintenance."

The carpet on the seventeenth floor was plush, muffling every step of my leather shoes.

Standing outside Room 1712, I heard laughter coming from within.

Lucas's voice, carrying his signature playful whine: "Serena, rub some sunscreen on my back, please! I can't reach."

Then came Serena's low, relaxed voice: "Why bother with sunscreen now? Let's just stay in the room tonight. I ordered your favorite pasta."

"No way! I want to take pictures by the pool! You have to take good ones of me."

"You look good in anything you wear."

I raised my hand. My knuckles hovered over the doorbell for three seconds.

Then, I pressed it.

The chime echoed inside. I heard rustling, followed by Serena's approaching footsteps.

The door opened.

She was wearing a hotel bathrobe, her hair still damp from the shower. The moment her eyes met mine, her hand froze on the doorknob, as if someone had hit a pause button on her life.

"Ethan?"

Her face displayed an emotion I couldn't quite name—shock, guilt, or sheer panic.

"Surprised?" I asked with a smile.

Her face drained of color. She instinctively glanced back into the room, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"You said you were in a meeting, so I came to join you." I tilted my head, looking past her. "Didn't you say you were with a client? Mind if I come in and sit down?"

"Ethan, listen to me, let me explain—"

"Explain what?"

Lucas's voice drifted from the suite: "Serena, who is it?"

He strolled out from the bedroom, wearing a white designer tee with a plush hotel towel draped over his shoulders.

The moment he saw me, his movements froze solid. The sunny grin on his face faltered beneath a sudden flash of panic.

Yet half a second later, he smiled again.

That familiar, smug, untouchable smile I had seen my entire life.

"Ethan? What are you doing here?" He walked over, naturally linking his arm through Serena's, his tone turning sweet and casual. "Serena was the one who brought me along! She said you were so swamped with work and had no time for her, so she asked me to come keep her company and help her unwind."

He reduced the whole betrayal to a harmless favor.

As if he were merely an attentive little brother lending a helping hand.

I looked into his eyes—eyes that shared seventy percent of my own features. Throughout our lives, he had looked at me with those exact eyes whenever he stole my things, never feeling a shred of remorse.

"Lucas," I said evenly, "didn't you accompany someone to a surgical clinic just last month? Didn't the doctor tell you that you're not supposed to go swimming for at least a month after a procedure?"

Lucas's face turned completely chalk-white.

Serena whipped her head around to stare at him, her eyes widening in horror.

The air was sucked out of the room.

I stood there, taking in their expressions, as countless memories flooded back.

I remembered last month when Lucas suddenly took a week off work; our parents claimed he was helping a friend out of town.

I went to check on him. He had looked pale, but flashed me that bright, sweet smile: "Ethan, you're so busy with work yet you still came to visit me. I'm so touched!"

I remembered how Serena constantly worked late during that period, collapsing into bed the moment she got home. I had assumed her business was struggling, so I even made homemade soup and brought it to her office.

I remembered two weeks ago when Lucas posted an ultrasound report on social media with the caption: My little angel, thank you for finding me. When I commented asking what was going on, he didn't answer, and deleted the post shortly after.

Now, everything made sense.

Lucas's breathing grew ragged. He yanked his arm back from Serena and took a step back. "How... how do you know about that?"

"Lucas, you registered under my name at the clinic," I said quietly. "The day you went in for the procedure, the clinic called 'Lucas's' emergency contact—which rang straight to my phone. The nurse said, 'Mr. Vance, your companion just finished surgery, please come to the recovery room.' I thought one of your friends was in trouble, so I took off work and rushed over. When I got there, I saw you holding hands with someone."

I paused.

"I didn't expose you back then because I wanted to save you some dignity."

"Turns out, you don't even know what dignity means."