Chapter 1My Fiancée Always Criticizes Me

My girlfriend of ten years, Evelyn, was everyone’s idea of perfect.

Beautiful, capable, successful – her only flaw? She loved tearing me down.

If I got second place instead of first, she’d tell me I wasn't "smart enough."

When I finally earned some money from my writing, she’d dismiss my work as "worthless garbage."

Later, at the suit shop, when Evelyn criticized my posture, saying I didn't look like a groom in the suit, I finally snapped. For the first time, I yelled at her: "If you think I'm not good enough, then don't marry me!"

At the suit shop, when I walked out of the fitting room, even strangers nearby couldn't help but steal glances.

The sales associate smiled. "You have a great build. This suit looks really sharp on you."

"Go show your fiancée! She'll definitely love it."

I forced a smile. "Not necessarily. Her standards are pretty sky-high."

After all, for over ten years, Evelyn had always had high expectations for me, never once praising me.

But today, looking at myself in the mirror—broad shoulders, long legs, a lean build—this dark suit suited me perfectly.

I thought, Evelyn should be pleased, right?

Would she praise me? Would she think I looked handsome? Would she gaze at me with admiration, like the other fiancées in the store looked at their partners?

With that hopeful expectation, I nervously reached for Evelyn's wrist.

The next moment, however, my hopes were mercilessly crushed.

Evelyn turned, scanning me up and down. Her first words were: "Leo, your shoulders are too slouched."

My smile froze on my face. Even the sales associate looked a bit flustered.

"Your back isn't straight, your posture is terrible, your presence is timid. You look completely uninspired in that."

Evelyn sighed. "Leo, in that suit, you really don't look like a groom at all."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was just enough for everyone in the store to hear.

All sorts of eyes landed on me: pitying, mocking, or just plain entertained.

In that moment, I felt like nothing more than an item being scrutinized by Evelyn, not a person.

My eyes burned. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.

I’d hit the gym every day and done posture exercises, just like Evelyn wanted, all to look more distinguished at the wedding.

Why did she still have to say such things to me?

Maybe days of accumulated stress had left me emotionally fragile, or maybe the feeling of dashed hopes was just unbearable.

Either way, after ten years, I couldn't take it anymore.

I ripped off my tie. For the first time, I yelled at her: "Evelyn, if you think I'm not good enough, then don't marry me!"

"Yes, I don't look like a groom, so this wedding? It's off!"

As Evelyn stared, stunned, I took a deep breath and finally said the words that had echoed in my mind countless times:

"Evelyn, let's break up."