Barrage Strategy Guide
Chapter 3
What finally woke me up was a casual afternoon tea between Lauren and her friend.
That day, Lauren had arranged to meet her writer friend at a nearby cafe. As usual, I was bringing her some homemade pastries. Before I reached their booth, I caught her friend’s voice—slightly exaggerated.
“Lauren, your Anthony really is the perfect boyfriend. Treats you like a queen. Honestly, what do you even see in him? No money, no career to speak of.”
Instinctively, I stopped and hid behind a nearby potted plant.
Lauren gave a light laugh—a cold, superior tone I’d never heard from her before.
“Him?” Her voice was lazy. “He’s just a free live-in maid. You think I actually like him? I keep him around because he’s obedient, takes good care of me, and lets me focus on my writing.”
An invisible fist clenched around my heart, stopping it cold.
Her friend let out a low whistle. “Damn, you’ve really got him wrapped around your finger. Has he ever tried to push back?”
“Push back? He wouldn’t dare.” Lauren’s tone dripped with disdain. “He gave up everything for me—his family, his future. Now he’s just a useless nobody. Without me, he couldn’t even afford rent. People like him are pathetic. The worse you treat them, the more they cling to you, thinking it’s love.”
She continued, cool and detached. “Sometimes I deliberately pick fights, tear him down until he’s nothing. And you know what he does? He gets on his knees and apologizes. Tell me, why would I ever give up a servant that useful?”
Everything inside my head snapped.
So my five years of devotion, in her eyes, were just “pathetic.”
All my compromises and sacrifices were nothing but the desperate flailing of a “useless nobody.”
The love I believed in was an elaborate scam she’d designed—a brutal trampling of my dignity.
Like a zombie, I turned and left the cafe.
The pastry box slipped from my hand and hit the ground. The delicate macarons shattered into pieces, just like my heart.
Back in the apartment that still carried her scent, I felt a bone-deep chill. Revulsion, for the first time.
The fortress of love I’d been so proud of was just a cage built from lies and contempt.
And I was the fool who’d willingly locked myself inside.
That night, when Lauren came home, I’d already regained my composure.
She tossed her bag at me as usual. “I’m exhausted. Run me a bath.”
I looked at her, my eyes calm and dead as still water.
“Lauren,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Did you ever love me?”
She paused, then frowned impatiently. “What’s wrong with you now? Why ask something so pointless?”
[He’s starting to act up again—isn’t this a trap question?]
[Lauren, just comfort him! He’s feeling insecure!]
I ignored the bullet comments and kept my eyes locked on her.
My stare made her uneasy. She brushed me off. “Yes, yes, of course I did. Now go run the bath. I’m feeling inspired tonight—I need to write.”
With that, she walked straight into the bedroom.
I stood there, unmoving, for a long time.
The last faint ember in my heart finally went out.
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