The Bet Behind My Five-Year Love Story Chapter 03

The Bet Behind My Five-Year Love Story Chapter 03

His face darkened, and he spoke with irritation: “We all said it was a joke. You keep dragging it up—what’s the point?”

“Can’t you learn from your sister? Be a little more open-minded. Stop brooding all the time.”

Same old line.

I’d said it before—more than once. I’d cried and begged him, Can’t you just be a little nicer to me?

He’d just laughed. “You’re jealous of your own sister? You’re the one who told me to take care of her.”

He called it loving me by extension.

The joke was, he couldn’t even come up with one thing that proved he loved me.

But this time, I didn’t snap. I just said, quietly, “Before you confessed, I’d been in love with you for three years.”

I’d never told him. I’d recorded a video—all those feelings—to surprise him on our wedding day.

Not anymore.

But I wanted him to know. I wasn’t some cheap win.

I never thought you had to test a love that went both ways.

I imagined he might be shocked, or sorry for me, or even disgusted. I never expected him to blink, look away, and answer in a guilty mumble.

“I know. You used to follow me around back then.”

“My friends bet you liked me. I didn’t pay them any mind. Then we ran into each other at work again.”

“They bet you still liked me. Told me to go after you.”

My eyes went wide. I stared at him like I’d never seen him before.

He hadn’t changed. He’d never really liked me.

What I thought was mutual was just a bet.

It had always been one-sided.

Maybe he saw how pale I’d gone, because his voice softened. “It was just kid stuff. You’re different from anyone else—you fit me. We had five good years, didn’t we? Barely fought.”

Fit.

That was the real reason he was marrying me.

But that fit was just me bending over backward. I had no natural gift for tolerance—I just loved the wrong person.

He reached to ruffle my hair, and I flinched away.

His expression shifted. He lost it. “They’re all just little things! How long are you going to throw a tantrum over nothing?”

“And I even went out of my way to get you a surprise.”

He slammed a necklace onto the coffee table.

I laughed. It was the freebie that came with Chloe’s bracelet.

I dumped the cold soup in the trash.

“Ungrateful,” he muttered, and stormed into the study, slamming the door.

I went to the bedroom.

On the nightstand was our three-person frame—me in the middle, Ethan and Chloe on either side. It looked like they were both looking at me, but if you covered me up, they were clearly staring at each other.

Chloe picked that photo. Ethan put it in the frame.

I gave a bitter smile and took it out.

Then I paused.

There was writing on the back.

“If I’d met you first, would things have turned out different?”

Chloe’s handwriting.

No answer.

But the letters had been smudged—rubbed over and over by someone’s fingers.

Maybe that was the answer.

My phone buzzed. Chloe’s latest post on social media:

Two pictures.