I Refuse to Be His SecondBest Choice

My boyfriend, Jenson Fuller, and I had planned to have dinner on Valentine's Day to celebrate the winning of a case, but he had to go back to the law firm to work overtime yet again because of a mistake in Ashley Pearson's case file.

I, Denisse Clayton, sat in the corner of the conference room, wearing an uncomfortably tight dress, my hands icecold.

Jenson closed the case file and said in a deep voice, "You've won so many cases. This is the first time for Ashley to handle files for a criminal case. Cut her some slack."

I didn't respond.

The dress was so tight that it made it hard for me to breathe, and the zipper was chafing against my side.

I stood up to ask him to get me a glass of warm water, only to realize he'd already taken Ashley to the archives.

I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Ashley's latest WhatsApp status. "Jenson is personally helping me sort through the case file. Lucky me!"

The photo in the status was a selfie of her holding a coffee, with Jenson standing beside her, pointing to the case file and explaining in detail.

Jenson pointed gently at the statute with incorrect notes made by her, looking incredibly patient.

I pressed my hand to my side and suddenly felt a searing pain from the spot where the zipper had been chafing.

This dress was a gift for winning my case he'd given me.

It was a size small. It was so tight it felt suffocating on me, but it was the perfect size for Ashley.

I suddenly recalled what my professor in college had said, "A defense based on the wrong position can never win, no matter how hard you try."

So I took off the tight dress and submitted my request to transfer to the firm's headquarters in Huvella City.

And I also decided to leave Jenson.

...

As I walked out of the building of the law firm, I checked my phone and saw Ashley had posted something again on her WhatsApp status.

In the photo of the status, she was sitting in the passenger seat of Jenson's car, with a gift box containing a limitededition pen by her side.

The caption read, "Nailed it when I handled files for a criminal case for the first time and got a gift from Jenson! Thank you, Jenson!"

I'd told him three times last month, right before my birthday, that I wanted that pen.

Jenson said it was flashy and impractical, and there was no need to waste money on it.

The spot on my side where the zipper had chafed still hurt; with every step I took, I tugged at the wound, which sent a sharp sting through me.

I hailed a taxi, and the driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Just back from a party, young lady? Why are you all alone?"

I didn't answer; I just gave him the address of the mall.

I wasn't the only one at the law firm.

But as long as Ashley was there, I was always the one left out, as if they were the ones fighting side by side, and I was just an outsider tagging along.

When I arrived at the mall, I headed straight to my usual clothing store.

There, I picked out a wellfitting beige business suit, size medium, that hugged my body comfortably.

The salesclerk asked with a smile, "Ms. Clayton, would you like me to pack this gown you just wore for you?"

I shook my head, my gaze falling on the size small satin gown the clerk was holding.

With rhinestones adorning the neckline and a cinched waist, this dress was just totally not my style.

But when I received it, I'd been happy for quite a while.

Jenson rarely gave me gifts.

He said we were both in the same line of work, so there was no need for such formalities.

Looking back now, perhaps this dress wasn't meant for me from the very beginning.

I tossed the dress into the mall's used clothing donation bin and turned toward the pharmacy.

I bought some iodine solution and bandaids to treat the small injury on my side. By the time I took a taxi back to the apartment Jenson and I shared, it was already eight PM.

A pair of women's flats sat in the entryway, but they weren't mine.

The warm yellow light in the living room was on.

Ashley was curled up on the couch, wrapped in my cashmere blanket, watching a show on a tablet.

Jenson came out of the kitchen holding a glass, his tone very gentle. "Water with glucose in it. Drink it slowly."

When he turned and saw me, he paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "Where have you been? You didn't answer your phone."

He was wearing the plaid apron I'd bought, his tone flat, as if nothing had happened.

He didn't ask why I'd left early or what was going on with me.

He didn't even notice that I'd changed into a different outfit.

Setting down the glass, he explained casually, "Ashley was working late and got low blood sugar, so I brought her home and let her rest for a bit here."

His laptop sat on the coffee table.

The screen was lit, displaying a document that was a timeline of the case he'd concluded for Ashley, with so many annotations in it, even the detailed instructions for crossexamination of each piece of evidence clearly laid out.

I suddenly felt it ironic.

The last time I handled a major case like this, I pulled three allnighters looking for defense arguments.

He'd just glanced at it and told me I should work harder to handle my own cases.

"Denisse, you're back," Ashley called out sweetly, jingling the silver bracelet on her wrist. "This is a gift from Jenson to celebrate my completion of probation and becoming a permanent employee of the firm now. Do you think it's good on me? He's so good to me. Ever since I joined the firm, he always looks out for me."

She said, counting on her fingers. "He helps me revise my opening statement for court; he takes the heat when clients are difficult; even when I make mistakes in my case files, he works overtime with me to fix them. Oh, and last week he even bought me a dress, which was size small, but it was too mature for me, so I didn't take it."

I clenched my fist tightly.

I felt my chest tighten and suffocated.

So the dress he gave me as a reward for winning the case was one Ashley had rejected.

It turned out that his socalled surprise for me was nothing more than something someone else didn't want.

At dinner, I sat across the table from them.

I watched them sitting close together.

Jenson skillfully carved the steak, placing all the tender pieces on Ashley's plate.

Ashley smiled, her eyes crinkling with joy. "Jenson, you really do know about me. You know exactly what I love to eat."

Jenson replied gently, "Of course. We grew up together, and I was your mentor when you first joined the firm. How could I not know your tastes?"

I put down my knife and fork and looked up at him. "Jenson, I'm your girlfriend. And yet you're cutting steak for another woman right in front of me?"

The room fell silent instantly.

Jenson put down his knife and fork as well, his brow furrowed deeply.

"It's just a steak. Do you really have to make a fuss now?" He said, casually tossing some tough pieces of steak onto my plate, his tone impatient. "We were supposed to celebrate with dinner tonight. I took time off to work overtime with you, and you're still not happy about it?"

He said so, but he'd spent the entire evening reviewing Ashley's case files.

I'd booked one of the most famous restaurants for tonight, picked out the champagne, and even worn the gown he'd given me.

But I felt everything I did for tonight was just a joke.

Ashley's eyes welled up with tears; she set down her knife and fork and lowered her head. "Denisse, are you mad at me? I'm sorry. I didn't know you didn't like seeing me with Jenson. I'll leave right now."

As she rose, Jenson immediately pressed his hand on her shoulder, his voice softening considerably. "It's not about you. Just sit down and eat. We've known each other for so many years. What could there possibly be between us? She's just too narrowminded."

Suddenly, the light from the crystal chandelier above felt blinding, stinging my eyes.

I hadn't eaten anything all day, and my stomach was cramping.

For the first time in all these years, I clearly realized that there had always been a barrier between him and me because of the bond they'd shared growing up together.

Ashley was his childhood friend whom he had been protecting as she grew up, the new hire he'd mentored personally, and the classmate in college a year junior to him whom he'd always looked out for.

They understood each other so well that a single glance was enough for them to know what the other was thinking.

No matter how long I fought side by side with him, I could never be as intimate with Jenson as Ashley was.

Watching Jenson soothe Ashley in a soft voice, I felt utterly exhausted.

The feeling of loneliness I'd felt that afternoon, struggling to breathe in that overly tight gown in the conference room, then going alone to buy medicine, suddenly surged up inside me.

I stood up; I'd lost my appetite.

I walked toward the bedroom, leaning slightly forward, and the pain from the injury in my side began to flare up again.

It was only then that Jenson seemed to notice something was wrong with me, and he said to me, "Denisse, what's wrong with your back?"

I didn't turn around; instead, I closed the bedroom door behind me.

I faintly heard Ashley say in a timid voice outside the door. "Jenson, is Denisse angry? It's all my fault. I can't even wash my own bra properly, and I had to bother you to handle the coffee stain on it..."

I paused in my tracks, my gaze falling on the laundry basket in the bathroom.

On top lay a white lace bra and a blouse.

Both of them belonged to Ashley.

Jenson, who was a neat freak to the point of never even touching my clothes, had personally washed Ashley's bra, trying to get the stains out of it.

My stomach suddenly churned violently; I leaned against the sink and retched a few times.

I splashed cold water on my face and barely managed to calm myself.

By the time I'd pulled myself together and stepped out, the living room was empty.

Jenson was standing in the entryway, tying his tie. "I'm taking Ashley home."

He glanced at me, his tone softening slightly. "We'll talk when I get back."

When he returned, he carried a faint scent of gardenia.

That was from Ashley's usual perfume.

He was holding a firstaid kit and sat down beside me, trying to lift my shirt to examine the injury.

I instinctively pulled away.

He paused, his expression darkening. "Denisse, won't you stop making a scene? It's the first time for Ashley to handle files for a criminal case. It's completely normal that she made a few mistakes. Do you really have to be so harsh on her?"

Jenson, my boyfriend, whom I had been with for three years and had worked together on cases, just said those accusatory words that cut deep to me.

I looked at him and suddenly felt it was all so absurd. "You think I was harsh on her?"

"Isn't that exactly what you're doing?" He tugged at his tie irritably. "We just missed our celebratory dinner, and you left without telling me when we were working overtime and sat there with a sour face during dinner. Ashley is sensitive. She cried the whole way home, saying she was afraid you'd be upset with her."

I felt a lump in my throat, and I couldn't get a word out.

When he said he wanted to talk earlier, I'd still held onto a glimmer of hope, thinking he'd ask me why I left and how I got hurt.

But all he talked about was Ashley's grievances.

Everything that had happened all day had been disappointing me, and at that moment, my disappointment finally reached its peak.

I looked away, my tone so calm it betrayed not a hint of emotion. "I understand. It won't happen again."

He froze, as if he hadn't expected me to be so compliant.

Before, whenever we argued over Ashley, I would always stand my ground, only to end up giving in first.

But this time, I didn't even have the strength to argue.

He opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing and just got up and went to the study.

I returned to the bedroom and unlocked my phone.

It was a message just sent by the firm's HR. "Ms. Clayton, your request to transfer to the firm's headquarters in Huvella has been approved. Please report for duty there next Monday."

I'd submitted the request half a month ago.

Back then, I was still hesitating; I just couldn't bring myself to break up like this after three years together.

Now, though, it felt just right.

I began typing a reply to HR. "I'll be reporting for duty on time. Thank you."

I set down my phone, and my gaze fell on the photo of us together on the nightstand.

It was taken on the day I officially joined the firm.

We were standing under the firm's sign; his eyes shining, he told me we'd become top lawyers in the industry together.

I had believed him.

Over the past three years, I'd stood by him through the toughest cases, shared the strongest drinks with him, and been to the courthouse at 4 AM with him.

I'd even stepped in front of him to take the brunt of a client's criticism when the client had tried to give him a hard time.

I placed the photo facedown on the desk and closed my eyes to sleep.

Over the next few days, Jenson and I gave each other the silent treatment.

He left early and came home late, while I was busy with my handover. Though we lived under the same roof, we barely saw each other.

Ashley had been posting frequently on her WhatsApp status lately.

She and Jenson attended hearings in high court together, went to industry cocktail parties together, and had a meal at trendy restaurants together.

Jenson also posted a photo of a female colleague on his WhatsApp status for the first time.

He posted a photo of Ashley standing at the courthouse entrance, with the caption, "Still a newcomer, but her future looks bright."

I stared at the screen, my hands going cold.

I'd won countless court cases, yet he'd never once posted a WhatsApp status about me.

My phone suddenly rang; it was my mom calling. "Denisse, I booked a flight ticket for tomorrow to come visit you. I'd like to talk to you about your marriage with Jenson. It's about time you and Jenson set a wedding date."

I looked at the screenshot of the flight ticket she sent me; it was for a flight tomorrow morning.

I smiled and replied, "Mom, I'll pick you up at the airport tomorrow."

I didn't mention Jenson or the fact that I was about to break up with him.