Betrayal in His Office

My name is Tina Lynn, and my wedding date with Harry Jones is set for next spring. We have known each other for ten years, growing from inexperienced students into colleagues who accompany each other; everyone says we are a perfect match. That day, the company outing was to L Mountain, on the outskirts of the city. The ginkgo forest at the foot of the mountain was glowing golden; I was adjusting my scarf for the camera when, from the corner of my eye, I noticed another girl beside Harry. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, she wore the same beige trench coat as mine, held a camera in her hand, and smiled with a sweet innocence. "Harry, could you please help me take a photo?" The girl's voice held a subtle hint of coquettishness. Harry Jones didn't look back to ask my opinion; he simply took the camera. He stood beneath the ginkgo tree, patiently guiding the girl to adjust her pose. The sunlight fell on his profile—this was the face I had known for ten years, yet at this moment, it felt strangely unfamiliar. I withdrew my gaze, my fingertips turning slightly cold. After the team outing ended, I lay in bed scrolling through social media when a new notification suddenly popped up. It was the girl named Rachel Xavier. She had posted photos of L Mountain, captioned "A lucky day." In the photo, she wore a pink-colored lipstick, her lips curved upward, and that lipstick was the limited edition Harry Jones gave me for my birthday last month. I zoomed in on the photo to confirm it wasn't just a similar shade, but exactly the same one. My chest felt as if something was blocking it, stifling and suffocating. I recalled what Harry said when he gave me the lipstick: "Only you look best in this color." So the so-called "exclusive" was never truly unique. Anxiety crept into my heart quietly, like winding vines. We arranged a dinner with both our parents over the weekend, choosing a well-regarded private kitchen restaurant. The waiter handed me the menu, and Harry Jones naturally took it, then turned to ask me, "Tina, do you eat cilantro?" My hand holding the chopsticks paused, and I was stunned. It's been ten years; since the first meal we shared, I have clearly said I don't eat cilantro and even the smell makes me feel sick. He's remembered for ten years, so why would he suddenly ask such a question? "Have you forgotten?" My voice trembled slightly, barely noticeable. Harry frowned, as if trying to recall: "Oh, I think that's true. I've been very busy lately and got a bit mixed up." At that moment, Rachel Xavier, who was sitting at the next table, suddenly approached, holding a glass of juice. "Harry, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, what a coincidence." She greeted us with effortless poise, and when her gaze settled on me, a subtle smile flickered across her lips. "Rachel? You came here to eat too?" Harry Jones's tone grew noticeably warmer. "Yes, I came with some friends." Rachel said, her eyes scanning the table, "Harry, do you like cilantro too? I absolutely love it; no matter what I eat, I have to add a generous spoonful." Harry Jones smiled and said, "I'm fine, not exactly annoying." I suddenly stood up; the chair scraped harshly against the floor. "Harry, what exactly do you mean?" My voice involuntarily rose, "I don't eat cilantro. You've remembered that for ten years, and now you say you mixed it up? Just because she likes it?" Rachel's smile froze on her face. She looked at Harry with a pained expression, "Harry, did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, Tina, I didn't mean it." "Tina, can you stop being so dramatic?" Harry's expression darkened. "Isn't it just a mention of cilantro? Why such a big deal? Rachel just said it casually." Pretentious? As I looked at the man before me, an overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity washed over me. He stood up for another woman, accusing me of overreacting. Ten years of love, rendered fragile and vulnerable by a dismissive "mixed it up" and a single "pretentious." "Pretentious?" Tears threatened to fall. "Harry Jones, do I even exist in your heart?" "Can you please be a little more mature?" Harry's voice carried impatience. "Our parents are still here; stop making a scene." The parents exchanged uneasy glances. My mother gently tugged my sleeve, urging me to sit. I took a deep breath, suppressing the weight of grievance and anger pressing on my heart. That meal was completely tasteless. After that, Harry Jones and I sank into a cold silence. He offered no explanation, and I refused to reach out first. Until a week later, at the company's department dinner, Rachel Xavier appeared as well.