That D*mn First Love

I told my damn first love that it was over.

I was sick and tired of a relationship that had gone nowhere for the past two years.

“Thanks for everything. I’ll move out by the end of the month.”

“That sounds like you’re saying we’ll never see each other again.”

That was exactly what I had decided.

The more I clung to him, the more regrets I would leave behind.

But even breaking things off refused to go the way I wanted.

“Why don’t you just lock me inside the house so I can’t go anywhere?”

“I want to.”

“……”

“If I could, I would.”

If he intended to marry another woman, he should never have sent me so many mixed signals.

After confusing me in every possible way, he had the nerve to call it a misunderstanding.

Then, one day—

“Don’t trust men. All they ever think about is getting you into bed.”

“What about you? Do you want to sleep with me?”

“Yes.”

The man who had drawn a firm line between us, refusing to take a single step beyond his role as my guardian, finally began to cross it.