When I Became Your Yesterday

Athena's POV

The truth hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, leaving my heart pounding against my ribs.

For three years, I thought I knew Calvin inside and out. Student body president, my boyfriend. Every time he said "Athena, you're special," I believed every word.

To celebrate his election as president, I'd booked the entire Twilight Bar—the same place we had our first date. I'd gone to pick up his favorite vanilla cake.

Walking back to the bar, I imagined his face when he saw the cake. Maybe he'd ruffle my hair like always and say, "You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

But the only fool here was me.

Before I even reached the private room, raucous laughter exploded from inside. I froze at the door, my hand still gripping the handle.

Then I heard Calvin's voice. That voice I thought I knew so well now sounded terrifyingly foreign.

"See? Girls like this are such easy marks," he said smugly.

Through the crack in the door, I caught a glimpse of him holding up his phone, followed by someone's whistle: "Damn, you got close enough to capture that mole on her collarbone."

That photo was from my birthday night. I was half-asleep when I felt him kissing my shoulder. I'd mumbled "stop it," thinking it was just intimate affection.

Turns out I was nothing more than a butterfly pinned to his collection board—beautiful, still, and never able to fly away.

"I'll bet ten grand that before graduation, I can get her to voluntarily break off the engagement her family set up and elope with me." Calvin's words pierced my ears like needles.

"Calvin, you're something else," a male voice jeered, "but seriously, does that uncle of yours in London know you're playing these games? Didn't you say last time that he has connections and would help you out after graduation?"

Calvin let out a derisive laugh, his tone casual: "My uncle? He has connections everywhere. One word from him is all I need. As for Athena, she's just a stepping stone for me."

The room erupted in laughter.

"Calvin," a sickeningly sweet female voice chimed in—Marie. She was practically draped over him, her finger tracing circles on his chest, "so when are you planning to come clean to Athena? What if she finds out... that you spend every night at my place? Won't she be upset?"

"Upset?" Calvin scoffed, pulling Marie closer by the waist. "That nerd? Sweet-talk her a little and she melts. Even if she did find out—"

He leaned down and kissed Marie right there in front of everyone.

"I'll just say you were throwing yourself at me. She's so 'kind,' she'll definitely forgive me."

Marie playfully hit his chest with fake shyness: "You're terrible~ It was you who said Athena was too proper, not like me... not as fun."

She paused, her tone taking on a malicious edge: "But honestly, if she found out that the rent money we're using came from her part-time jobs, wouldn't she lose her mind?"

The apartment.

My stomach lurched.

Three months ago, Calvin said he wanted to rent an apartment for studying. I'd just finished a part-time gig and had been saving up for a pair of shoes. But seeing his hopeful expression, I transferred the money to him anyway.

"Think of it as investing in us," I'd said.

He hugged me: "Athena, you're so good to me."

Turns out "our" future already had Marie in it.

"Let her be mad," Calvin swirled his drink, "worst case, we break up. I'm getting sick of her anyway—pretending to be a goody-two-shoes, sitting with her in the library every day. It's exhausting."

Pretending. That word twisted into my heart like a knife.

All those library afternoons, those nights he helped me with calculus, those promises to "study with you until dawn"—all an act.

And I'd been moved to tears for three whole years.

My fingers suddenly went limp. The cake box slipped and crashed to the floor.

"BANG—"

Cream splattered everywhere. White frosting splashed onto my white sneakers, spreading into ugly stains.

I'd worked three part-time jobs to afford these shoes. The first time I wore them for him, he'd said: "You look so wholesome like this. I like it."

Now I finally understood—maybe what he liked was never "wholesome," but "cheap" and "easy to control."

Inside, there was a moment of silence, then someone said "probably just staff," and the laughter resumed.

I didn't push open the door. I didn't demand answers. I didn't even bend down to pick up the shattered cake—the one with "Congratulations to My President" written in sugar icing, now drowning in cream.

I turned around, stepped over the sweet, sticky mess, and walked away without looking back.