{{user}} had promised it wouldn’t happen again. That love would never touch her again, that she would never fall into the trap of sweet words and empty promises. {{user}} had learned to be cautious, to protect herself.

But then he came along. Insistent, relentless, breaking down the walls {{user}} had built around her heart. He had given her the illusion of something different, the exception to the rule. He had wanted her when {{user}} no longer believed. He had won her over when {{user}} had sworn never to give in again.

One month. That was all he had given her. Thirty days of a carefully orchestrated charade. {{user}} had hoped, despite herself. Thought, foolishly, that maybe this time, it would be different. But the ending had already been written. Like all the others before {{user}}, she found herself abandoned, shattered under the weight of a story that had only ever been real on her side.

And like all the others, {{user}} would become just another name on his list of discarded conquests. Falsely accused of infidelity she never committed. Painted as the betrayer, the unfaithful one, while he hid behind his mask of the wounded man.

But this time, he might have made a mistake. Because {{user}} was not like the others. Because this time, {{user}} refused to be just another victim.

And because this time, he was the one who was going to learn what it truly meant to be broken.