Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"The elders restored the engagement," he added. "My hands are tied."

*Two months ago.*

No wonder he vanished on my birthday without a single text. No wonder he suddenly started posting photos for a week straight—shots taken from low angles, featuring a smile brighter than anything he'd ever given me.

He had been with Julia Fox.

I turned toward the window. The city blurred past. I didn't say another word.

That night, I slept on the very edge of the bed, leaving a vast, cold expanse between us.

When Matthew finished his shower, he reached for me out of habit, leaning in for a goodnight kiss.

I turned my face away.

His frown deepened. He pulled me forcefully into his arms. "What? Still mad? I told you—I won't let her find out about you."

My eyes burned as I looked up at him. "So you expect me to be your dirty little secret for the rest of my life?"

Matthew froze. His thumb brushed my cheek, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Don't make it sound so ugly, baby."

He hooked my legs around his waist. His lips grazed the tip of my nose. "Can you really bear to leave me? Or was last night not enough for you?"

It was always like this.

Every time I needed emotional reassurance, he answered with sex. He drowned my questions in pleasure until I forgot to ask them.

Five years. He had monopolized five years of my life. My entire world revolved around him. Walking away felt like tearing off a limb.

But staying meant losing myself completely.

*It has to end.*

He kissed me fiercely, his hands skilled and demanding. I closed my eyes. A single tear traced a path into my hair.

*Fine.* Tonight would be the funeral for my wasted youth.

---

The next morning, the other side of the bed was cold.

I didn't know when Matthew had finally stopped, but the dark circles under my eyes required three layers of concealer to hide.

I arrived at the office and walked straight to Manager Swanson's office, placing my transfer application on his desk.

On my way back, Valerie Dickerson stepped out of the break room. She spotted me from down the hall, eyebrows shooting up. She adjusted her grip on her coffee cup.

And deliberately veered into my path.

I didn't react in time. We collided.

Scalding coffee splashed across my blouse and skirt.

"Oops! Sorry!" Valerie swatted at my skirt, her hands only spreading the stain further, grinding the hot liquid into my skin. Her voice dripped with saccharine insincerity. "You were walking *way* too fast. I didn't do it on purpose."

I slapped her hand away. Between Matthew's betrayal and the burn searing my leg, my patience had evaporated.

"If you're done making coffee, go back to your desk. Why are you lurking in the doorway?"

She inspected her nails, unfazed. "I came in early and forgot to clock in. Is that a crime? Maybe watch where you're going next time."

I stepped around her, fighting the urge to scream, and grabbed my spare clothes from my desk.

The coffee had left angry red burns on my calf.

Bonnie Barber slid her chair over, handing me a tube of ointment and an ice pack. Her voice dropped. "Valerie heard that Daniel Swanson gave you the director spot at the overseas branch. She's been fuming all morning. Posted a bunch of passive-aggressive status updates about you."

"Is that so?"

I checked Valerie's profile.

Blank.

"She blocked me," I said with a shrug, pressing the ice to my leg.

At lunch, I went to the hospital just to be safe. Sitting alone in the sterile white corridor, the weight of everything finally crashed down.

My heart felt like it was filled with lead. Every time my mind drifted to Matthew, a sharp, physical pain pierced my chest.

The automated system called my number three times before I snapped out of it, hastily wiping the moisture from my eyes.

The doctor dressed the burn and prescribed anti-inflammatories.

Just as I finished paying, my phone buzzed. The special ringtone I'd assigned to Matthew.

My heart skipped—a traitorous reflex. I answered the video call quickly, knowing his patience ran thin.

"What?"

On the screen, his face was flushed. His eyes, glassy. Drunk.

"I'm not coming back tonight." His words slurred slightly. "Don't wait up."

The background was chaotic. Thumping bass. Flashing lights. A high-end club.

In five years together, he never told me who he was with or where he went. If I asked, he threatened to break up. I had always walked on eggshells, terrified of losing him.

But today, something in me snapped.

"Where are you right now?" I demanded, enunciating every word.

His brow furrowed. He clicked his tongue. "Don't ask so many questions."

From off-screen, a chorus of male voices jeered.

"Yo, is the sister-in-law checking in?"

"Matthew, you've been hiding her for ages. When do we get to meet her?"

"Yeah, Matt, stop holding out on us."

Then—a hush.

"Shh, shut up. Julia is right here."

My blood froze.

On the screen, Matthew glanced nervously to his side. He lowered the phone, turning away from the camera, but the microphone caught every word.

He leaned toward someone—toward *her*—his voice dropping to a soothing murmur.

"Ignore them. They're talking nonsense. It's just the housekeeper calling about chores."

*The housekeeper.*

He pulled back. Realized the call was still connected.

Hung up.

A moment later, a message popped up.

*Friends just joking around. Don't overthink it.*

Then another.

*Stop asking so many questions when I'm out. It's annoying.*

*Annoying.*

Bitterness coated my tongue like bile, but a laugh bubbled up anyway. Cold. Hollow.

Five years. I ask where he is *twice*, and I'm "annoying."

I finally understood. His secrecy. His lack of consideration. His refusal to acknowledge me. It wasn't just his personality.

He simply didn't love me.

Now that Julia was back, I was nothing more than trash to be discarded.

*Fine.* It took five years, but I finally saw him clearly.

---

When I returned to the office, the application form on Daniel Swanson's desk hadn't moved. The HR rep told me Daniel was out for two days attending a wedding.

I snapped a photo of the form and texted it to him.

Half an hour later, my phone rang.

"Audrey, fill out the digital version and email it to me."

"I sent it this morning, Mr. Swanson."

"Oh, right." He sounded distracted. "Haven't checked my inbox. It's been chaos. Mr. James invited me to an engagement banquet last minute. Completely forgot about work."

*Mr. James... engagement banquet?*

The phone slipped in my sweaty palm. A terrible suspicion took root.

Does he really plan to hide the *entire engagement* from me?

I didn't dare ask Daniel for details. I was afraid the truth would kill the last shred of me still holding on.

"Enjoy the party, sir," I managed to choke out.

I left work and went back to Matthew's villa. Dark. Cold. Empty.

Without him, it wasn't a home. Just a house.

Mechanically, I opened social media. Scrolled mindlessly until my thumb stopped.

Daniel Swanson had posted a video.

*Congratulations to the happy couple.*

In the video, amidst cheering crowds and swelling music, a perfect pair stood center stage. The talented heir and the beautiful heiress.

They exchanged rings.

They kissed deeply—the kind of kiss that promised forever.

When they pulled apart, they gazed at each other with a tenderness Matthew had never, *not once*, shown me.

It was Matthew and Julia.

He wasn't at a club.

He was at his own engagement party.

The video playing on the screen was intimate, warm, and suffocating.

I watched until tears blurred my vision. Until my legs buckled. Until I was kneeling on the cold floor, the audio loop from my phone twisting like a knife between my ribs.

The man in the footage was Matthew James. I knew every line of his face—the slope of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

The woman beside him? That had to be Julia Fox.

Only when my phone battery died and the room plunged into silence did I finally move. I dragged myself to the bathroom and splashed freezing water onto my face, scrubbing my skin raw. As if I could wash away the exhaustion. The humiliation. The last shred of whatever I'd been clinging to.

The next day, Matthew still didn't come home.

When he video-called, I was in the middle of processing my visa applications. His background was a breathtaking expanse of ocean. He'd even updated his profile picture to a carefully composed shot of the seascape.

He hadn't sent me a single photo.

Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.

"I might not make it back this week," he said, his voice maddeningly casual. "The housekeeper will come by every day to cook for you. Make sure you rest. Don't wait up for me."

*Don't worry.* A bitter smile touched my lips. *I won't wait. Not ever again.*

After he hung up—perhaps out of guilt, or maybe just habit—he casually transferred $200,000 to my account. The attached message made my stomach churn.

*"Baby, as long as you don't say the words, we aren't breaking up."*

I stared at the text in silence.

Then, without a word, I blocked him on everything.

The visa would take a week to process. I spent that time living at the office, throwing myself into the final handover tasks. At night, I returned to Matthew's villa only to pack. I sorted through my life bit by bit, working until exhaustion knocked me out—just so I wouldn't have to think.

I hadn't realized that in five years, even without ever meeting his friends or family, we had accumulated so many memories. Handmade rings we'd crafted together. Pixel-art bead sprites we'd assembled on rainy afternoons. Strips of photo booth pictures capturing smiles that now felt like lies.

There was too much. Too much history.

I packed until my body ached and my mind went numb. I packed until I couldn't stand the sight of anything that reminded me of him.

The day before Matthew was scheduled to return, my body finally gave out.

I fainted in the living room.

The housekeeper found me when she arrived to prepare dinner. She rushed me to the hospital for a full checkup, her worried voice fading in and out of my consciousness.

The results came back in less than an hour.

"Low blood sugar," the doctor said, glancing at my chart. "And you're four weeks pregnant."

The housekeeper's face lit up. She clasped her hands together, beaming. "Oh, this is wonderful news! I have to tell Mr. James immediately—"

"No." I reached out, grabbing her arm. My hand was weak, but my grip was iron. "Don't say anything. There's no need."

She looked at me, confused. "Ms. Henson, this is a blessing. Young Master James will be thrilled."

"We've already broken up." My voice was eerily calm, even to my own ears. "I'm going to abort it."

I looked her in the eye. "Please. Do not tell him I was here today."

It took some effort, but I finally persuaded her to leave. Once I was alone with the doctor, I didn't waver.

"An abortion is hard on the body," he warned. "Are you certain?"

I nodded without hesitation. I booked the procedure for that afternoon.

But fate had other plans.

Midway through the wait, my phone rang. Mr. Swanson, my boss.

"There's a critical error in the project handover documents," he barked.

Panic surged through me. I rushed back to the company, reviewing the files from top to bottom. Sure enough—a massive loophole. Thankfully, my habit of backing up everything saved me. I located the missing data and patched the file.

By the time I finished, the sun had set. The hospital was already closed.

As I gathered my things, Valerie Dickerson sauntered up to my desk. She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with disdain.

"So careless. Who knows what disgusting means you used to get that director position in the first place?"

I hadn't eaten all day. My stomach was already churning, and hearing her voice made the bile rise in my throat.