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.

I gripped the edge of my desk, knuckles turning white, and fixed a cold stare on Valerie.

"Don't think I don't know you tampered with my computer last night. Once we pull the surveillance footage, we'll see who the disgusting person really is."

Her smirk faltered.

Moments later, Bonnie Barber sent me the security clip she'd quietly retrieved. It captured Valerie clearly—sneaking over to delete my files.

Confronted with the evidence, Valerie didn't even try to deny it. She just lashed out. "Bitch! You're just a damn nepotism hire!"

Something inside me snapped.

I didn't think. My hand moved on its own.

*Smack!*

The sound of my palm connecting with her face echoed through the silent office.

Five years of suppressed grievances erupted. Tears streamed down my face, though my expression remained stone cold.

"I went through three rounds of interviews for this job," I said, my voice trembling with rage. "Every result, every performance metric—I fought for it. I woke up early. I stayed late."

I stepped closer to her.

"From start to finish, my conscience is clear. What right do you have to treat me like this?"

The last sentence wasn't just for Valerie. I was screaming it at Matthew James.

But he would never hear it.

The adrenaline crashed. Low blood sugar flared, and the room spun. I swayed, nearly collapsing, but Bonnie caught me just in time.

That night, the company fired Valerie on the spot and demanded $20,000 in damages for the work delay.

I dragged my exhausted body back to the villa, packed the very last of my belongings, and walked out the door.

I left the key on the table.

At the airport, while waiting to board, I opened my blocked list and pulled Matthew out. My feed instantly refreshed. Several new travel videos popped up on his Moments.

He had accompanied Julia Fox across three different countries.

Although the videos only showed him, the background audio told the real story. A gentle female voice was always there, speaking to him softly.

He called her Julia. She called him Matthew.

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

That night, when he was drunk and mumbled, *"Let's be together, my love..."* I had thought he was speaking to me. But the tone, the inflection—he had been projecting *her* onto me the entire time.

For five years, he hadn't called me by a pet name. Not once.

It turned out I had been the fool all along.

A bitter, self-deprecating smile twisted my lips. I typed two words:

*Let's break up.*

I sent it. Then I deleted the account permanently.

Almost immediately, my phone began to vibrate.

An unfamiliar number. He was calling. Since I had blocked his main number, he was using another line.

I didn't answer.

The phone buzzed again. And again. Text messages flooded in, frantic and disjointed.

*"Audrey Henson, who gave you permission to break up?"*

*"Where are you? I'm coming to find you."*

*"Why aren't you replying? Are you throwing a tantrum?"*

*"Just wait for me at home, obediently. I can explain everything!"*

*"...Why did your boss say you're going abroad? Are you at the airport?"*

*"Audrey, don't move. Wait for me. Please, just wait a little longer—I'm almost there."*

I took a deep breath, my finger hovering over the screen.

*Block.*

The intercom crackled overhead, announcing my flight. I picked up my small carry-on and walked toward the gate. Once seated, I switched my phone to airplane mode.

I would never receive another message from him.

I stared out the window at the white clouds and blue sky, silently bidding farewell to the city that had held me captive for twenty-five years.

*Goodbye, Matthew James. I never want to see you again.*

At that exact moment, on a highway speeding toward the airport, the last message Matthew typed failed to send. A red exclamation mark appeared next to the text bubble.

The unsent message read:

*"Audrey, Julia Fox and I are only contract spouses. It's business. We can divorce in one year. Just wait one more year, and I can marry you properly. I love you. I really, really love you. I, Matthew James, have never loved anyone else in my life. You won't leave me, right?"*

Matthew stared at the screen, his face draining of color. He slammed the brakes, the car screeching to a halt on the shoulder.

"Get out," he rasped.

Julia Fox, sitting in the passenger seat, looked at him in shock.

"Get out!" he roared, his voice cracking.

He forced her out of the car, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. He slammed the door and floored the gas, racing toward the airport like a man possessed.