Eloise POV:

I stood in the descending elevator, staring at my pale reflection in the mirrored walls. The courage I'd summoned moments ago was already starting to fade, replaced by a vast, terrifying emptiness.

What had I just done? I had torn up Blaze's check. In his face. The man who held half of New York's sports world in the palm of his hand.

My phone vibrated. A message from Alex Foster, his tone as professional as ever. "Ms. Rogers, Mr. Robbins requests that you complete the official exit procedures with HR before leaving the building."

A bitter laugh escaped me. Was this the final humiliation? A reminder that, in the end, I was just an employee.

"Understood," I typed back.

I walked into the Human Resources department and signed the last of the paperwork under the formulaic guidance of the HR manager, handing over my employee ID card.

Stepping out of the gleaming doors of the Robbins Group tower, the bright New York sun was a physical blow, making my eyes water.

My phone buzzed again. An unknown number. The text was crude and insulting.

"Heard you're out on your ass, sweetheart. Blaze doesn't want you, I do. Name your price."

I instantly recognized the tone. Crockett. Blaze was always surrounded by these entitled, arrogant men.

A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. It was disgust, pure and simple. In their world, I was just another item to be bought and sold.

My fingers flew across the screen.

"Mr. Ware, watch your mouth. Not every woman is interested in a creature who thinks with his dick."

I hit send and immediately blocked his number.

A deep breath. I hailed a cab, needing to get away from this place, this life, immediately.

In the back of the taxi, I opened my laptop and logged into my personal email. I found the draft I had written weeks ago, a contingency plan I never thought I'd use. The recipients were Blaze's official email and his assistant, Alex Foster.

The subject line: "Resignation and Contract Termination - Eloise."

In the body of the email, I clearly listed all handover items and formally stated my intention to forfeit the final three months of salary stipulated for the "transition period," effective immediately.

It meant I wasn't just refusing the five million. I was actively giving up nearly two hundred thousand dollars of legitimate income.

My finger hovered over the send button. That was real money. Money I needed.

Then I pictured Blaze's dismissive gaze, Crockett's insulting text, the glaring headline of the engagement news.

No. I didn't want a single cent of their money. I wanted my dignity.

I closed my eyes and pressed down hard.

The moment the email was sent, a crushing weight lifted from my shoulders. Five years. I was finally free.

Back in my rented apartment, the first thing I did was start packing. Everything he had ever given me.

The expensive gowns, the jewelry-I put them all into boxes, ready to be donated or sold.

My eyes landed on the one "personal" gift he'd ever given me, sitting on my dresser. A small, crystal hockey puck. He had casually handed it to me after winning his first MVP award, grabbing it from the clutter beside his trophy.

I once thought it meant something. A small piece of his world, just for me. Now I saw it for what it was: a thoughtless handout.

Without hesitation, I tossed it into a box.

After clearing out everything, I collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted, and turned on the TV.

The news was everywhere. Blaze and Annabelle. "The perfect union of sports and media," one commentator gushed.

I watched numbly, my empty stare resting on the TV news.

Blaze POV:

I stared at the two pieces of paper on my desk. They looked like the broken wings of a butterfly, mocking the absolute control I'd felt just moments before.

Damn it. How dare she? A woman I paid, a woman who was my employee, how dare she pull a stunt like that in front of me?

Crockett was still chattering beside me. "Blaze, your little kitten has claws. Turning down five million? Looks like she wants more."

I slammed my fist on the desk. The solid mahogany shuddered with a dull thud. Crockett flinched and finally shut up.

A sharp, unfamiliar irritation was gnawing at me. This was a loss of control. Things were not going according to my plan.

For five years, Eloise had been the perfect product. Quiet, obedient, efficient. She never crossed a line. She knew her place.

But today, she hadn't just torn up a check. She had torn up the unwritten rules of our arrangement.

Nathan knocked and entered, his face grim. "Sir, a new email from Ms. Rogers. She has... formally resigned and waived all salary for the transition period."

I snatched the tablet from his hand. The email was cool and professional. She really wanted nothing.

This wasn't about money. So what was it about? Because of Annabelle?

I stood up, grabbing my suit jacket. "Where does she live?"

Nathan blinked. "Sir, you're going to..."

"The address!" I snarled.

I drove to her ordinary apartment building. It was the first time I had ever been here in five years. I never cared about her private life.

I used the spare key to let myself in—a right stipulated in her contract for "emergency PR situations."

I pushed the door open and was met with the sight of packed boxes. The apartment felt empty, echoing with a sense of finality.

Eloise was standing in the middle of the living room. She turned at the sound of the door, and when she saw me, her eyes held no surprise. Only a cold, barren emptiness.

I strode inside, slamming the door behind me, trapping her between it and my body.

"What game are you playing, Eloise?" I cornered her, my voice low and dangerous.

I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. "Was five million not enough? Or are you upset about my engagement, trying to get my attention this way?"

She didn't struggle. She just looked at me, her gaze as cold as if I were a complete stranger. "Let go, Mr. Robbins. Our contract is over."

The calmer she was, the more the fire inside me raged. "Over? It's not over until I say it is!"

She suddenly laughed, a sound full of sorrow and mockery. "What more do you want? For me to continue being your mistress after you marry Miss Vance? To hide in the shadows and be at your beck and call?"

Her words struck a nerve. I had, for a fleeting moment, considered it. She was convenient. Low-maintenance.

Seeing my silence, the last flicker of light in her eyes died out. "I see."

She shoved me away, creating a gap between us. "Blaze, I will never be the other woman."

Her defiance stung, and I lashed out, wanting to hurt her. "What gives you the right to say no? You signed the contract for money in the first place! Why do you think I chose you?"

I advanced on her, spitting out the secret I had never once spoken aloud.

"Because you look like her! Your eyes, your hair... you look just like Savannah!"

Savannah, Blaze's ex-girlfriend.

Eloise's body jerked as if I'd struck her. The color drained from her face, leaving it a stark, ghostly white. She stared at me, her lips trembling, her eyes wide with disbelief.

I saw the shock, the utter devastation in her gaze. But instead of the satisfaction of revenge, a strange sense of panic washed over me.

She was silent for a long time, so long I thought she would break down, scream, or cry.

She did none of those things.

She took a deep breath, and then she gave me a smile I had never seen before. It was a smile of genuine, absolute liberation.

"Thank you, Blaze," she said softly. "Thank you for telling me. Now I can really go."

She walked around me, opened the door, and disappeared into the hallway without a second glance.

I was left alone in the empty apartment, the echo of her final words and that unsettling smile haunting the silence.