Three days into the silent treatment, Derrick—my fiancé and CEO—greenlit his assistant's pitch for a self-driving road trip.

He expected me to flip, like always. I didn't.

A month later, he came back and saw it—I wasn't the same.

He backed Molly, stole my project, and thought I'd explode. I didn't. I just helped her draft the proposal.

He trashed everything I built, just so she could snag her year-end bonus.

I didn't fight back. Took the blame, took the hit.

Molly was all smug. "See? Told you. You can't go at Yara head-on. Give her the silent treatment—she folds. She's scared of losing you. That's why she's playing nice."

Derrick ate it up. Called her smart.

Then he pulled me aside—offered a raise, a promotion, even a fancy wedding. First time he'd ever brought it up.

But he missed one detail: he'd already signed off on my resignation while he was off playing road trip king.

And I'd already dumped him.

That was it. Clean cut. Nothing left.

"Yara, Mr. Cromwell needs this proposal ASAP. Sorry to bug you, but finish it before you head out."

Molly Leach, Derrick's assistant, dropped a fat stack of papers on my desk, all chipper like we were besties.

I took them. "Got it."

She wasn't done. Still smiling, she threw in, "Mr. Cromwell and I have a client meeting later. Just leave the docs on his desk. Oh—and tidy up his office before you go."

Then she strutted off like she owned the floor, heels clicking, mood sky-high.

Around me, the office fell quiet. My coworkers shot me that awkward look—half pity, half helpless.

Everyone knew Derrick Cromwell, CEO of Vantrel Corp, was my fiancé. Everyone also knew he blatantly played favorites, and Molly was his number one.

He'd yanked her from another firm, made her director, then handed her a million-dollar project I'd busted two months bringing in and prepping.

When I pushed back, he called a team vote, thinking everyone would back him.

Wrong. The whole team voted for me—except him. Molly got one vote. His.

He lost it. Accused me of stirring up cliques. Didn't just take the project away—he demoted me in front of everyone and slashed the salaries of the people who'd backed me.

Nobody dared speak up.

Later, he apologized. Said didn't want it to look like favoritism. Claimed Molly might feel left out.

I used to believe that crap. Now? It's a joke.

Molly couldn't even keep up with our interns.

'Didn't want it to look like favoritism'? Please. He was straight-up playing favorites. Everyone saw it but him.

I heard footsteps upstairs and looked up. Derrick.

He showed up at the stairwell, glanced my way, then walked out without saying a word. Changed into some casual suit. Even from here, I caught that cedar cologne.

He never used to wear cologne. That one? Molly's gift.

Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He'd been pulling this kind of stuff for years.

It started after I found their goodnight texts. Couldn't stay quiet—I confronted him.

Derrick said I was being petty. Then, like it proved some point, he used it as an excuse to "make it official" and moved Molly to work directly under him.

The more upset I got, the harder he leaned in—dragging her to every social event, serving her food, even wiping her mouth at company dinners.

When we fought, he'd ice me out. When I apologized, he'd round up his buddies to lecture me like I was some jealous mess.

For a while, I actually blamed myself. Thought maybe I wasn't generous enough. Thought maybe that's why we ended up here.

But on day three of one of his silent treatments—when I was too sick to even sit up and he still packed his bags for a trip with Molly—I gave up.

That's when it hit me: he wasn't trying to be noble. He just used my "pettiness" as a shield so he could keep doing what he wanted without feeling guilty.

Even if I hadn't caught those late-night chats, he would've just found another excuse to be with her.

After their latest business trip, they were still grabbing dinner, drinks, playing tennis—same routine. But something between them had changed. I could feel it.

Not that it mattered.

Five years together, and it was done.

This whole mess had dragged on long enough.

I was the last one in the office, finishing up the proposal. Checked my phone—Molly had been busy posting.

Candlelit dinner at some fancy spot. Two plates of steak. Derrick, all polished and perfect, cutting hers for her.

Caption: [Steak cut by the CEO himself—it has to taste better.]

The comments were full of heart emojis and fangirling. A few clueless people even asked when the wedding was. Derrick replied with three dots. Molly followed up with a cheeky emoji.

No clarification. Just like always.

But this time, I didn't blow up. Didn't call him, didn't get scolded for "overreacting."

I just texted him: proposal's done. Dropped the docs in his office, refilled the water like he asked, then drove home.

The second I walked in, my phone rang—Derrick's number.

I picked up, but it wasn't him.

"Yara, it's Molly. Thanks for your help with the project. I'll treat you to dinner sometime." Her voice was all sugar.

Before I could answer, Derrick cut in. "No need to thank her. It's her job."

Molly teased. "Mr. Cromwell, she's your fiancée. Can't you talk to her a little nicer?"

They sounded like the real couple.

I let out a quiet laugh.

Derrick—who used to freak out if I even glanced at his phone—now handed it to Molly like it was no big deal.

And honestly? I felt weirdly calm.

What used to feel like the end of the world suddenly felt... small.

They kept joking for a bit, then Derrick finally remembered I was still on the line. "I'll be back soon. No need to wait—get some rest."

Then he hung up.

His "soon" usually meant four, five hours. I used to pace the whole time, worried sick.

But this time, I didn't bother.

I just walked to the study and looked at the calendar on my desk.

Not long ago, Derrick and Molly turned a business trip into a vacation. While they were off playing house, I slipped in my resignation. Derrick was too distracted to notice—he approved it without even reading.

Three more days.

Once the handover's done, I'm out.

I paused, then called Prof. Harrington, my old research supervisor, now overseas at a top institute.

Back when I graduated, I landed a high-tier spot there straight out the gate. But Derrick said he needed help starting his company, and like an idiot, I dropped everything and ran back to Arlencia. Prof. Harrington told me not to. I didn't listen.

Looking back now... yeah, I was dumb.

Feelings? They shift. Career? That never stabs you in the back.

When the call went through, I explained why I was reaching out. I braced for a lecture. Instead, Prof. Harrington sighed.

"I already heard... was thinking about asking you to come back. But this time... are you actually sure?"

"I'm sure. The resignation's done."

"Resignation? What resignation?"

The voice didn't come from the phone.

I turned.

Derrick stood in the doorway.

***

The call had ended.

I locked my phone without a word.

While I was still trying to figure out what to say, his phone buzzed. Molly again. She'd found a stray kitten and stopped to buy it a sausage.

"So cute," Derrick said in a voice message.

She shot back right away: "The kitten's cute, or I'm cute?"

Then came a selfie—her holding the kitten, pouting with a peace sign.

Derrick smiled. "The kitten's cute, but you're cuter."

Then, like suddenly remembering I existed, his face shut down. He turned to me, all cold.

"Didn't I tell you to get some rest? Why are you still up?"

The tone shift was whiplash. Nothing like how he talked to her.

And he'd already forgotten I said I resigned.

I gave a faint smile. "Just wrapping up a few things."

He frowned deeper. "It's late. What's even left? You seriously need to manage your time better, Yara. This procrastination thing is getting out of hand."

I didn't bother saying it was his constant last-minute crap that caused it. No arguing. No justifying. I stayed quiet.

He didn't push. Just walked off to the bedroom.

A minute later, I heard him laughing. Like, actually laughing.

Hadn't heard that sound in forever. He only laughed like that with Molly.

I tuned it out, sat at my desk, and pulled out some research journals I hadn't finished.

The institute had changed a lot in five years. Even with Prof. Harrington backing me, I'd have to prove I still had it.

Good thing my foundation was solid. I'd catch up fast.

"You're reading research journals?"

I hadn't even heard him come back in.

He picked one up, flipped through it, then tossed it back with a smirk. "Why are you reading this stuff? Do you even get it?"

I stacked the papers. "Just browsing."