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."

I asked, "Did you need something?"

Back then, I used to light up when Derrick dropped by just to chat. Not this time. He froze like he didn't expect me to be so blunt.

His face shifted—awkward, like he'd stepped in something. "Yeah, actually. Molly just wrapped up a big project, so I'm thinking of promoting her. Should give the team a boost. What do you think?"

He looked straight at me.

Sure, he said he wanted my opinion, but we both knew that wasn't true.

I just nodded. "I don't mind."

Then he added, "But rewards should come with penalties too. You haven't finished a project in a while, so I'm thinking of moving you to a lower-level position. Just for now.

"Once things calm down, I'll bring you back. Don't worry—it's for the greater good. You're my fiancée, so you'll support me, right?"

I laughed—silently, in my head.

He still had no clue I'd already quit.

He could read Molly like a book—knew her mood from a glance, remembered every little thing she liked. But his own fiancée handed him a resignation letter he signed, and he didn't even realize.

That's what it looks like when someone just doesn't care. You can tell in one or two lines.

When I stayed quiet, Derrick assumed I was gearing up to argue, like always. His face darkened. "Even if you disagree, it won't change anything. The announcement's already out. Your office belongs to Molly now."

"Either accept the transfer or leave," he said. "But just a heads-up—the company's going public. Might wanna think twice before walking away."

He really thought I'd stay.

It wasn't new. I'd been shoved down the ladder more than once, all because of Molly's petty comments.

I took it back then. Derrick figured I'd cling even harder now.

I gave a dry smile. "I didn't say I disagreed."

"Then it's settled," Derrick said, sounding relieved.

To him, silence meant agreement.

He was halfway out the door when he turned back. "Didn't you used to keep our photo on your desk? Where'd it go?"

That's when it hit me.

It wasn't just the desk. I'd plastered our photos everywhere—my phone, the bedroom wall, my wallet. Little reminders that no matter how cold he got, he still loved me.

He used to laugh at that. Said I was obsessed with those "silly little things." He never got it. Never understood they were the only thing keeping me from walking.

Later, I saw them for what they were—proof of how pathetic I'd been.

"I broke the frame," I said flatly. "Put it away."

He frowned, immediately scanning the floor. "Try not to be so clumsy. Make sure you cleaned it up—don't want anyone getting hurt."

His tone softened a little, probably because I wasn't arguing. Then he left the study.

I watched him go and almost laughed.

That warning wasn't about me.

It was about not letting Molly get hurt.

This was supposed to be our home. I'd been the one keeping it together—until a few months ago, when I found a hair tie in his study. Pillows on our bed, out of place. That's when I knew. Molly had been here. More than once.