After we got back together, I changed.

I fixed all the "bad habits" Alex hated.

No more constant check-in texts, no more irrational jealousy, no more picking fights over stupid things.

I even found a tube of lipstick in the passenger seat—one that wasn't mine—and I just quietly tucked it into the glove compartment for him.

But instead of being pleased, Alex's face darkened, and he slammed on the brakes.

1

Alex's features were sharp and defined, projecting the kind of intimidating pressure that came naturally to powerful men. But right now, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted.

"That lipstick belongs to Renee," he said. "The work dinner last night went late. She drank too much covering for me, and she couldn't drive, so I gave her a ride home."

He looked at me, forcing himself to give an explanation, something he usually considered beneath him.

"I've told you a million times, I only put up with her because her father is my mentor. I have to look out for her."

His gaze was intense. "Past, present, and future—there is nothing between us."

When I didn't respond, a crack appeared in his usually composed expression, revealing a flicker of something I'd never seen on his face before: helplessness.

"What do I have to do for you to believe me?"

I looked at him calmly. "I do believe you. I'm not mad."

It was like punching a pillow. Alex's face went blank for a second. "...Then why have you been silent this whole ride?"

I glanced at my watch, my mind on getting to the airport. "You used to say you hated pointless chatter," I said, offering a weak excuse.

"I'm going to be late for work. Maybe you can just drop me at this corner?"

My attention was on the traffic, and I completely missed the way his expression soured.

"You always get out at the next light," he said, his voice flat. "The office is still over a mile from here."

I hadn't thought of that. I was forced to meet his scrutinizing gaze. "If you're not going to the office, where are you going?"

Just as the suspicion in his eyes started to deepen...

Ring—!

The custom ringtone. It was Renee.

Alex's sharp gaze softened, his eyes darting away guiltily. "It's a work call. I have to take it."

All his suspicion about me vanished. He unlocked the doors. "You can get out here, then."

I nodded and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but he stopped me.

"Don't be so clumsy. Watch where you're going."

His voice lowered, taking on a gentler, more placating tone. "I made a reservation at that restaurant you wanted to try."

He looked at me, his expression softening. "I promised you I would never miss another anniversary."

"Happy seven years, Chloe."

"I'll see you tonight."

My hand froze on the door handle.

On our last anniversary, he'd stood me up for Renee. The memory, which had once felt like a knife in my gut, now barely registered.

"You should get that," I said softly, my voice even. "Don't keep her waiting."

After all, Renee couldn't wait.

And neither could my flight.

As for our anniversary—this year, next year, and every year after—I'd be missing it.

2

I made it onto the plane just before they closed the gate.

After I found my seat, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn't had time for breakfast. I automatically reached into my coat pocket and, sure enough, found three small pieces of chocolate.

Ever since I fainted from low blood sugar years ago, Alex had made it a habit to slip a few pieces of chocolate into my pocket every morning.

The sweetness melted on my tongue, and the dizziness faded. But it was quickly replaced by a familiar, lingering bitterness.

Seven years together. How did we end up here?

At first, I really believed him when he said Renee was just the daughter of a family friend, someone he was forced to hire as a favor. I told myself that's why he had to be so "professional" with me at the office while giving her special treatment.

My department head gave me hell for months, and Alex did nothing. But when that same manager spoke to Renee in a slightly harsh tone, he was fired the next day. The office gossip was brutal. Behind my back, they didn't call me Alex's secret girlfriend. They called Renee the "boss's girl."

I forced myself to believe his excuses. But the "special treatment" started bleeding into our life at home. He'd cancel our plans over and over again because of a call from her.

The breaking point came one night when I saw a photo in a group chat with some coworkers. Alex, who had told me he was working late, was at a midnight movie screening with Renee. It was the same movie I had begged him to see with me, the one he'd dismissed without a second thought.

"Babe, everyone's saying you have to see Forever with the person you love most! Let's go!" I'd pleaded, playfully tugging on his sleeve.

He hadn't even looked up from his laptop. "Watching a cheesy rom-com like that is a waste of a life."

But in the photo, he looked charming, smiling, not a hint of boredom on his face.

The messages in the chat flew by, a blur in front of my tear-filled eyes.

When he got home, I asked, my voice devoid of emotion, "How was Forever?"

A flicker of surprise, or maybe guilt, crossed his face. Or maybe I imagined it. A second later, his expression was unreadable. "Were you following me?"

My chest felt tight, like a wet, heavy towel was wrapped around my heart, squeezing the air out. "Do I need to?" I shot back, my voice trembling. "Pictures of you two are all over the office group chat!"

My voice rose, shaking with a rage I couldn't contain. "Alex, if you want to break up, just say it! You don't have to lie to me like this!"

His expression didn't change. He was as calm as if we were discussing the weather. "If you don't have the basic decency to trust me, then there's nothing more to say. Chloe, I've had a long day. I don't have the energy to fight with you."

No apology. No explanation.

Compared to my messy, emotional state, he was the picture of composure. He even carefully placed a small paper bag he was holding onto the counter.

The two words printed on the bag—Forever Chocolates—were like shards of ice piercing my heart.

All the emotions I'd been suppressing—the hurt, the jealousy, the humiliation—crashed over me in a tidal wave, and my sanity finally snapped.

I snatched the bag and threw it on the floor. The top wasn't sealed, and its contents scattered across the tile with a series of soft thuds.

I didn't look. I just stared at him, my eyes burning. It was a standoff.

After a long, silent moment, he turned and slammed the door behind him.

I stood there, frozen, like a statue. It wasn't until something small and round rolled to a stop at my feet that I finally looked down.

It was a piece of chocolate. The floor was covered in them. Dozens of handmade, artisan chocolates.

3

My anger faded, leaving only a hollow ache. I still wanted to talk to him, to fix this. But for three days, he didn't answer my calls. He didn't come home.

I swallowed my pride and sent him a text.

I shouldn't have lost my temper without talking to you first.

But you did lie about working late.

Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I'll be waiting for you at home.

Can we please just talk?

I waited all day. The sun went down. The hours ticked by. He never came.

At eleven, I gave up waiting and decided to go to his office. On my way, I ran into my old department head, the one Alex had fired.

He was drunk. He grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. "So, you think you're hot stuff, huh? Can't touch the boss's girl, but I can sure as hell touch you."

My frantic calls to Alex went straight to voicemail. My screams for help were swallowed by the night. If a passerby hadn't heard the struggle and scared him off, I would have been more than just bruised and terrified.

When my phone finally rang, I screamed, a raw, primal sound of fear.

Seeing Alex's name on the screen, the dam of composure I'd been holding back all night finally broke. I was about to sob his name into the phone, a wave of relief washing over me—

"Hello?"

It was Renee's voice. Soft, sweet, and laced with triumph.

"Alex is in the shower," she purred. "I saw you've been calling a lot. Who is this? Is it important?"

It felt like someone had shoved a hot coal down my throat. The pain was so intense I wanted to claw out my own vocal cords.

Hanging up the phone felt like lifting a thousand-pound weight.

I limped, battered and broken, to the nearest police station to file a report.

When it was all over, my phone's clock read 12:01 AM. Our anniversary was officially over. That's when Alex finally called.

His voice was cold, condescending. "Learned your lesson?"

And in that moment, I understood. He had done it on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary... it was my punishment for not trusting him.

Tears streamed down my swollen face, stinging like acid on open wounds.

My voice came out as a ragged, broken whisper. "Alex," I said. "Let's break up."

There was a single beat of silence on the other end. Then, a cold laugh. "Fine. Don't come crawling back."

He hung up. Just like that. No hesitation. No regret.

4

At first, I just couldn't sleep. I'd lie awake for hours, replaying every moment of our relationship, terrified I had made a mistake, that I had judged him too harshly.

I'd scroll through our old text messages, searching for clues, for proof. But the more I looked, the angrier I became.

I started to hate him. Six years. An entire chapter of my life. I hated him for throwing it all away so easily, for treating me like I was disposable.

At 4 AM one morning, I deleted him from everything. I got out of bed and, in a fit of rage, gathered all of his belongings, stuffed them into trash bags, and hurled them into the dumpster behind my building.

I thought I would feel better, relieved. But it was like squashing a mosquito that had been tormenting me, only to find it was my own blood that splattered on the wall.

I went to work, pretending everything was fine. But I could feel the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be. It had been rotting for a while, a part of me that was attached to Alex. To save myself, I had to cut it out. But the wound was too big. I was bleeding out.

The final blow came when I saw him at a company-wide meeting. He was the same as always—composed, confident, in control. In fact, he looked better than ever. Losing me hadn't affected him at all.

I saw Renee catch his eye from across the room, a faint blush on her cheeks.

That night, the insomnia came back with a vengeance. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Alex wasn't on social media, so I started obsessively stalking Renee's accounts, dissecting every post, every caption, for any hidden meaning, any clue about him.

It all came to a head when I collapsed at work from low blood sugar and was rushed to the hospital.

Alex deigned to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day since our breakup.

He sat by my bed, casually spinning the matching ring we used to wear on his finger. "You've lost weight, Chloe."

I stared at him, my eyes vacant. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

A triumphant, self-satisfied smile spread across his face.

We got back together.

5

They say it's better to rip off a band-aid quickly. But for someone like me, someone with no willpower left, that wasn't an option.

The only way out was a slow, quiet withdrawal. I would keep him in my life, but I would slowly, methodically, stop expecting anything from him. It was like boiling my own heart in lukewarm water. The process wouldn't be painless, but at least the end wouldn't be a violent shock.

At first, pretending to be okay, pretending not to care, still hurt. But Alex seemed pleased with the new me. He'd smile, pat my head like I was a well-behaved pet. "You're finally growing up, Chloe."

After six months of this self-imposed therapy, it started to work. I really was becoming the person he wanted me to be.

He'd stay out all night, and I wouldn't send a single text. I stopped asking about Renee.

And then, one day, I realized it was over. The rotten part of my heart, the part that belonged to him, had finally detached. It fell away without a sound.

I stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, I smiled.

I immediately sent my resume to a company in France that had tried to recruit me a year earlier. I'd turned them down then, to stay with Alex.

They offered me the job. My flight was in two weeks.

I didn't plan on telling him. Our relationship was already an afterthought to him. My leaving would be a non-event.

I became more understanding, more accommodating. But as I grew more detached, Alex seemed to grow more agitated.

I thought I was imagining it. I came home late from work one night, and as I was about to get in the shower, he stopped me.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. "Is there anything you want to talk to me about?"

I yawned, genuinely confused. "No? Why?"

"Nothing," he said, his voice flat. "Go ahead."

But something was definitely wrong. Later that night, in bed, his touch was harder, more demanding than it had been in months.

He held me from behind, his hot breath on my neck. His whispers were soft, but his movements were rough, almost punishing.

"Renee has been giving you a hard time at work, making you work late. Why didn't you tell me?" he murmured.

My stomach cramped. I couldn't understand what he was so angry about. All I could do was gasp for air and plead with him. "It's… work. I was being… professional. Like you wanted."

I was remembering the time my old boss, the one who'd assaulted me, had set me up to take the fall for a huge mistake. Alex had publicly humiliated me in front of the entire company. "Even an intern wouldn't make a mistake this stupid," he'd said.

Later that night, I'd tried to defend myself. "You could have at least let me explain."

"Business is business, Chloe," he'd said, his face as cold as it had been in the boardroom. "I only look at results. At the office, I'm your boss, not your boyfriend. It's not my job to protect you."

Two days later, my boss was fired for being rude to Renee.

Everyone assumed I would be promoted. But Renee, who hadn't even finished her probationary period, was given the job. She became my boss.

...

And now, here I was, finally playing by his rules. Being professional. Not causing drama. And he was angry.

He suddenly flipped me over onto my back. The light from the lamp was too bright. I shielded my eyes, a single tear escaping and rolling down my temple.

He tried to pull my hand away. I resisted, my voice weak. "What are you doing?"

He pried my hand from my face. He stared into my eyes, his own expression intense, almost desperate.

"You used to look at me," he said, his voice raw.

I didn't know what kind of game this was. I just wanted it to be over. I forced myself to meet his gaze.

In that instant, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He quickly covered my eyes with his hand, as if he couldn't bear to look at them anymore. He kissed me, murmuring my name over and over again. "Chloe. Chloe."

6

The next day, Alex called an emergency meeting and asked Renee for a project update. All the work had been done by me. Renee stammered, unable to answer a single question.

"If you can't even be bothered to understand your own projects," Alex said, his voice dangerously quiet, "then perhaps you shouldn't be in this position."

The entire conference room was silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Renee burst into tears and ran out of the room.

After the meeting, the office break room was buzzing.

"Did you see the look on his face?"

"Is the 'boss's girl' finally getting fired?"

I was quietly making a cup of instant coffee when someone nudged me. "Chloe, what do you think?"

"I have to say, you're tough," another coworker chimed in. "I would have cried if Alex had yelled at me like he yelled at you."

I had no interest in their drama. But in an office, silence can be mistaken for betrayal. So I played along.

"Hey, I'm just a worker bee," I said with a laugh. "What do I know? It's probably just a lovers' quarrel. You know how it is. It'll all be fine by tomorrow."

I took a sip of my coffee. "Besides, they look good together. Honestly? I kind of ship it."

As I said the words, I realized the break room had gone completely silent. I looked up.

Alex was standing in the doorway, his face like a thundercloud.

The pitying looks from my coworkers followed me as I was summoned to his top-floor office.

The second the door closed, he was behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. I jumped. He was always so careful about us being seen together at the office. I was always forced to get out of the car two blocks away. But now, the door was unlocked. Any of his seven assistants could walk in at any moment.

"Someone will see us!" I hissed, trying to push him away.

He ignored me, turning me around to face him. He searched my eyes again, looking for something I no longer had to give.

After a long moment, he dropped his hands.

"Chloe," he said, his voice low. "There's nothing between me and Renee."

He started to say something else, then stopped. "Forget it. I know you're still mad. But I'm going to prove it to you. With my actions."

I stared at him, stunned. The commitment I had begged and cried for before was now being handed to me on a silver platter.

But my flight was in seven days.

And I didn't want it anymore.