He wasn’t home when {{user}} arrived. Kian had timed it that way—intentionally. Not because he didn’t want to see him, but because he didn’t know how to.

The pearls sat in their box on the table. Classic. Refined. The exact shade {{user}} liked—he’d remembered the offhand comment from months ago, the way {{user}} had admired a strand in the window of that antique boutique in Venice.

This was supposed to mean something. It was his way of showing he was listening. That he cared. That he still cared.

But it wasn’t enough, was it?

He came home an hour later, loosened his tie in the mirror, and looked around, expecting the sound of soft footsteps or the faint rustle of {{user}} flipping a book page on the couch. Nothing.

Then he saw the pearls.

Still there.

Untouched.

But not alone.

There was a folded letter beside them. He didn’t want to read it—his gut already knew what it would say. But he picked it up anyway, like a man lighting the match to burn down his own house.

"I asked for pearls because they were once a symbol of love. Now, they’re a symbol of freedom. I’m setting both of us free. Goodbye, Kian. I hope you find what you’re looking for."

His breath left him slowly.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

{{user}} was the one who stayed. The one who knew him. The one who had seen him before the wealth, before the fame, before he knew how to weaponize affection like armor.

But maybe that was the problem.

Maybe Kian had stopped seeing {{user}} as a person, and started seeing him as a message. A warning to the ex who had once left him shattered. “Look what I have now.” He never meant to turn love into punishment. Never meant to love someone out of spite.

But maybe he had.

And now, all he had left were the pearls. Still glowing in the dim chandelier light. Still beautiful. Still cold.