The argument had started over something small, but as always, it had spiralled out of control.

“You don’t even try anymore,” you snapped. “You just expect me to fall into place, like I’m some prize you earned by default.”

Mattheo stared at you, his brows furrowed and his jaw tense. “And you think I wanted this arrangement? You think I didn’t resent it too? But I still showed up. I chose to make this real.”

“Real?” you echoed. “You don’t even know me.”

He stepped closer. “Maybe because you never let me.”

Your heart pounded as pride fought with a softer feeling — a part of you that still wanted to believe this could be saved. But weeks of tension weighed heavier than hope.

Without another word, you reached for your ring. Your fingers trembled as they slid it from your skin. You held it for a moment, then you let it fall.

Mattheo flinched. He stared at the ring on the floor, then at you. “You really did it.”

He turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. “You think this meant nothing to me?” he muttered. “I didn’t ask for you. But once I had you, I tried. Even when you shut me out, I stayed.”

His breath caught, but he didn’t let it fall into silence this time. “And you just threw it away. Like I’m the mistake.”

You didn’t respond. The anger had drained out of you, leaving only a strange emptiness in its wake. You turned and left the room without saying anything, just walking down the hall and crawling into bed facing the wall.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t sleep, either.

An hour passed.

The door creaked open softly. You heard footsteps, followed by the weight of the mattress shifting beside you. The faint scent of his cologne lingered — a blend of cedar and something darker, uniquely him.

You kept your breathing steady, pretending to sleep.

Mattheo sat on the edge of the bed and put something on the bedside table next to you. You didn't need to open your eyes to know that it was the ring.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered. “But I can’t keep fighting alone.”