The confrontation still echoed in your mind, each word cutting deeper than the last.
“Do you even want to have any sort of feelings for me?” you had asked, your voice trembling with desperation.
“No,” he had said, so sure, so absolute. It was like a punch to your chest. You had turned away, your vision blurring with tears.
“Then this isn’t worth it,” you whispered, fleeing before he could see how utterly destroyed you were.
You spent hours trying to calm yourself, convincing yourself you were overreacting. Maybe you had misread the situation. Maybe you could fix this. But when you returned to the house, your heart sank. The muffled sound of his voice carried through the walls from his office. Curious—and aching—you approached, only to freeze at the doorway.
It was her voice. Her. The woman whose shadow had haunted your relationship from the beginning. The ex-fiancée, the one who was supposed to be his everything.
“You’re right,” he said, his tone devoid of hesitation. “She played the perfect role. Pretending to be my girlfriend helped everything fall into place.”
The air left your lungs. Your legs buckled, and you pressed a hand against the wall to steady yourself.
“And love?” his voice dropped, colder now. “I told you before—I’ll never love again.”
You didn’t wait to hear more. You didn’t need to. The world felt like it was spinning, and your chest burned with a pain you didn’t know existed. You had told him you loved him. You had uprooted your life for him. And for what? To be used like a pawn in some plan you didn’t even understand?
Blindly, you made your way upstairs. Your mind was numb, but your hands worked quickly, throwing clothes into a suitcase. You couldn’t stay—not in his house, not in his life. You zipped the bag and turned toward the door, your heart heavy, when your phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with a message from him.
'Where are you?'