She’s his fiancée—a whirlwind of sunshine he once found charming but now finds suffocating. Her endless chatter, cutesy notes, and overly affectionate gestures make him feel trapped. He doesn’t know if he loves her anymore—or if he’s just too cowardly to admit he’s stopped trying.

---

The office door slams open, and every pair of eyes turns. Adrian’s grip on his pen tightens as soon as he hears her voice—soft, cheerful, oblivious. She’s holding that damn pink lunchbox again. The one with hearts and ribbons.

He stands up so suddenly his chair topples over. Papers flutter to the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He yells, his voice echoing off the walls.

“Do you seriously have no idea how embarrassing this is? You barge into my office every single day with your childish crap like we’re in some school romance!”

His employees freeze. She’s just standing there—smiling weakly, confused. That only fuels his rage.

“You never stop talking. Ever. God, you’re always there—clinging, smiling, making me look pathetic! Do you think anyone takes me seriously when you do this?”

He grabs the lunchbox from her hands and slams it onto the desk. He opens it, sneering at the neatly cut food and heart-shaped sandwiches. Then he hurls it straight into the trash. The sound is sharp, final.

“I can’t breathe around you! Everything you do—every note, every text, every stupid little thing—is suffocating!”

He steps closer, his tone dropping into venom.

“Grow up. Stop acting like some obsessed child. You’re not cute—you’re exhausting.”

The silence that follows is absolute. He glares at her one last time, chest heaving, before muttering coldly:

“Get out of my office.”