After we got back together, I changed every single habit Alexander hated. I stopped calling him to ask where he was. I stopped getting jealous over nothing. I stopped making a scene over the little things. Even when I found a delicate diamond bracelet in his suit pocket. I simply took it out and placed it quietly on the vanity. He thought I had finally learned to be understanding. He thought I finally realized how hard he worked for our future. What he didn’t know was that my one-way ticket to Paris was already booked. I was leaving him. For good. *** Alexander paused when he walked into the bedroom and saw the bracelet on the vanity. His face darkened. He loosened his silk tie but didn’t head straight to his study like he usually did. Alexander had sharp, aristocratic features and a chillingly handsome face. He carried the heavy, natural authority of a man who ruled a business empire. But right now, he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking incredibly exhausted. “Sophia dropped that,” he said. “There was a yacht party hosted by her father last night. She drank on my behalf, and the sea breeze was freezing, so I let her wear my coat. She must have slipped her bracelet into the pocket and forgotten about it.” He looked at me, making an explanation he would usually deem beneath him. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Zoey. She’s only the daughter of my grandfather’s oldest business partner. The Wright and Reynolds families have massive joint ventures. I have to play nice.” “Past, present, future—there is absolutely nothing between us.” I remained silent. Seeing my lack of reaction, a rare crack appeared in his always-calm composure. A look of sheer helplessness—something I had never seen on his face before—flickered in his eyes. “What do I have to do for you to believe me?” I smiled gently. “Nothing. I believe you. I’m not angry.” It was like throwing a heavy punch only to hit empty air. Alexander’s face went blank for a second. “…Then why are you acting like this?” I glanced at my watch, calculating the time I needed to get to JFK Airport, and offered a quick excuse. “You always said you didn’t like listening to useless details. I have an appointment to handle some personal business, so I need to head out early.” I turned to grab my purse, completely ignoring how his face suddenly fell. “You don’t usually go out at this hour,” Alexander said, his voice dropping. “It takes at least forty minutes to get downtown from here. You’re leaving way too early.” I hadn’t prepared for him to pay this much attention. I was forced to look up and meet his sharp, analyzing gaze. “It’s first thing in the morning. Instead of going to the office to handle the files for tonight’s charity gala, who are you running off to see?” Just as the suspicion in his eyes began to deepen… *Ding—!* A custom ringtone echoed through the room. It was Sophia. Alexander’s sharp gaze instantly shifted. His eyes flickered, looking guilty for a split second. “It’s Mr. Reynolds. I need to take this.” He immediately threw his suspicion of me to the back of his mind, turning to walk out onto the balcony. “Go ahead and make your own plans.” I nodded, quickly grabbing my handbag and coat. But before I could close the front door, he called out to me from the balcony, sliding the glass door open slightly. “Be careful on the road.” His voice was low, carrying that familiar, dismissive tone he used when he was trying to placate a child. “The jewelry set I ordered for you will be delivered tonight.” “I promised you before—I will never miss another anniversary.” “Happy seventh anniversary.” “I’ll see you tonight, Zo.” My hand froze on the doorknob. On our last anniversary, he had abandoned me at our dinner table to accompany Sophia to her father’s birthday gala. I had been in so much pain back then. Yet now, hearing him mention it, my heart didn’t even flutter. “You should answer your phone,” I whispered, not looking back. “Don’t keep her waiting.” After all, Sophia couldn’t wait. And my flight wouldn’t wait either. As for our anniversary… This year, next year, and every year after that—I would be permanently absent. ***
I barely made it onto the morning flight to Paris. Once I sat down in my first-class seat, a wave of dizziness hit me. I had skipped breakfast in my rush. Instinctively, I reached into my handbag. Sure enough, my fingers brushed against a box of artisanal chocolates. Ever since I had fainted at a high-society gala years ago due to severe stress-induced hypoglycemia, Alexander had made it a strict habit to slip a box of chocolates into my bag before any major event. As the sweetness melted on my tongue, the dizziness quickly faded. But right after, a lingering, suffocating bitterness rushed up my throat. Seven years together. How did Alexander and I end up here? In the beginning, I truly believed his excuse—that Sophia was just a family friend he had to indulge for the sake of business. That was why Alexander always kept his distance from me in public, introducing me merely as his “Executive Assistant,” while treating Sophia with utmost care as his “family sister.” When the manager of the Wright Group’s European division made my life a living hell at work, Alexander did nothing. But when someone slightly inconvenienced Sophia’s project, that person was fired the next day. People in their wealthy circle secretly nicknamed Sophia “the future Mrs. Wright.” They said it right to my face—the face of the “assistant” who was never publicly acknowledged. I forced myself to understand his pressure. But that “special treatment” eventually bled into our private life. Alexander stood me up again and again, canceling our dates the moment she called. Our first explosive fight happened on a cold night a year ago. I was scrolling through Instagram and saw a grid of photos posted by a mutual friend. Alexander, who had told me he was locked in a grueling, all-night global board meeting, was actually attending the Monaco Yacht Show with Sophia. I had begged him for months to take me to that very show. He had rejected me coldly: *“Those events are mindlessly superficial. It’s not appropriate for you to attend as an assistant.”* I remembered tugging on his sleeve back then, teasing, *“But I heard they’re debuting a limited-edition yacht this year. Can’t we just go look?”* Alexander hadn’t even looked up from his tablet. *“Going to those vanity shows is a waste of time.”* Yet in those Instagram photos, he was the picture of elegance, smiling warmly at Sophia. There wasn’t a single trace of annoyance on his face. When Alexander finally came home that night, I asked him in a flat, dead voice: “How was the Monaco Yacht Show?” A flash of surprise seemed to cross his eyes. Or maybe I was just hallucinating. Because a second later, his face became completely blank, devoid of any guilt. “Did you hire someone to stalk me?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant, icy hand. I couldn’t breathe. “Do I need to stalk you?” “The pictures of you and her at the show are all over social media!” My chest heaved violently as I struggled for air. “Alexander, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” Alexander’s expression didn’t even change. He was as calm as a detached spectator. “If you don’t even have basic trust in me, then I have nothing to say.” “Zoey, I’ve been networking all day. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No guilt. No explanation. Compared to my hysterical, messy self, he was so painfully dignified. He didn’t even forget to place the yacht show’s souvenir brochure neatly on the coffee table. The luxurious yacht on the cover felt like a sharp blade, stabbing straight through my chest. All the resentment and humiliation I had suppressed for years suddenly boiled over. The last thread of my sanity snapped. In a fit of rage, I grabbed the brochure and hurled it at the floor. The envelope wasn’t sealed. The items inside tumbled out, scattering across the hardwood floor with a soft clatter. I didn’t even look down. I just stared at Alexander with bloodshot eyes. We glared at each other, like two enemies on a battlefield. After a long, agonizing silence, he grabbed his coat and slammed the door as he left. I stood there like a statue, frozen in the cold apartment. Until something rolled against my foot. I looked down. My breath caught. It was chocolate. A scattered mess of handmade, customized chocolates. My heart softened again. I decided I wanted to talk to him. To fix us. ***
But for three whole days, Alexander didn’t answer my calls, and he didn’t come home. I swallowed my pride, typing a message through my tears: *“I’m sorry for throwing a tantrum without talking to you first.”* *“But it’s a fact that you lied about the global meeting to go to the yacht show with her.”* *“Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home.”* *“Can we please just sit down and talk?”* I waited from sunrise to sunset. He never showed. As the clock neared 11:00 PM, I finally made up my mind to drive to his family’s estate to find him. But on my way to the parking garage, I ran into Marcus Rossi—the manager Alexander had kicked off the project team. He had been drinking, his eyes wild with rage. He dragged me into a dark alleyway. “Fucking bitch! I don’t dare touch the future Mrs. Wright, but you think I won’t touch a pathetic little ‘assistant’ like you?” I screamed. I called Alexander’s private number over and over, but it just went to voicemail. If it hadn’t been for a security patrol car passing by and scaring him away, my injuries would have been far worse than just a sprained ankle and bruised wrists. When my phone suddenly lit up and started ringing in the back of the police car… I let out a sharp, traumatized gasp. Seeing his name on the screen, the strength that had held my spine straight all night collapsed instantly. I broke down, crying hysterically into the receiver. “Alex—” “Hello?” Sophia’s voice answered, thick with sleep and a soft, irritated whine. “…Who is it… so late…” In the background, I heard Alexander’s deep, muffled voice close by. Sophia seemed to cover the mouthpiece, whispering softly to him, “It’s fine, go back to sleep… I think it’s just Zoey.” Then she spoke back into the phone. “He drank too much at the downtown club tonight and just fell asleep. If it’s about work, can it wait until tomorrow?” My throat felt like it had been stuffed with burning coal. The raw flesh of my throat felt scorched, blistered, and torn. The pain was so intense I wanted to rip my own vocal cords out. Simply pressing the button to end the call felt like it took every ounce of life left in me. I went to the police station alone, limping, looking utterly wretched. By the time the paperwork was done, the clock on my phone hit 12:01 AM. I finally received another call from Alexander. His tone was as arrogant and detached as ever. “Have you realized your mistake yet?” In that second, I understood. He had done this on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary. It was his punishment for my “lack of trust.” Tears streamed down my swollen face, burning my scraped skin like battery acid. When I spoke, my voice was a broken, raspy whisper. “Alexander, let’s break up.” There was only a second of silence on the other end. Then, Alexander let out a cold scoff. “Fine. Don’t regret it.” He hung up without a shred of hesitation. He agreed to the breakup as if throwing away a piece of trash. ***
In the beginning, the hardest part was falling asleep. I couldn’t stop tossing and turning, replaying every single detail of our seven years together. I was terrified that I had misjudged him, that I had unfairly sentenced our relationship to death. I went through our text history over and over. But the more I read, the more miserable I became. The sadness slowly twisted into a dark, suffocating resentment. I began to hate Alexander. Six years. Six whole years of my life. I hated how easily he had discarded me, without a single ounce of care. At 4:00 AM one night, in a fit of agony, I blocked and deleted him from every single social media platform. I dragged myself out of bed, packed every single item he had ever bought me into heavy boxes, and shoved them into the back of the storage locker. I thought doing this would bring me peace. But it felt like trying to swat a mosquito that was draining my blood, only to end up covered in my own wounds. I still had to attend essential business galas as his “former assistant” or “ex-project lead,” pretending nothing was wrong. But only I knew that a massive piece of my heart had been violently carved out. That piece had belonged to Alexander. It had rotted away. To survive, I had to amputate it. But I forgot that when the wound is too deep, the body bleed to death anyway. My emotional dam completely broke when I ran into him at a charity gala a month later. Alexander was as poised and commanding as ever. In fact, he looked even more radiant, as if my absence hadn’t affected his life in the slightest. Sophia was clinging to his arm, looking up at him with a blushing, secret smile. After that night, I stopped sleeping entirely. I couldn’t keep any food down. Since Alexander didn’t have public social media, I began obsessively stalking Sophia’s Instagram. I analyzed every single post, every geotag, looking for traces of him. I kept this up until my blood sugar crashed, and I fainted during a networking cocktail hour. I woke up in a hospital bed. Alexander finally condescended to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day after our breakup. He sat by my bed, casually spinning the matching silver promise ring on his finger. “You’ve lost weight, Zo.” I stared at him, my eyes hollow, my mind completely numb. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Alexander let out a satisfied, victorious smile. And just like that, we got back together.
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