My mother, a Le Cordon Bleu-trained pastry chef, had ignited a deep passion for baking in me from an early age. Since Verity and I had become a couple, making her birthday cakes each year had become a beloved tradition.

Recently, I noticed a striking football star lighting up her phone, Colton’s WhatsApp profile picture, and the sight sent a jolt of discomfort through me.

An uneasy silence enveloped the living room as Verity, finally realizing the absurdity of her request, met my gaze with a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. I simply nodded, acknowledging the moment's weight between us.

“Send me the picture. I’ll head out to get the ingredients now,” I said, determination edging my voice.

Seven years ago, at a dinner party, Verity had been drugged, and in a blur, I found myself at a hotel with her.

When she came to, a wave of regret swept over her, and she wept, blaming me for going along with her reckless decision. Since that night, the burden of guilt had weighed heavily on me.

But once I baked this cake, I would finally be free from the ties that bound me to her.

As I strode toward the door, I sensed Verity’s hesitation before she called out to me. I didn’t bother to turn around, asking, “Do you have any other instructions?”

“...I’ve transferred the money for the ingredients to you,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctance.

Once in the elevator, I opened the chat with Verity and couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the staggering statistics: I had sent her a mind-boggling 5,363 messages, while she had responded 35 times.

The notification sound of the ten thousand dollar transfer being returned to the living room made Verity grip her phone tightly, her expression darkening with unease.

At 8 PM that night, my phone buzzed, and it was Verity.

“Tyron, where are you?” she asked, her voice unexpectedly gentle.

I chose not to answer her directly. “Is something wrong?” I probed.

Her tone softened even more. “Nothing's wrong. As always, I just wanted to tell you that the cake you made is absolutely delicious.”

After a brief pause, she added, “Thank you for your hard work.”

Before I could find the words to respond, a lively, cheerful voice burst onto the line; it was Colton.

“Tyron! I heard from Verity that you made the birthday cake today. Is that true? I never would’ve guessed a man like you could whip up something so impressive! Meanwhile, I’m all thumbs and can’t even print a report without Verity swooping in to save me!”

When Colton invited me to the birthday party, Verity's voice sliced through the air. “Tyron, you don’t need to come,” she said sharply before hanging up.

A few minutes later, however, I received a message from her with a location: [When you come over, bring Colton a pack of cigarettes from the nearby store.]

As I pushed open the private room door, I saw Verity feeding Colton a slice of cake.

I knew Colton had sent the location and message, yet I still found myself drawn in despite the tension.

As Colton beamed at me with a friendly “brother,” Verity shot me a sharp glare. “Didn’t I tell you not to come?” she admonished, somewhat irritated.

“Sorry, Verity. I just wanted a cigarette, so I tricked Tyron into coming,” Colton confessed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

Seeing him look so vulnerable, Verity couldn’t help but lean against his arm, her demeanor softening as she reassured him that she wasn’t upset. Recognizing it as the perfect moment, I pulled out my resignation letter, ready to leap.

“Verity, a colleague has a family emergency and needs to leave urgently. Could you please approve this?” I said, my heart racing.

In most cases, resignation applications would have gone through the HR department. However, when the HR manager saw my name on the form, he simply returned it without hesitation.

Verity was lost in her playful banter with Colton in the softly lit private room. As I watched her, she signed the form without even a fleeting glance at the name, exactly as I had hoped.

As my fingers grazed the edge of the form, Verity's hand suddenly pressed down on mine. She paused, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully before asking, "Tyron, did you come here just for this?"

With my nod, her features hardened, growing visibly tense. Instantly, she jerked her hand back as if she had touched something unpleasant.

It dawned on me that her disgust likely stemmed from the blisters on my hand, remnants of the molten sugar I'd wrestled with in the kitchen. Knowing I had sickened her weighed heavily on my heart.

At that moment, Colton could not resist the temptation to tease, his smirk widening. "Tyron, that ring on your finger looks familiar. Isn't that a couple’s ring? Oh, wait, now I remember. I saw one just like it in my trash can a few days ago.”

I consciously ignored Verity’s discreet attempt to hide her ring finger, maintaining a calm demeanor as I responded, “Such ordinary rings are quite common. If you like it, I’d be happy to part with mine.”

Colton let out a light chuckle and graciously declined my offer. As I stepped out of the private room, an unexpected sense of freedom washed over me. Right afterward, I headed straight for the trash can, feeling as though I was finally shedding a weight I had carried for far too long.

In an instant, I tossed the ring that Verity had given me seven years ago into the bin.

It felt like a breath of fresh air, releasing me from the burdens of the past and paving the way for a brighter future.

While waiting for the elevator, my phone rang; my mother checked if I had booked my ticket home. “I’ll take care of it in a few days,” I assured her.

As I hung up, I heard Verity’s voice behind me, inquiring, “What’s on the agenda for booking?”

The following morning, I stirred to find Verity comfortably resting against my shoulder, lost in the glow of her phone.

When she realized I was awake, she waved over the waiter to bring us breakfast.

As we savored our meal, she asked, “What prompted you to change your phone password?”

I shrugged coolly and replied, “I just felt like it.”

Her birthday had been the code to our bond, and now, as we chose to part ways, it seemed only just to let it slip away.

Verity hesitated, biting her lower lip as she set down her knife and fork, a wave of nostalgia shimmering in her eyes.

“Tyron, weren’t you always nudging me to see a movie? There’s a theater just around the corner,” she said, her voice woven with wistfulness and warmth.

As the boss took the lead, I, a humble worker, had no grounds to refuse. I nestled close to my girlfriend in the dim, sparsely populated cinema, savoring popcorn as we watched a heartwarming romantic comedy.

This sweet moment I once craved came to life, yet I felt detached, yawning more than I cared to admit.

Verity, noticing my disinterest, frowned slightly and asked, “You chose this movie, didn’t you? Don’t you like it?”

“No, it’s pretty good,” I replied.

As my words settled, she rolled her eyes, a sharp comeback poised on her lips, but her phone buzz interrupted her.

In silence, she strode out in her high heels, leaving me in the dim light of the screen.

As the film unfolded, Verity still hadn’t returned. Just as I was about to grab my phone to check on her, a lively, familiar voice rang out, cutting through the atmosphere.

“Oh my God, Colton, you’re amazing!”

I turned to see Verity beaming with happiness, springing into Colton's arms, a large stuffed toy held tightly in her grasp. She kissed him sweetly on the cheek, her delight filling the room with warmth.

But as soon as she spotted me, her smile faded in sight. After a moment, it dawned on her how inappropriate their embrace appeared, and she reluctantly pulled away.

Clearly trying to clarify, Colton said, “Tyron, don’t get the wrong idea about Verity. She was simply overjoyed to receive a gift she loved.”

Verity, with an air of confidence, lightly tapped Colton and assured him there was no need to apologize.

Then, turning to me with a cold expression, she remarked, “Did the movie end already?”

Before I could respond, the fire alarm in the mall shrieked, sending the crowd into chaos.

When I instinctively reached for Verity’s hand to escape, she didn’t hesitate to grab Colton’s hand instead. Without a backward glance, she raced toward the emergency exit with him.

Five minutes later, the alarm was silenced after being triggered by a false alarm. Verity returned, scanning the area for a long time, but could not find me.

After finalizing my resignation two hours later, I stood at the train station with my suitcase. While I waited for my train, my phone buzzed incessantly with calls from Verity. I ignored them, setting my phone to silence.

Just before boarding, I sent Verity a message: [Let’s break up.]

After hitting send, I removed the SIM card and tossed it into the trash.

Hours had slipped by. I arrived at my hometown station close to midnight and spotted my father, who had been waiting for a long time, waving at me with joy.

Seeing his graying temples and the smile on his face brought a tear to my eye.

“Dad,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, “I’m coming back this time to stay for good. I want to be with you and Mom for the rest of my life.”

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Foolish child, whether you stay with us or not, you will always be our greatest pride.”

My father sensed my gloomy mood but decided not to press further since I hadn’t spoken.

After a refreshing shower and a meal of my parents’ home-cooked favorites, I settled into bed at ten o’clock. I opened my music app, hoping to find some soothing melodies to help me drift off to sleep.

To my surprise, I found several private messages waiting for me. They were from the male colleague I was closest to at work.

My sudden resignation took him aback, and he genuinely asked if something had happened at home. If there was anything he could do to help, he urged me to let him know.

As I contemplated how to respond, my colleague sent a video. He added, “Tyron, this video of Verity and Colton has gone viral in the workgroup.”