[Keiran, let’s break up.]

Claudette Williams’s message hung in the air, heavy and unacknowledged, like the cold dishes on the table before her. No matter how many times they were reheated, the taste was long gone.

She glanced at the clock; midnight had come and gone. With a sigh, she rose, sweeping the untouched food into the trash.

Just as Claudette finished tidying up, the sound of footsteps echoed from outside the door.

When Keiran Harris finally entered and saw her still sitting in the dimly lit living room, he stopped, surprised. "Why aren’t you asleep yet?"

As always, the first thing he did was reach out, pulling her into his arms. "You said you’d be back for dinner, so I made a whole table of food waiting for you!"

A faint smile traced Claudette's lips as she spoke, calm as ever, though a subtle distance lingered in her gaze, a new, unspoken wall between them.

Keiran wrapped her in his arms, his apologies pouring out in a flurry. "It’s all my fault. Go ahead, punish me if that’ll help. Tonight’s client was crucial, a last-minute meeting I couldn’t turn down. I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. Look, I even brought you a gift, Love’s latest masterpiece, crafted just for you."

Claudette didn’t turn down Keiran's gift; after all, she could sell it for cash once she left. Yet her expression was different now, missing its usual warmth.

She couldn’t quite place when Keiran had become so adept at lying, his words flowing without a single hesitation. His “important client” was nothing more than that fresh-faced intern he’d recently hired with suspicious enthusiasm.

“Oh, really?” she replied, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “Your client must be quite inconsiderate, choosing tonight of all nights to meet with you, almost as if to spite me.”

Keiran didn’t skip a beat. “Exactly, ruining my date with you. Next time, I’ll file a complaint with their boss!”

Claudette watched Keiran’s face, searching for any flicker of guilt, but there was none. Either he’d perfected the art of hiding his emotions in his high-powered position, or he was simply a master of deceit.

“Alright, I’ll take a shower first, then I’ll come to bed with my darling,” he murmured, giving her a suggestive grin.

Claudette smiled, giving a small wave to send him off. But as his back turned, her smile faded, vanishing into the silence of the room.

There was a time when hearing Keiran call her "darling" would have wrapped her heart in warmth. She used to melt at the way he’d say “Claude” in that deep, irresistible voice of his. But now, the very sound of it churned her stomach.

The moment Keiran stepped into the shower, Claudette slipped her hand into his coat pocket, pulling out his other phone.

She’d told herself she wouldn’t look, but the temptation was too strong. Her fingers betrayed her, opening the chat with his pinned contact, his so-called “beloved.”

[Do you like it?]

The words lingered, paired with a seductive photo of Corinne Clark, young, stunning, and radiating a vibrancy that made Claudette’s twenty-eight-year-old self feel like a distant shadow.

[My little temptress, always finding new ways to drive me wild.]

[If I didn’t, you’d just run back to that old woman.]

[Corinne, watch your mouth.]

Should Claudette have felt relieved that she still held a place in Keiran’s mind? Or did that thought only deepen the ache?

[It doesn’t matter. You’re mine—now and always.]

[Yes, yes, my queen. Just for you, all yours.]

Reading Keiran’s tender words felt like a dagger twisting in Claudette’s chest.

Claudette thought back; it had been over two months since Keiran had last reached for her.

Once, she had slipped into his embrace, draped in her favorite dress, hoping to reignite the spark. But he’d only brushed her off with a tired smile. “I’m exhausted; let’s just rest tonight.”

She’d sympathized, chalking it up to long hours, only to realize later that his energy had already been spent on someone else.

Claudette thought her heart had gone numb, but the slow, searing ache reminded her that it still hurt deeply.

She brushed the tears from her eyes, slipping his phone back where it belonged without waiting for him to see. She knew it was time to let go.

Her mind drifted to the first time she’d met Keiran in a dim alley near the university gates. He stood there, surrounded by a few others, his face a mask of calm, fearless, as though this was all too familiar to him.

Right before the fight could erupt, Claudette intervened, her tone cutting through the tension. “What are you all doing? The police are already on their way.” At that, they scattered, not daring to linger.

Keiran turned to go, but Claudette took his arm and led him to the convenience store. Gently, she tended to his wounds, the faint bruises lending an unexpected edge to his soft features as she placed each band-aid with care. They had no reason to connect before, but after that night, it seemed fate had other plans. She’d catch sight of him daily and soon learned he was a freshman, three years younger than her.

Keiran was always alone, solitary, and distant, which struck her as lonely. So, each morning, she’d offer him her breakfast, a small gesture of kindness. Soon enough, he grew to expect it, waiting by the lecture hall doors every morning, watching for Claudette’s familiar smile.

It wasn’t long before he took his turn, bringing breakfast and waiting patiently each day. Slowly, an unspoken connection grew between them, woven from shared silences and lingering glances.

This quiet routine stretched on for months until Claudette finished her project and prepared to leave campus. She could see that Keiran had grown attached to her, maybe because he didn’t have anyone else close.

Once she graduated, Claudette returned home, taking charge of her parents’ small company.

Whenever Keiran had the time, he would wait for her downstairs, and before long, her office became his quiet retreat. But everything changed with one single spark: the arrival of a bouquet of 99 roses from an admirer.

Keiran’s fury was unmistakable, and though Claudette suspected the cause, she hesitated to confront him, not wanting to shatter the delicate balance they had built.

That night, in the stillness of the office, the tension between them finally snapped. Keiran’s emotions spilled over, his voice low and intense as he pulled her close, confessing that in her arms, he found the warmth he had been craving, true warmth that made him feel, for the first time, that he truly had her.

Claudette had once believed Keiran’s words were a promise of love, but now, with the distance between them, it all seemed like the youthful, empty declarations of a boy.

He had found that same warmth elsewhere, leaving her behind as though she had never been needed.

The year Keiran graduated, Claudette threw herself into the world of networking, attending endless meetings and drinking until dawn to help him secure a position within Harris Corporation.

To her surprise, it took him only a year to rise to the top, and in the next two years, he had transformed the company into something far more powerful than she had ever imagined.

What Claudette had once seen as a "poor soul" now revealed itself as a predator, a wolf lurking quietly in the shadows.

Her eyes lingered on the photo in her hand as disbelief crept over her. If she hadn’t accidentally discovered Keiran’s second phone and seen a message from someone named “Beloved,” she might never have known the truth.

A bitter chuckle escaped her, the irony sharp. Seven years of her youth were given to Keiran, yet never once had he considered her his “beloved.”

With a sigh, she shook her head, pulling herself back from the edge of these painful thoughts.

She gathered every photograph they had shared, carefully placing them in a box. It was time to let go, everything that belonged to her had to be cleared out. She was leaving, and she wanted to do so without leaving a trace.

At the office, Claudette handed over her responsibilities, her voice steady as she gave instructions to transfer the funds to her designated account.

“President, are you really leaving us?”

Claudette replied, “Don’t worry. The contract’s clear: if you don’t make any mistakes and don’t leave of your own accord, you’ll be fine. You’ll keep your job.”

Claudette left everything behind, even the gifts Keiran had once given her. Her assistant looked at her, confused. She had always held onto those things as if they were treasures. “Just throw them out. People change. What’s the point of holding onto the past?”

The assistant gave a slight nod, understanding without further question, and said nothing more.

When Claudette finally arrived home, she found Keiran sitting there, smoking. The ashtray was heaping, an unspoken sign of how long he had been stewing in his own frustration. “Where were you? Why didn’t you answer my calls? Why didn’t you respond to my messages?”

Claudette lied, her voice slipping into a cool, practiced tone. “Sorry, I got caught up with things and missed your calls. Was there something urgent?”

Keiran sensed the shift in her demeanor, a subtle change that tugged at him, though he couldn’t pinpoint what was off. Claudette had never spoken to him with such a cold, distant edge before. “I was worried sick about you! Don’t just vanish like that again. You’re driving me insane.”

He moved to kiss her, but she instinctively pulled back. “Is it because I smell like smoke, Claude?”

In the past, whenever Keiran lit up, Claudette would always be quick to put out the cigarette, her voice laced with concern as she reminded him of its toll on his health.

But today, she only frowned, a fleeting, almost imperceptible gesture, and made no mention of his smoking. She didn’t mention the smoke at all, and the subtle distance in her demeanor unsettled him. “I’m sorry. I won’t smoke again. I was just... worried about you.”

Claudette’s lips curved into a faint, almost unreadable smile. “It’s fine. I was just lost in thought.”

“I’m going to take a shower."

That night, for the first time, Keiran didn’t reach for his second phone. Instead, he held Claudette tightly in his arms, his body trembling as if trying to find solace in her presence after the coldness she had shown him earlier.

If she hadn’t discovered his messages with another woman, she might have believed the warmth in his embrace, might have convinced herself that he truly loved her.

But deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he never did. Perhaps it had all been a fantasy, an illusion woven from her own hopes.

Keiran pressed her beneath him, his movements frantic, as though he needed to reclaim something, anything, from their bond. But Claudette pulled away, avoiding his touch, her voice soft but firm. “My period... I’m not feeling well.”

Keiran didn’t say a word, merely pulling her into his embrace, his hand resting lightly on her stomach. Claudette’s tears fell quietly, a river of sorrow she could no longer contain.

Once, he had been her constant caretaker, watching over her with gentle care during her cycle, his every thought consumed with ensuring she was comfortable. But now, his touch felt distant, his concern replaced with something colder, something she couldn’t quite name.