The next morning, after struggling through my shower, I noticed Raymond was nowhere in the room—a rare thing for him to be up so early. Hearing noise from the dining area, I didn’t bother calling his name.

Once I was dressed and ready to leave, my gaze drifted to the trash can. There was the bra I’d tossed in there yesterday. I paused, debating whether to bring it up. Finally, I bent down, picked it up without a second thought, and headed out.

On the dining table, a paper bag with the logo of a popular sandwich shop sat neatly waiting. Inside, a carefully wrapped sandwich caught my eye. But as soon as I reached for it, Raymond’s hand slapped mine away.

“That has shrimp in it. You’re allergic, right?”

I froze for a moment, realizing the sandwich wasn’t for me. It was for his precious assistant.

“Here, take mine.” He pushed another bag toward me. “It’s a tuna sandwich. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

That was it. The restraint I’d clung to since yesterday snapped. “I have no such allergies!” My voice cracked under the sting of being treated like an afterthought. “We’ve lived together for years, Raymond. You know I hate tuna. It’s fishy.”

He looked taken aback at first, but quickly shifted to annoyance. “It’s just a sandwich, Anne. Don’t eat it if you don’t like it. Simple.”

He stood abruptly, raising a hand to silence any further argument.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “It’s morning, and it’s going to be a long day. I’m out.” He grabbed the other sandwich bag, then moved to the kitchen island to collect his things—bag, phone, car keys.

“I was going to drive you to work, but clearly it’s better if we go separately to cool off. We need professionalism at the office, right? Can’t do that if we’re both angry.” His words dripped with sarcasm as he head towards the entrance door.

As expected. Fortunately, I had something in hand to get back at him.

“Raymond,” I called, stepping slightly in his way by the entrance. I held up the oversized bra cup and handed it to him. “Could you return this to Valentine? I noticed it was left in our bedroom yesterday.”

His eyes went wide, his mouth half-open as if he wanted to respond. For a moment, guilt flashed in his gaze as he searched my face.

But since I didn’t sound angry, he managed to recover, shrugging as he replied, “I’ll remind her to keep track of her things next time.”

“Sure,” I said with a nod.

I turned away, picking up my own bag and pulling out my phone to order an online cab.

“Hey, about the ride to the office today…” he started, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“We’re going separately, remember?” I replied smoothly, a slight smile on my face. “You were right—we need to keep things professional. And look,” I added, showing him my phone screen, “my ride’s already on its way, just fifteen minutes.”

I moved to the shoe rack by the door, brushing past him without much interest.

“I’ll head out first. Can you lock up when you leave?” I said, slightly struggling to get my shoes on.

Without waiting for his reaction, I stepped out of the apartment as soon as my shoes felt secure and headed down to the lobby to wait for the cab I’d ordered.

Oddly enough, I felt at ease. Truly at ease.

It wasn’t as though Raymond had ever made a habit of driving me to work in all our years together—not even back in college. He’d always been the type who “likes to keep professional matters separate from personal ones.”

Right. Just like how he’d prioritized Valentine, chauffeuring her to work during her first week on the job.

My smile widened as I spotted my cab pulling up to the drop-off area.

Now that I thought about it, leaving for work on my own wasn’t so bad after all.

I rolled my shoulders, adjusting the sling to make it a bit more comfortable.

Hopefully, today’s work wouldn’t be too chaotic to handle.

I need to hold on for few more days until I my resignation letter got approved.

"Did you see Mr. Forge came in with Valentine today? If he really cared about Anne, wouldn’t he have made sure she wasn’t coming in alone? Her arm’s still broken, isn’t it?"

I paused just before stepping into the breakroom, my hand frozen on the door handle.

"Exactly!" another voice chimed in. "Everyone's talking about it. She’s really got her claws into the CEO, doesn’t she? Poor Anne. But can you blame her? After all, who’d let go of a CEO? Imagine the power—and the perks—that come from being so close to him."

At that, I pushed the door open, cutting their whispers short. The breakroom went silent.

Without a word, I walked to the water station, filled my bottle, and then left just as quietly as I'd entered.

*

"So this is where you've been hiding."

I looked up from my screen to see Raymond standing there, brows knit and lips twisted into a faint scowl.

Normally, I'd be full of apologies, stumbling over myself to explain why I hadn’t answered his messages because of my workload.

But tonight? I couldn’t bring myself to care about his irritation. My gaze drifted past him to the wall clock ticking its way to 10:10 PM. That explained why the office had grown so quiet.

"Why didn’t you respond to my messages?" Raymond pressed, his voice clipped with impatience.

I blinked, reaching into my purse to fish out my personal phone. Sure enough, his last message was waiting on the screen.

Mr. X: [You wouldn’t complain about getting a strawberry cupcake, right?]

Just then, he set down a small, pristine package from Smile Cake—the most sought-after bakery in town, a haven for sweets lovers.

Normally, I’d be overjoyed, but tonight, the gesture left me cold. I simply returned my attention to the monitor, ignoring the neatly wrapped box.

“What?” he asked, his voice now tinged with confusion and simmering irritation. "You used to beg me to get you one of these."

"Raymond, it’s past 6 PM," I said with a sigh, my fingers still tapping on the keyboard. "I told you—I don’t eat sweets at night. I’ll get a sugar rush and be up half the night."

Before he could protest, I added, “And wasn’t it you who told me to stop wanting ‘childish’ things like cupcakes?”

There was a pause. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him open his mouth, then close it, clearly taken aback

Maybe he hadn’t expected me to push back, or maybe he was struggling to brush off his own words from the past.

But before either of us could speak again, his phone buzzed. He answered it quickly, not even checking the screen.

“My God, Ray! Why did you send me THIS many cupcakes—” The voice was loud and unmistakable. Valentine.

Raymond hurriedly lowered the volume, stepping away from my cubicle, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and panic.

Before he disappeared around the corner, he turned back, mouthing, “Wait here. Go home with me.”

I rolled my eyes and returned to my screen, already tuning him out.

*

In the end, Raymond drove me home.

I didn’t wait for him to get out of the car—he was already absorbed in his phone, grinning like a fool at whatever was on the screen.

At this point, I didn’t need to guess who he was texting.

Once inside, I went straight to my bedroom, grabbed my suitcase, and began packing the essentials I’d take back to my hometown. With my injury, though, it was slow going; every movement took twice as long as I’d hoped.

“Anne!” Raymond’s voice startled me.

He appeared in the doorway, still smirking from whatever chat he’d been having on his phone. There was a beat of silence as he took in the scene, and then his smile disappeared, replaced by a look of irritation.

“What’s this?” he demanded, incredulous. “Are you seriously threatening to leave just because you were upset this morning?”

He didn’t stop there. “I was about to tell you I’ll be going on a business trip next month. I wanted to ask what you might want, and this is how you act?”

I looked up, meeting his gaze without a hint of hesitation. “Oh, you don't need to bother bringing me anything,” I replied calmly, tucking a lipstick into my suitcase. “Really, I'm fine.”

His offer meant nothing to me now. Soon, I’d be gone from this place anyway.

"I can’t believe you, Anne,” he muttered, a note of dismay in his voice. “You know how exhausting work is, and this is what I come home to?” He loosened his tie and tossed it onto the bed along with his suit jacket.

“Why do you always have to be so dramatic? Fine—stay mad if you want. I’m done with it.”

With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, I heard his car engine rev up and fade as he sped away, leaving the house in silence.

I exhaled slowly, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath. But this time, my sigh wasn’t one of fear or sadness—it was a release, a quiet vent for the anger I’d been holding back.

In the past, whenever Raymond stormed out like this, I’d break down, calling him again and again, apologizing for things I’d never done wrong, desperate to bring him back. I’d twist myself in knots, taking on all the blame, just to calm him down.

But where had that gotten me?

Nowhere.

Now that I could finally see things clearly, I recognized the pattern: he’d blame me, or ice me out whenever I didn’t fall in line.

It was a constant, endless game where I was always the one at fault.

I felt a wry smile tug at my lips—a bitter laugh, mostly at myself. How desperate had I been?

I took a long shower and crawled into bed. That night, for the first time in our entire relationship, he didn’t receive a single missed call from me.

Wherever he was going, I’d let him go.

*

The next morning, as I stepped out of the bedroom, I noticed the door to Raymond’s study slightly ajar. Passing by, I glimpsed him asleep on the sofa inside, a book draped over his face. He’d already changed into his nightclothes.

Was this his way of showing he expected an apology from me?

I shook my head.

Ah, whatever.

I ignored him and headed to the kitchen.

When I began preparing breakfast—though not for two, since my injured arm slowed me down—I heard footsteps descending from the second floor.

“Make me an apple pie before 4 p.m.,” Raymond ordered abruptly, barely glancing my way. “I've told the HR. No need for you to go to work today.”

I nearly dropped the spatula when I heard him.

Making an apple pie had been a tradition I’d started when we first began dating. I’d baked one from my late grandma’s recipe for his birthday, just as she had always done for mine.

I had to hold back a scowl at his order, maybe because of the dismissive tone I was finally noticing. Or, MAYBE, it was because my arm was still in a sling, making the task he’d just demanded next to impossible—something anyone could see, especially him.

A faint buzz came from his phone. I didn’t need to ask who was actually ordering that pie.

Since I was kind of thrown by his request, I stood silent for a while, letting the tension in the room build. Per usual, Raymond didn’t seem to notice or care. Instead, he was waiting expectantly for me to agree.

“Sure,” I said, swallowing my irritation and reminding myself I hadn’t yet received approval for my resignation from his company. “I’ll need to buy the ingredients first.”

With that, I turned off the stove and headed upstairs to grab my purse, intending to leave for the market.

“What about breakfast?” Raymond called from below.

I glanced back at him.

Was he serious?

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and hummed, pretending to be oblivious.

“Hm… but you need the pie ready by 4, right? I don't think I will make it if I don’t get the ingredients now.” Then I added, “You could finish my cooking though... or get something else. Totally up to you.”

With that, I went to grab my things and headed to the market, calling a cab along the way.