"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.

[Deposit Blocked: Transaction Rejected

An attempted deposit of $10,000.00 from 'Raymond Ford' has been rejected.

This transaction was blocked based on your account settings, which currently deny incoming transfers from this account.

If you'd like to adjust your settings or review this transaction, please go to Account Settings or contact Customer Support for assistance.]

I couldn’t help but smirk at the notification, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.

Raymond had left the house earlier, his eyes practically gleaming with satisfaction as he saw the pie he requested was done perfectly.

Without another word, he took it and left, no doubt believing he had done something to make up for the tension between us.

I knew exactly what he was thinking: he thought a large sum of money would smooth things between us.

To be honest, in the past, his "money apologies" had worked, at least for a while. When he threw cash at my anger, it temporarily dulled the sting, letting me forget the hurt of his indifference.

Back then, I had even used some of it to distract myself from how he had rejected me, offering me little more than empty promises.

Now, he must have believed the same trick would work again. After all, I hadn’t made much complain about the money before.

What he didn’t know, however, was that I had long since built my own fortune.

As an expert marketing consultant with a growing alter persona, Purple Hat, in the digital world. For the past four years, I had been earning far more than anything Raymond’s company could offer.

I had started returning his “money apologies” since then, in amounts carefully chosen to trigger bank alerts.

And now, as I looked at the rejection notification, I could almost picture Raymond, furiously trying to figure out why his money had bounced.

*

[Mr. X is calling]

I glanced away from my laptop at the buzzing phone. I stared at the screen, half-expecting Raymond to call around this hour. After a moment, I picked up.

The silence on my end prompted him to start.

"Anne, are you at home?" he asked, his voice soft.

It was always like this—Raymond’s tone softened whenever we were apart, a contrast to the sharper edge he used in person.

"Is there something you need?" I asked, brushing past his question.

"Well... not really," he replied, still in that gentle tone, so different from the raised voice he’d used earlier this morning. "Just... your apple pie tastes amazing."

I nodded to myself. "Yeah, I know. I put effort into it."

"Anne, are you still—"

"Oh? Are you calling Ann?" a bubbly, feminine voice broke in from the background—Valentine.

"Anne!" she chimed, her tone sugary and bright. "Raymond said you made the apple pie! It was insanely good! How did you even manage it? I'm jealous! I wish I had your baking skills. Last time I tried, the whole kitchen nearly went up in flames if Raymond hadn’t been there to save it!"

A nerve pulsed in my temple—not out of jealousy that Raymond and Valentine were together without me knowing, but because of her faux-innocent chatter that made my skin crawl.

"Oh yeah! You can come anytime! I’m basically throwing a birthday party right now and—"

“No, you don’t need to come, Anne,” Raymond cut in firmly. “I’m still waiting on that last report to be finished, okay?”

Before I could get a word in, the line went dead.

I stared at my phone, disbelief simmering. How did I ever fall for a guy like this?

Talk about rude!

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Raymond:

Mr. X: [I take back what I said. Please come over. Pick up some Coke from the convenience store—Valentine forgot to get it for her little party.]

There was a location link sent afterward.

The oddest word in that text was [please]—a dead giveaway that Raymond hadn’t typed it. Somehow, Valentine had gotten hold of his phone and sent the message herself. Raymond never invited me anywhere near him when he had his “dates” with Valentine.

I sighed, shaking my head. Did Valentine really think I was that clueless?

Oh, but wait a minute…

I paused, a slow smile creeping across my face.

I think I could use this opportunity to finally resign—for good.