“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.

"Anne, you came!" Valentine greeted brightly as I stepped into the VIP room of the restaurant.

Her hand lingered deliberately on Raymond’s chest before she pulled it away in a mock panic, as if she’d been caught in the act.

Raymond, meanwhile, adjusted himself in his chair, silently picking at the last piece of pie he’d been about to feed her.

His eyes narrowed, glaring at me with a silent question: 'Why are you here?'

I shrugged, strolling over and setting a grocery bag with two bottles of cola on the table.

I hadn’t bothered to dress up—just a hoodie, joggers, and my bag slung over one shoulder. Ignoring their stares, I fished a small file folder from my bag, keeping my attention on it instead of them.

Sensing the tension rising, Valentine’s expression shifted nervously. She leaned closer to Raymond, cooing, "It was my idea to invite her, Ray. Don’t be mad at her.” Her voice was sickly sweet. “I just really wanted cola, so I borrowed your phone to ask her to bring us some. I didn’t mention it right away... I guess I felt a little mischievous today.”

Raymond's irritated expression softened almost instantly as Valentine pouted. He tapped her forehead gently, his earlier stiffness melting away.

"What a naughty rascal," he murmured with a fond smile.

Seizing the moment, I pressed an open document into his hands, already flipped to the page where I needed his signature. He pulled back slightly, confused, but I didn’t give him a chance to read on it.

“This needs your signature,” I said flatly.

“You came all the way here just for this?” he asked, trailing off.

“First, it was for the cola,” I replied. “I’ll be on my way once we’re done. Clearly, I’m not exactly welcome here.”

Raymond looked at me, caught off guard by my bluntness, but with a slight shake of his head, he picked up the pen I’d set beside the document and signed the bottom of the page.

Under normal circumstances, he would have read through it first, but my sudden arrival, Valentine’s clinginess, and his clear desire to end this encounter quickly nudged him into signing without much thought.

He hadn’t noticed my resignation letter slipped neatly between the pages. If HR had accepted it yesterday, I wouldn’t have needed to resort to these tactics.

As Raymond flipped to the next page to sign, I noticed Valentine watching me out of the corner of my eye.

"Oh! That black ring you’re wearing looks so familiar," she chirped suddenly.

I glanced at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Raymond, doesn’t that ring look just like the one you tossed in the trash the other day?” she asked, her voice syrupy and sweet.

I saw a flicker of panic in Raymond’s eyes as he hastily signed the last page. I simply smiled at their little charade.

“Rings like these are pretty common, Val,” I replied calmly, tucking the signed document back into my bag.

Before leaving, I glanced down at the ring—a custom piece I’d ordered to symbolize the bond between me and Raymond, once a symbol of hope that he’d replace it with a wedding band.

I slipped it off, a small smile forming as I turned it over in my hand.

Time to part ways with this ring, too.

“Would you like it, Val?” I asked, turning to her, holding the ring out with a casual shrug. “I’m getting a bit bored with the design myself.”

“Oh! Well…” Valentine stammered, clearly taken aback.

I gave her a nod and shrugged. As I made my way to the door, I spotted a trash can nearby. Stepping on the pedal to open the lid, I dropped the ring inside before heading out of the restaurant.

The night breeze greeted me as I stepped outside, crisp and cool—a fresh start.

Buzz! Buzz!

Seeing my mother’s name flash on the screen, I pulled my phone from my hoodie pocket and picked up immediately. "Hey, Ma! Everything okay?"

"Anne! Why didn’t you reply to my messages? Are you really coming home soon? Did you buy tickets already?” My mom bombarded me with questions, her usual way of following up whenever I updated her in chat.

I let out a sigh of relief, glad she was alright. “I haven’t bought a ticket yet, Ma. Probably tomorrow.”

“Ticket? Ma? You’re going home?” My heart skipped a beat as Raymond’s voice sounded behind me.

Forcing myself to stay calm, I replied, “Yes, I mentioned to you that my mom’s been unwell since last month, right?” I fibbed, gripping the strap of my bag just a bit tighter. “I just want to check in on her. I haven’t been home in a while.”

Raymond studied me, his expression unreadable. “I see.”

I hoped he’d leave it at that, but instead, he continued to stare, his gaze almost probing.

What did he want?

Without another word, he commanded, “I’m done eating. Come with me,” his tone firm.

I blinked. “Huh?”

Ignoring my confusion, he took hold of my uninjured arm and led me to his car without waiting for permission.

“I’ve booked a hotel nearby. Come,” he said without even looking back at me.