My flat reply cut him short.

As I hung up, the car was just pulling through the gates of the villa community.

I stepped out of the car and into the foyer, my phone buzzing nonstop. It was Ryder's company's internal Slack channel.

When I opened it, the unread messages had already piled into the triple digits.

The latest post was a photo from Blair: Ryder, sleeves rolled up, kneeling on the bathroom floor to fix her new shower head.

The caption read: "Where can you find such a considerate boss! I'd happily give my life to this job!"

It was followed by a flood of envy and compliments from the entire group of colleagues.

"I've never seen the big boss like this. Isn't he supposed to have extreme germaphobia? You can't tell at all!"

"Oh my god, a man out of a bespoke suit is so sexy! You can feel the testosterone through the screen. Deadly. I'm officially a fan."

"Dream on. The future Mrs. Boss posted that. We're just here to clock in and clock out."

When Ryder was just starting out and struggling, I was the one who handled all his miscellaneous affairs, unpaid.

That was until he hired Blair, who completely took over my role. As for this internal channel, I had forgotten to leave it.

I read through every single comment before clearing the chat history and clicking "Leave."

Since I had already decided to go, getting a preview of their married life wasn't as painful as I had imagined.

But for a moment, I was transported back seven years. When he was starting from scratch, he would constantly show off little moments of our life together in the group chat.

In those candid photos, I was either making him a Mancini espresso or hunched over, organizing his files.

There wasn't a single person in the company who didn't know the boss's intentions.

Wrapped in that fervent, possessive love, even the most tedious start-up period felt incredibly sweet.

His ostentatious affection had turned the otherwise dull work chat into the corner everyone loved to watch.

But all of that changed the day Blair arrived.

She took over all my roles. Including being the object of his public affections.

Ryder began to subtly forbid his staff from mentioning anything about me at the company. He quietly favored his new assistant.

Ryder had once docked an entire year's bonus from a manager I was friendly with, just for complaining that Blair was impulsive and not as composed as I was.

In the end, I had to privately cover the difference from my own funds to appease the furious manager.

Returning to this villa where I had lived for seven years, a place that was never truly mine, I began to pack my belongings.

While clearing out a drawer, I found a custom, vintage-style leather album. I held it in my hands and slowly flipped it open on the leather sofa.

It documented every gift Ryder had promised and given me over the past seven years.

Seven years ago, he had pressed me against a wall, swearing that once he filled all one hundred pages with our memories, we would exchange vows at the altar.

This thick album was filled, all but for the very last empty page.

We both knew what was missing. And now, I knew that my ring finger would never wear anything he gave me.

In the end, this final step had become the most ridiculous joke of all.

I took the album to the living room and threw it directly into the roaring fireplace.

I watched as the expensive leather curled and twisted in the flames, slowly turning to ash.

Along with my seven absurd years of fantasy, it all burned away.

Ryder walked in just in time to see this, his face instantly turning pale.

He charged over like a madman, shoved me hard onto the carpet, and plunged his bare hands into the scorching fireplace.

But the flames licked at the back of his hands, instantly searing his knuckles raw.

It was already burned, Ryder. There was nothing left to save.

He turned his head in frustration, his eyes bloodshot, watching the flames rapidly consume our past.

"Why did you burn it?" he finally yelled. "Olivia, are you insane? That was seven years of our memories, and you just destroyed it all!"

I pushed myself up from the carpet and brushed the dust off my silk robe.

The firelight cast a warm glow on my silhouette, but my voice was ice-cold.

"It's nothing," I said. "It got damp and moldy while I was cleaning, so I threw it out."

Ryder watched my detached movements and finally realized how out of line his own aggression had been.

He took a deep, regretful breath, and his tone softened.

"Did you get hurt? I'm sorry, Olivia, I was just too worked up. Those were seven years of our memories. Weren't we supposed to display it for everyone at our wedding? How could you just destroy it?"

"Even if it was moldy, you could have waited for me to come back and handle it. I would have found the best craftsman to restore it."

I couldn't even be bothered to look at him.

The man before me was no longer the boy who had blocked my doorway seven years ago, promising to lay the world at my feet.

"You haven't been home on time in a long while. You're so busy with company affairs, I wouldn't want to trouble you with such a small matter."

He stood before me, staring at the pile of smoldering ash, his broad shoulders slumped slightly, his eyes filled with sorrow.

The scene was utterly ironic.

He was the one who had personally handed these seven years over to another woman, and now he was here, acting like his heart was breaking.

I turned to go back to the master bedroom to continue packing.

He thought I was throwing a tantrum and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into his arms.

The cloying, cheap perfume clinging to his expensive shirt was so sharp it made my nose wrinkle.

He didn't let go. Instead, he lowered his head and nuzzled the top of my hair.

"Did you catch a cold? Baby, I'm sorry. I admit I've been swamped with the project lately and I've neglected you. Once this project is over, we'll fill a new one. I'll make it up to you, okay?"

In the past, I probably would have forgiven him with just those words. I might have even been incredibly moved.

But after waking up once in that hospital bed at the medical center, I felt that even touching him was a waste of effort.

A man who would risk my life for a laugh with another woman... believing in that kind of affection for a second longer would be an insult to myself.

Once he had calmed down, I pried his fingers off my waist, one by one.

"Baby, I know I've neglected you," he said earnestly, grabbing my hand.

"But I'm going to make it up to you. I've planned a huge surprise for tomorrow night. Just wait for it."

In the past, he always made grand promises about magnificent celebrations, but he never once delivered. I was leaving this house in two days. I didn't care what his surprise was anymore.

He was about to say something else when the phone in his pocket rang again.

He hurriedly let go of me and took a few steps back.

"There's an emergency with the company's network system. I have to go in person. Don't wait up for me tonight. I promise tomorrow's surprise will be perfect. Don't overthink things."

He was muttering excuses, his long legs already backing eagerly toward the foyer. Before he finished speaking, his back had completely disappeared through the front door.

The next second, the sound of a sports car's engine roared to life in the driveway.

I knew that light piano melody was the custom ringtone he had set just for Blair.

I knew everything, but there was no point in exposing him now.

The next morning, a top-tier party planning team arrived at the villa early. Along with them came Blair, clicking in on her high heels.

Under the guise of helping her boss, she brazenly took charge of the house as the "supervisor."

But after watching the workers bustle about for a whole day, I realized the decorations were just a rehash of the leftover materials from her own victory party.

As evening fell, the workers began to leave. She strolled up to me with a glass of red wine, her chin tilted up in defiance.

"Olivia, this is the result of my all-day supervision. Do you think these decorations are worthy of your status as the woman he keeps in the shadows?"

My eyes locked on the emerald pendant at the base of her throat.

The one I'd supposedly "lost" in a dressing room six months ago. She was wearing it so brazenly.

"Second-hand trash for a second-hand woman," I said, my voice low. "It suits you. If you like my leftovers, feel free to enjoy them."

I turned to leave. Her eyes darted toward the end of the hallway.

The next second, she violently shoved an entire row of aged Roland red wine off the wine cabinet.

The heavy, solid wood rack crashed to the floor, and countless expensive bottles shattered, mixing with sharp shards of glass.

Blair collapsed onto the floor, clutching a broken bottle neck in her hand, and began to cry hysterically.

Her performance was so dramatic I couldn't tell if the crimson on her hand was blood or wine.

Before I could react, the front door burst open.

Ryder rushed in, taking three steps at a time, only to be met with this scene: a floor covered in crimson and shattered glass, and Blair, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably.

He didn't ask a single question. He ruthlessly grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I almost cried out in pain.

"Have you had enough?! Blair came here to help with your surprise, and what kind of tantrum are you throwing now?!"

"If you're going to act like this, I don't even know why I bothered planning anything for you!"

He flung my hand away and bent down to scoop Blair up into his arms.

As she settled against his shoulder, she glanced over it at me, a small, triumphant smile on her lips.

I sat all night in that wine-soaked living room, under the glare of the bright lights.

The crystal chandelier was blinding, illuminating the shattered bottles and the wine stains that had long since dried to a dark red.

As dawn broke, no one had come through the door.

That made sense. In these seven years, I had shrunk my world down to just Ryder.

Friends, the cousins I grew up with in the family, the stables I used to love… I pushed them all away, just to accommodate his "Just wait for me, I'll give you everything."

At ten in the morning, the tiramisu I had pre-ordered arrived on time.

It was from the old shop where we had shared a cake on our first anniversary.

I opened the box myself, cut a small piece from it, and placed it on the thinnest bone china plate.

There was no champagne on the table, no roses, and certainly not the man who was supposed to be there.

I stuck a thin candle in it, the flame flickering gently.

Closing my eyes, I made a wish for myself.

That in this life, I would never look back.

In the end, I didn't touch a single bite of the cake. I just watched the candle burn down to nothing. This anniversary party, years overdue, had only ever had one guest.

The moment the countdown on my lock screen widget hit zero, my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably.

I picked up the suitcase I had packed long ago and, without a single backward glance, walked out of the villa I had lived in for seven years, a home that had never been mine.

On the way to the family's private airfield, I opened my chat with Ryder and sent a final text.

"We're over. Don't contact me again."

It was just one text, but it was enough to end seven years of foolishness.

At that exact moment, across the city, Ryder was standing in a lavishly decorated venue, holding a diamond ring, waiting to propose.

But instead of seeing me walk through the doors, he only received my final text.

At the boarding gate, I glanced at my phone one last time. The screen was lit up with a wall of missed calls from Ryder.