The comments were a flood of heart emojis and gushing fans. A few uninformed followers asked if they were official. Alvin replied with an ellipsis. Cassidy followed up with a winking emoji.

No denial. Same as always.

But this time, I didn't explode. I didn't call him, and I didn't set myself up to be berated for "overreacting."

I just sent him a text: 'Report's done.' I dropped the file in his office, booked the table he wanted, and drove home.

The moment I walked in the door, my phone rang—Alvin's number.

I answered, but it wasn't him.

"Xena, it's Cassidy. Thanks for your help with the project. I'll treat you to dinner sometime." Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

Before I could answer, Alvin cut in. "Don't thank her. It's her job."

Cassidy said playfully, "Alvin, she's your fiancée. Can't you be a little nicer to her?"

Listening to them, you’d think they were the actual couple.

A dry laugh escaped me.

Alvin—the same Alvin who used to lose his mind if I so much as glanced at his phone—was now handing it over to Cassidy like it was nothing.

Honestly? I felt unnervingly calm.

The things that used to feel world-ending suddenly felt… insignificant.

They joked around for another minute before Alvin finally remembered I was on the line. "I'll be back soon. Don't wait up for me—get some rest."

Then he hung up.

His "soon" usually meant four or five hours. I used to pace the floor, sick with worry.

But this time, I couldn't be bothered.

I strode into the study, my eyes fixed on the countdown glowing on the digital wall calendar.

Not long ago, Alvin and Cassidy had turned a business trip to Napa Valley into a personal vacation. While they were out playing house, I had quietly slipped my resignation letter into a stack of venture capital documents. Alvin had been too distracted to notice—he'd approved it without a second glance.

Three days left.

Once the handover was complete, I was gone.

I paused, then called Dr. Alistair Finch, my old design mentor and now the head of a top design studio in New York City.

Right after graduation, I had landed a spot in a top residency program there. But Alvin said he needed my help to start his company, and like an idiot, I dropped everything and rushed back to Austin. Dr. Finch had advised against it. I didn't listen.

Looking back now… yeah, I was a fool.

Feelings? They change. A career? That will never betray you.

When the call connected, I explained my situation. I was prepared for a lecture. Instead, Dr. Finch just sighed.

"I'd heard… I was thinking about calling you. But this time… are you really sure?"

"I'm sure. The resignation is already processed."

"Resignation? What resignation?"

The voice didn't come from the phone.

I turned.

Alvin was standing in the doorway.

I’d ended the call before I even realized what I was doing.

I locked my phone without a word.

As I was trying to figure out what to say, his phone buzzed. It was Cassidy again. She had found a new, trendy restaurant and sent him a picture, asking if he wanted to go next time.

"Looks good," Alvin murmured into his phone, recording a voice memo.

She immediately shot back, "Does the restaurant look good, or do I look good?"

It was followed by a selfie—her winking at the camera, a brilliant smile on her face.

Alvin chuckled. "The restaurant is good, but you're better."

Then, as if suddenly remembering I was there, the warmth vanished from his face. He turned to me, his tone icy.

"Didn't I tell you to get some rest? Why are you still up?"

The shift was whiplash-inducing, a world away from the soft tone he used with her.

And he'd already forgotten I'd mentioned my resignation.

I offered a tight smile. "Just wrapping a few things up."

His brow furrowed deeper. "It's late. What else is there? Xena, you really need to manage your time better. This slacking off is becoming a problem."

I didn't bother pointing out that his constant last-minute tasks were the problem. No arguments. No justifications. I stayed silent.

He didn't press. He just walked into the bedroom.

A minute later, I heard him laugh. A real laugh.

I hadn't heard that sound in a long time. It was a sound reserved for Cassidy.

I ignored it, sat down at my desk, and pulled out a few design journals I hadn't finished.

The design world had changed a lot in five years. Even with Dr. Finch's support, I'd have to prove I wasn't rusty.

Thankfully, my fundamentals were solid. I could catch up quickly.

"Are you reading design journals?"

I hadn't even heard him come back in.

He picked one up, flipped through a few pages, then tossed it back with a hint of a sneer. "What are you looking at these for? Do you even understand them?"

I stacked the journals neatly. "Just browsing."

I met his gaze. "Did you need something?"

Before, I would have been thrilled if Alvin had come over just to talk. Not anymore. He froze, as if he hadn't expected me to be so direct.

His expression shifted—awkward, like I'd killed the mood. "Uh, yeah, actually. Cassidy just closed a big project, so I'm thinking of officially putting her in charge of the new initiative. It'll be good for team morale. What do you think?"

He looked straight at me.

He asked for my opinion, but the question was pure theater. We both knew it.

I just nodded. "I have no objections."

Then he added, "But promotions have consequences. So, to be fair, I'm going to have to temporarily move you to a junior design team. Just for a little while."

"I'll move you back when things cool down. Don't worry—it's for the big picture. You're my fiancée, so you'll support me, right?"

I laughed inwardly.

He still had no idea I had already quit.

He could read Cassidy like a book—knew her moods from a single glance, remembered every little thing she liked. But his own fiancée could hand him a resignation letter that he personally signed, and he remained completely oblivious.

That was the tell. Not the grand betrayals, but the thousand tiny things he simply failed to see.

Seeing my silence, Alvin assumed I was gearing up for our usual fight. His face fell. "Even if you don't agree, it's not going to change anything. Cassidy has already moved into your office."

"Either accept the transfer or leave," he said. "But just a reminder—the company is about to go through a new round of financing. You might want to think twice before you walk away."

He really thought I'd stay.

This wasn't new. I'd been demoted more than once over Cassidy's petty complaints.

I had always tolerated it. Alvin assumed that now, I would only cling to him tighter.

I let out a dry laugh. "I didn't say I disagreed."

"Then it's settled," Alvin said, sounding relieved.

To him, silence meant consent.

He walked to the door, then turned back. "Didn't you used to have a picture of us in the digital frame on your desk? Where did it go?"

And then it hit me.

It wasn't just the desk. I used to have our photos everywhere—on my phone, on the bedroom wall, in my wallet. They were little reminders—proof, I'd told myself—that no matter how cold he became, some part of him still loved me.

He used to laugh at me for it. Said I was obsessed with "useless little trinkets." He never got it. Never understood that they were the only things keeping me from leaving.

Later, I saw them for what they really were: monuments to my own pathetic hope.