The next day, the office was tense before the meeting even started. Orion suddenly had Rhea give a work report. She fumbled through it, stammering, unable to explain a single thing.
How would she even know a single thing? I was the one who did all the work for that section.
"If you don't even understand your own responsibilities," Orion said flatly, "you don't need to keep that seat."
The conference room went silent. Dead silent. You could almost hear a pin drop.
Rhea covered her mouth, bolted from the room, tears streaking her face.
After the meeting, the break room buzzed with whispers.
"Jeez, the boss was in such a bad mood today."
"Do you think the 'boss' wife' is getting dethroned?"
I was making instant coffee, trying not to care, when someone called me out.
"Hey, Aurora, why aren't you saying anything?"
"Honestly, you're so tough. When Mr. Durnavelle embarrassed you back then, you didn't even cry!"
I didn't care about the drama.
Not really.
But staying silent while everyone gossiped made you a target. People read silence as disloyalty. So I played along.
"How could I compare to the boss' wife?" I said lightly, keeping my tone casual. "Couples fight, then make up in bed. That whole love–hate, will–they–won't–they thing? That's the ultimate office romance vibe—"
Someone poked me. "Stop it," I steadied my mug, smiling faintly. "Honestly? I'm kind of shipping them now."
Then I noticed the silence. Eerie.
I looked up.
Orion. Ice cold. Standing at the doorway.
Under everyone's pitying eyes, he dragged me up to the top floor, his expression dark and unreadable.
The second we were inside, he wrapped his arms around me from behind.
I jumped, startled. Anxiety prickled through me instead of warmth. To keep our relationship secret, he always made me get out of the car a few blocks early and kept our moments private.
But now? His office door was wide open. One of his assistants could walk in at any moment.
I struggled. "W-What are you doing?! L-Let go!" I whispered, panicked.
He hugged me tighter. "To hell with them."
"S-Someone's going to see us!" I insisted.
He slammed the door shut with a force that rattled the frame, then turned me to face him. His eyes dug into mine, like he was searching for something deep inside. After a long, tense moment, he let me go—though he still held my hand.
"Rora, there's really nothing between me and Rhea," he said. Then he stopped, hesitated. "Forget it. You can be mad if you want. I'll prove it to you. With my actions."
I froze.
The promise I'd begged for before we broke up—the one I never got—was suddenly being handed to me now. But I couldn't take it. Not really.
My flight was in seven days.
I didn't want anything from him anymore.
And yet, from that day on, he changed. Suddenly, he reported everything to me—even things I didn't care about.
It's like a derailed train snapping back onto the tracks. Our relationship. Everything. It was like it had rewound to before Rhea had ever appeared.
He even became obsessive about making me look at him during sex, yet every time I did, he'd cover my eyes again.
For the first time in months, I thought maybe he wasn't as indifferent as I'd believed. Maybe I should tell him about the breakup face—face to face—before I leave the country.
And then I noticed something that froze me in place.
My flight. The date.
The day I was leaving? Our seven-year anniversary.
And tomorrow was the big day.
I had decided—I would tell him everything tonight. Every bit of pain, every betrayal, every memory I'd held onto, I would lay it all bare.
I glanced at the photo Orion had sent just a minute ago—him at a client dinner, dutifully checking in—and decided to meet him there. I wanted to see him one last time before I left, to speak my truth.
But when I reached the rooftop, I froze.
Orion and Rhea. Kissing.
The evening breeze carried the faint scent of flowers. The summer night wrapped the city in a soft glow. Stars scattered across the sky like diamonds.
Every single detail mirrored that night, seven years ago, when we had made things official. The same warmth in the air, the same quiet intimacy.
Except back then… I had been the one in his arms.
Rhea's doe eyes shimmered with satisfaction. Her lipstick gleamed perfectly under the rooftop lights. She looked at me, and her gaze held provocation, triumph—a silent declaration that she had won.
I laughed then. Bitterly.
It was a sound without joy, without hope. My heart felt like a stagnant pool, dead and unfeeling. The emptiness that had haunted me for months finally solidified.
Finally, I felt nothing.
I whispered, just barely audible, "Goodbye, Orion."
And I walked away.