Chapter 5

In the end, Kyle didn't leave voluntarily. I had building management kick him out.

On the fifth day after our breakup, he still showed zero intention of packing his things. I went down to the leasing office and brought up the building manager along with two armed security guards.

In front of three uniformed witnesses, Kyle’s face turned the color of raw liver.

He hurled a barrage of vile curses at me before furiously stuffing two duffel bags full of clothes and storming out into the elevator.

Once he was gone, I hired a professional deep-cleaning crew to scrub the entire apartment.

I threw out the mattress, the sheets, the pillows, and replaced every single lock on the door.

When the crew finished, I took a long, hot bath, sat on the fresh sofa, and looked around. The apartment suddenly felt so much larger, so much lighter.

My phone started buzzing relentlessly.

The moment Kyle realized he had lost his free luxury housing, he began blowing up my phone. I declined a dozen calls in a row before blocking his number.

Then he started calling from other numbers—Leo’s phone, and several mutual acquaintances.

I blocked every single one without hesitation.

Next, he created burner accounts on Snapchat and Instagram to spam my DMs with friend requests. His messages read:

*Serena, you want to play this dirty? Don’t blame me for what happens next.*

I left them unread.

I never imagined just how low he could stoop.

The next morning, the moment I walked into my office, several colleagues gave me strange, uncomfortable looks.

Chloe, a younger designer who had always been close with me, waited until no one was around before pulling me aside into a corner.

"Serena... did you and Kyle really break up?"

"Yeah."

"So... are the things he’s saying true?"

"What is he saying?"

Chloe hesitated for a moment before unlocking her phone and handing it to me.

Kyle had posted a massive essay in a massive group chat that included mutual industry friends and former colleagues.

The gist of it was:

He had spent three years tolerating my controlling, nagging nature, giving me unconditional love and patience. Yet over one tiny misunderstanding, I had heartlessly kicked him out into the cold. I didn't even give him a single dime to help him relocate, and I sent security guards to throw him onto the street like trash.

He painted himself as a devoted, brokenhearted victim.

Meanwhile, I was painted as a cruel, calculating, neurotic older woman.

People were commenting beneath his post:

*Holy crap, that’s insane!*

*Kyle, bro, that’s rough. You wasted three years on a woman like that.*

*Is she psycho? Does being thirty make women that bitter and twisted?*

*Honestly, I always thought she wasn't good enough for Kyle anyway. He was way too good for her.*

Scrolling through the comments one by one, I actually smirked.

The second I refused to be his personal ATM and maid, I instantly became a "bitter, twisted old woman."

Chloe watched me carefully, whispering, "Serena, aren't you furious?"

"What’s the point of getting mad?" I handed the phone back to her. "People can talk all they want. Lies don't change the truth."

Saying it was easy, but pretending it didn't sting at all would be a lie.

During lunch, I sat alone at the cafe downstairs, staring out the floor-to-ceiling glass at the bustling city streets, feeling a sudden wave of deep isolation wash over me.

Not because I missed Kyle, but because of how absurd this world could be.

Just then, my phone rang.

Caller ID: Marcus Vance.

Marcus was the CEO of Sterling Group, our agency’s biggest corporate partner.

Thirty-four years old, brilliant, and notoriously known throughout the corporate world as an uncompromising workaholic.

We had collaborated on a massive campaign for over six months. We had met several times, but our conversations had always been strictly professional.

He had never once called my personal number outside of business hours.

I hesitated for a second before answering.

"Hello, Mr. Vance."

"Serena," his voice came through the speaker—deep, steady, carrying a calm, magnetic authority. "I heard you broke up with your boyfriend?"

I caught my breath.

Did corporate gossip travel that fast?

"You’re well-informed, Mr. Vance," I replied, trying to keep my tone casual. "Don’t worry, my personal life won't interfere with the campaign’s delivery timeline."

Silence stretched across the line for two beats.

Then, he said something that made my heart violently skip a beat.

"I’m not calling about the campaign."

His voice was quiet, yet each word was impossibly distinct.

"I’m calling to confirm if you’re officially single."