Chapter 2

"You went through my phone?" Julian’s face darkened instantly.

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with the anger of someone caught red-handed.

I looked at him. His face suddenly felt so unfamiliar.

"I didn't 'go through' it." I turned the screen toward him.

The bright display reflected off his eyes.

"You didn't put a passcode on your notes. It was open right on this page."

"Julian, for ninety days, you’ve been calculating how to force me out."

Julian took a deep breath and lunged to grab the phone.

I didn't block him. I let him snatch it away.

"Chloe, it’s not what you think." He threw the phone face down on the coffee table.

"Then what is it?" I asked, my voice calm.

"I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

He put on his usual exhausted act.

"The company is preparing for the IPO. The performance milestone deadline is almost here."

"I can’t sleep at night. You don't get it."

I laughed.

"I don't get it?"

"Who warms up milk for you every single night?"

"Who helped you pitch to investors, drinking until my stomach literally bled just to cover for you?"

Julian’s eyes flickered with guilt.

But his tone only grew harsher.

"That's exactly why I'm tired!"

"You're too domineering, Chloe."

"You make me feel like I'm not a man. I feel like a machine being pushed around by you."

He pointed at the phone on the table.

"My therapist told me to write those notes."

"She said I needed an outlet to vent my emotions."

"It's called 'externalizing negative energy.'"

*Therapist.*

I let the word sink in.

"Your therapist... her name is Celeste, right?"

Julian's pupils contracted.

"Are you tracking me?"

"If I didn't, how would I know that every weekend afternoon you disappear, you’re at her studio 'venting your emotions'?"

"You even spent our anniversary venting your emotions with her."

Julian stood up.

He looked down at me, cold and aloof.

"Celeste is a professional consultant. She understands what I'm going through right now."

"She doesn’t just push me to climb higher and talk about company KPIs like you do."

"Chloe, I don't want to break up. I just want some room to breathe."

"Can you just give me some space?"

What a beautiful way to twist the truth.

He took his emotional abuse and packaged it as a cry for help under stress.

He took his emotional cheating and called it "professional therapy."

I stared at the patterns on the carpet, feeling a wave of nausea hit my stomach.

"So, the space you wanted was watching me make a fool of myself trying to please you?"

"Watching me cook terrible meals, and cutting my birthday cake all alone?"

"While you mocked me in your notes, refusing to just walk away?"

Julian pulled at his tie in frustration.

"I told you, that was part of the therapy!"

"I needed to test my codependency on this relationship!"

"Why can't you just understand plain English?"

He sank heavily back onto the couch.

"Fine. If you feel so wronged, let’s take some time apart."

"Move out for a few days. We both need to cool off."

He was actually telling me to move out.

We bought this apartment together. We split the down payment.

And I was paying half of the mortgage.

I looked up at him.

"Julian, you're kicking me out?"

"I’m not kicking you out. It’s physical boundary-setting," he said, using Celeste's terms.

"Our current dynamic is toxic. We need boundaries."

*Boundaries.*

I repeated the word in my mind.

"Fine. I get it."

I turned and walked into the bedroom.

I pulled out my suitcase.

Julian stood at the doorway, watching me pack.

"Don't do this out of spite," his voice softened slightly.

He seemed to think he was back in control.

"Just pack a few outfits. I'll pick you up in a couple of days."

I ignored him.

I packed my skincare and a few of my blazers.

I wasn’t doing this out of spite.

The core code of our company’s new software was still in my hands.

The final signing for our milestone funding agreement was next week.

He wanted me gone now because he wanted to mess with my equity distribution.

This woman, Celeste, had probably already helped him draft a plan to transfer all our assets.

I zipped my suitcase shut.

I dragged it to the front door.

He didn't stop me.

But just as the door was closing, I heard him mutter:

"If you had just cooperated earlier, we wouldn't have had to make such a scene."