Chapter 5

Leah's POV

"Ethan, please don't blame Leah. It was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going." Clara tugged gently at his sleeve, her voice soft and pleading.

"You're too kind." Ethan patted her hand, then turned back to me, his tone harder this time. "Leah. Apologize. Don't make me say it again."

The room was completely silent.

Everyone was watching. Waiting to see how the stand-in would handle being put in her place by the real thing.

I looked at Ethan's face, the face I had looked at for three years. I felt like I was looking at a stranger.

This was the man I had loved for three years.

For him, I had let go of my dreams. Dulled my own edges. Walked away from my career to run his household. Made myself smaller so I could fit into his life.

And this was what I got in return. A public humiliation.

"Fine."

I didn't cry. I didn't fight back.

I stood up straight, looked at Clara, and said, in a voice as steady as still water, "I'm sorry, Clara. I shouldn't have been standing there. I was in your way."

Then I turned and walked out of the room without looking at Ethan once.

My back was straight. My steps didn't waver.

Twelve days until I leave.

I started packing.

There wasn't much, really.

Over three years, Ethan had filled an entire walk-in closet with designer bags and fine jewelry.

I wasn't taking any of it.

I packed a few old clothes I had bought myself, and my professional books. That was it.

Then I went around the room and erased myself from it.

The matching electric toothbrushes on the bathroom counter. I dropped mine into the trash.

On the nightstand, the only photo of us together. I took it out of the frame, cut it into pieces, and washed them down the drain.

Then there was the safe in Ethan's study.

That safe held the most sensitive files for his company. Ethan had once taken my hand and guided it to the scanner himself, recording my fingerprint.

He'd said: "Leah, you're the only person I trust."

Now I opened the settings and deleted my fingerprint without hesitation.

When I was done, I stood in the middle of the half-emptied room and felt nothing. Not sadness. Just lightness. Like I had set down something very heavy that I had been carrying for far too long.

Ethan came home at ten that night.

He seemed to be in a decent mood. He was carrying a limited-edition Hermès bag.

"What are you doing?" He came up behind me while I was tidying the bookshelf and asked casually.

"Just organizing a few things." I didn't turn around.

Ethan set the bag on the desk and wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Are you still upset about earlier? I pushed too hard with the whole apology thing. Clara doesn't handle stress well, I panicked. I'm sorry."

He paused and softened his voice. "Didn't you mention this bag once? I had it flown in from Paris. Do you like it?"

Hit and then soothe.

That was always how he operated.

Before, I always let it work. Because I couldn't stand to watch him be the one to back down.

But now I just felt sick.

I stepped out of his arms and glanced at the bag.

It was the exact style I had mentioned once, in passing.

So what?

An apology that comes this late is worth less than nothing.

"Thanks. Just leave it there." My voice was flat. No surprise, no warmth.

Ethan's expression tightened. He noticed.

He looked around the room and spotted the bathroom counter.

"Where's your toothbrush?"

"It broke. I threw it away."

"And the photo by the bed?"

"I knocked the frame over and it broke. I tossed it."

"I'll have someone get new toothbrushes tomorrow, and reprint the photo." He sounded slightly put out, but tamped it down.

"Don't bother." I turned to face him. "Ethan, I canceled my supplemental credit card."

He blinked. "Why?"

"I don't really spend much. It felt wasteful to keep it open." My voice was perfectly even.

Ethan studied my face for a moment, searching for something.

But my expression gave him nothing. No anger, no hurt. Just a smooth, still surface.

He decided I was sulking and let out a short, dismissive laugh. "Fine. Come find me when you're done being dramatic."

He disappeared into the bathroom.

I stood there listening to the sound of the shower running, then walked to the desk, picked up the Hermès bag, and shoved it into the very bottom corner of the walk-in closet.

I didn't want anything from him.

I just wanted him to never be able to find me again.