Chapter 3

In the early morning hours, half-asleep, a body carrying the faint scent of tequila wrapped around me.

The man mumbled pitifully, "I stood outside in the wind for so long. Why didn't you come pick me up?"

It was as if everything I'd heard last night was just a hallucination, and Robertson and I were still an ordinary, happy couple.

Until Robertson buried his head against my neck and murmured vaguely, "Elliot, you've finally come back..."

I shoved him away awkwardly and fled to the guest bedroom.

How pathetic you are, Elia, to be swayed by a little false tenderness.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror—my face that resembled Elliot's—and pinched my palm until it turned red.

The next morning, Robertson came out of the kitchen wearing an apron, carrying a plate of heart-shaped fried eggs.

When he saw me, the corner of his mouth curved upward.

"Elia, come have breakfast!"

On the bathroom counter sat a pair of couple's toothbrushes—blue for me, pink for Robertson—nestled intimately together.

I remembered when I handed Robertson the pink toothbrush. He'd scowled but obediently accepted it anyway.

Eight years of affection carried too much weight. Little sweet reminders like this were scattered everywhere in this house.

I splashed water on my face and collected myself.

Sitting down at the table, I slowly stabbed the heart-shaped eggs on my plate into pieces.

"Robertson, let's break up."

The plate and fork collided with a harsh sound.

The smile on Robertson's face vanished instantly.

"Elia, that's not a funny joke."

I looked at him seriously and said it again.

Robertson, who'd never frowned even when facing the toughest cases, showed rare emotional leakage.

"You've been acting strange since yesterday. You didn't pick me up. You didn't wait for me to come home."

Robertson's superior features darkened with anger. His hand, veins bulging, gripped my shoulder tightly.

"Elia, what exactly are you trying to pull?"

I didn't want to admit I'd heard what he said yesterday. Those mocking words humiliated me.

I shook off Robertson's hand and went straight to the bedroom to grab the luggage I'd packed the night before.

"Robertson, I've waited for you for eight years. I don't want to wait anymore. It's that simple. Let's break up."

Robertson's pitch-black eyes stared at me unblinkingly. He laughed mockingly.

"Oh, I get it. You're upset because I don't have money?"

"You're practically menopausal, and you're still playing hard to get? Isn't it a bit late for that? Too bad—I'm not falling for it."

My heart stabbed with pain. He knew I was most sensitive about my age.

I didn't want to say another word. I shouldered my luggage and headed for the door.

"Elia, within a week, you'll come crawling back to me like a dog begging to get back together."

I closed the door, locking Robertson's confident voice inside.

Downstairs, I casually tossed my key into the trash can.

I wasn't some naive Natasha experiencing love for the first time. Since I'd decided to leave, I wouldn't give myself the chance to turn back and humiliate myself again.

Sitting in the car heading to the law firm, my mom's message arrived right on time.

"You actually know that blind date—Uncle Stephen's youngest son, Nicholas. He's a young entrepreneur. Want to set up a time to meet?"

"Sure. I'll go meet him after work."