Chapter 3

When I was twenty-three, my second year away from home, he promised to spend our first birthday together.

I cooked with a heart full of joy and waited for him all night.

When I called him and mentioned it was my birthday, I heard a girl crying in the background.

He offered no apology, no explanation, only a slight rebuke that I shouldn't treat a birthday as such a big deal.

Camilla's mother had died during childbirth.

Whenever she heard someone mention a birthday, she'd think of her mother and become sad.

For the next five years, he never celebrated my birthday.

Nor did he allow me to post birthday photos, claiming it would upset Camilla.

Yet, when he wasn't visible, he wouldn't put in any effort for me either.

Now, catching my supervisor's cautionary gaze, I decided one less complication was always better.

I'd treat it as my farewell dinner with everyone.

At the dinner table, the two of them sat together.

Camilla, in her chic business suit, looked perfectly matched with Adrian in his crisp suit.

Sometimes, you just have to recognize the reality: some people, no matter how hard you chase, you'll never catch up.

So, when a colleague jokingly commented on how well they looked together,

I nodded in agreement.

"Yes, they're quite a match. Their age, looks, and family backgrounds are all perfectly aligned."

The moment the words left my lips,

Adrian and Marcus, the VP he'd been discussing me with earlier, both froze.

Normally, in such situations, Adrian would inevitably be drawn into comparisons.

Every time I heard such teasing, I always felt uncomfortable.

I'd either pretend not to hear, staying silent, or just scowl.

But today, I felt like an indifferent observer.

Camilla, pleased with the compliments, shot me a triumphant look.

Finally, when someone brought up the topic of marriage, she directed the conversation my way.

"My dad's been pressuring me to get married so much, it's driving me crazy! I heard Skylar has a boyfriend you've been with for years but haven't married. You're twenty-eight, don't your family pressure you? Tell me, how do you avoid the marriage talk?"

Curious gazes turned to me.

Even Adrian looked visibly tense.

I feigned indifference.

"Of course they do, but I've already broken up. So, I can't really answer that question for you."

A moment of frozen silence followed.

Many people looked at me with pity.

Some of my closer colleagues joked about setting me up with someone.

I pulled out my phone.

"Sounds good. Send them my way."

*Bang!*

Adrian's glass shattered.

Tiny shards of glass left fine red marks on his hand.

I only glanced at it before looking away.

No longer like before, where I'd be more anxious than anyone.

The atmosphere at the dinner table turned strangely awkward.

What began as a lively meal ended abruptly.

I refused to share a ride with Adrian, who just happened to be assigned to the same car.

I showed him my phone, where I’d already called my own ride.

I went home alone.

Just as I was about to relax, my door flew open.

Adrian, reeking of alcohol, shoved me against the door.

He kissed me fiercely, desperately, as if he couldn't wait another second.

He was desperate to push his way into me.

My lower back slammed against the doorknob.

A jolt of pain made me gasp, and I slapped him across the face.

"Adrian, what do you take me for?"

He stormed out, slamming the door.

In five years, we'd never had this kind of unspoken tension, this direct confrontation.

So, when he suddenly realized I was actually angry, Adrian didn't bother pretending to care anymore.

He assigned me to supervise the construction site in Northwood.

When word got around, many colleagues spoke up for me.

The Northwood project was unpaid rework on a project that hadn't met specifications, and the temporary workers were furious.

During the day, there were falling debris and nails sticking out everywhere.

At night, relentless calls would harass them. They couldn't ignore them, but going there would lead to strange and unsettling occurrences.

Three male colleagues before me couldn't handle it; they either ended up in psychiatric care from the trauma or hospitalized with injuries.

Let alone a woman.

Adrian had been dealing with this problem late into the nights, woken by those male colleagues.

I'd once joked that if I ever disliked someone, I'd send them there.

Or if we ever argued, I'd go there myself, out of sight, out of mind.

Back then, he'd tapped my head, saying it was impossible; he'd never send me to such a dangerous place, no matter how much we fought.

Yet, he still sent me.

I packed up my desk belongings at lightning speed.

Clean, efficient, as if I were never coming back.