Chapter 3

But he always used the excuse that I needed to focus on my career, refusing again and again, watching me get cursed at in public.

And now he'd given the official announcement that should've been mine to his ex.

He still let the "homewrecker" label follow me.

Only now did I understand—true love has no obstacles. The only obstacle was that he never loved me.

The company couldn't do anything about him, so they assigned me a new agent and rushed to officially clear up the relationship.

But when it came time to transfer responsibilities, he refused.

"I've managed her for so many years—no one knows better than me how she should develop!"

His sudden change in attitude was laughable, and it only confirmed my role as a stepping stone, a foil.

I looked at him quietly, my eyes filled with unfathomable numbness and sorrow.

"No. I know what's best for myself."

He stiffened, as if he'd never expected me to talk to him this way.

In the past, the company had also suggested changing agents.

But he never even had to object—I'd refuse on my own, wanting any excuse to spend more time with him.

But now that I was standing firm, he was completely powerless.

As the tension peaked, the manager pulled out my overseas assignment form.

"Actually, it's because Priscilla is leaving..."

Cameron frowned, reaching for the document.

I moved in front of him immediately.

"I decide my own career path. If not me, then the company will. If you won't transfer your duties, I'll do it myself."

With that, I folded the form and handed it to the manager, shaking my head gently.

As I turned to leave, Cameron reached out to grab my wrist, but I dodged him.

After the unpleasant confrontation, I went home and started packing.

As I was organizing, my phone buzzed with a rare message from him.

[She's psychologically fragile. I was just comforting her. Don't overthink it.]

This was the first time in a month he'd voluntarily talked to me about something unrelated to work—and it was still about Natasha.

But when I'd acted cute, asked for support, complained, or sought comfort, his most common response was [Be strong.]

I didn't call him immediately like I used to, acting cute and vulnerable, expressing my relationship needs and asking him to care more about me.

After all, what was the point?

Soon, the password lock at my door beeped with several failed attempts.

My heart jumped. I opened the security camera to see him at the door.

My heart settled, and along with it, my expectations of him.

A simple anniversary password—in five years, he'd never successfully opened this door.

But the social media login password he hadn't used in two years, the one based on Natasha's birthday, took him less than a minute to remember this afternoon.

I put down what I was holding and let him in.

His eyes held a trace of concern.

"Why didn't you open the door? I thought something happened to you."

I found it ridiculous.

"What could happen? I have a very strong mental state."

He frowned slightly. The guilt in his eyes disappeared.

"The rumors and gossip were released by her own company. I didn't get the full story before I verbally attacked you—that's my fault."

"But you don't need to be so passive-aggressive about her. She and I only broke up because of the company. There's nothing between us."

"That statement was also posted from my account by her. By the time I noticed, there was no way to clarify. I already told you we can get married right now. You don't need to keep harping on this."

Seeing the barely concealed impatience in his eyes,