When he video-called, I was in the middle of processing my visa applications. His background was a breathtaking expanse of ocean. He'd even updated his profile picture to a carefully composed shot of the seascape.
He hadn't sent me a single photo.
Whatever. It didn't matter anymore.
"I might not make it back this week," he said, his voice maddeningly casual. "The housekeeper will come by every day to cook for you. Make sure you rest. Don't wait up for me."
*Don't worry.* A bitter smile touched my lips. *I won't wait. Not ever again.*
After he hung up—perhaps out of guilt, or maybe just habit—he casually transferred $200,000 to my account. The attached message made my stomach churn.
*"Baby, as long as you don't say the words, we aren't breaking up."*
I stared at the text in silence.
Then, without a word, I blocked him on everything.
The visa would take a week to process. I spent that time living at the office, throwing myself into the final handover tasks. At night, I returned to Matthew's villa only to pack. I sorted through my life bit by bit, working until exhaustion knocked me out—just so I wouldn't have to think.