Chapter 7

The only part of that apartment I actually loved was my writing corner.

A simple desk, a lamp, and my laptop. That was where I had written countless stories.

I had loved writing since I was a kid, but Ethan always scolded me for "wasting my time on useless fantasies," so I had put my dream on hold.

In college, with more free time, I started writing online again. Ethan was my very first reader.

I had eagerly shown him my draft, hoping for a shred of encouragement. But after skimming it, he cold-boiled me with a glare. "This is absolute garbage, Maya. It makes no sense."

"You have zero talent for writing. Give it up."

But for once in my life, I loved something too much to listen to him.

I kept writing. And to my surprise, my stories started getting popular.

When I received my first payment from the platform, I proudly showed him my dashboard. "Look! I made three hundred dollars from my writing!"

I wanted to prove to him that people liked my work. That they were willing to pay for it.

I wanted to prove that I wasn't as useless as he said.

But how did Ethan react?

He glanced at the screen for a split second, then looked up with utter disdain. "Useless trash."

He looked down at me like I was a charity case. "There are a lot of gullible people on the internet who probably felt sorry for a newbie. You actually think this means you're a good writer?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

Every single word was a dagger, popping the tiny bubble of hope in my chest and leaving a bleeding, aching wound.

After that day, no matter how much money I made from my books, I never mentioned my writing to Ethan again.

Now, standing in my old writing corner, I took a deep breath and prepared to pack my laptop.

But when I touched the trackpad, the screen lit up.

My heart stopped.

The folder containing my latest manuscript was gone.

It was a 100,000-word draft. Every single sentence had been carefully crafted, representing months of sleepless nights and absolute devotion.

I frantically checked the recycle bin. I searched the temporary Word files.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

There was only one person who could have done this.

"I deleted it," Ethan's voice echoed from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, looking at me with dark, unreadable eyes. "I realized this useless trash was giving you delusions of grandeur."

"Did you honestly think you could support yourself and leave me with some silly internet stories?"