Chapter 3

But for three whole days, Alexander didn't answer my calls, and he didn't come home.

I swallowed my pride, typing a message through my tears:

*“I’m sorry for throwing a tantrum without talking to you first.”*

*“But it’s a fact that you lied about the global meeting to go to the yacht show with her.”*

*“Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home.”*

*“Can we please just sit down and talk?”*

I waited from sunrise to sunset. He never showed.

As the clock neared 11:00 PM, I finally made up my mind to drive to his family's estate to find him.

But on my way to the parking garage, I ran into Marcus Rossi—the manager Alexander had kicked off the project team. He had been drinking, his eyes wild with rage.

He dragged me into a dark alleyway. "Fucking bitch! I don't dare touch the future Mrs. Wright, but you think I won’t touch a pathetic little 'assistant' like you?"

I screamed. I called Alexander's private number over and over, but it just went to voicemail.

If it hadn't been for a security patrol car passing by and scaring him away, my injuries would have been far worse than just a sprained ankle and bruised wrists.

When my phone suddenly lit up and started ringing in the back of the police car...

I let out a sharp, traumatized gasp.

Seeing his name on the screen, the strength that had held my spine straight all night collapsed instantly.

I broke down, crying hysterically into the receiver. "Alex—"

"Hello?"

Sophia's voice answered, thick with sleep and a soft, irritated whine. "...Who is it... so late..."

In the background, I heard Alexander’s deep, muffled voice close by.

Sophia seemed to cover the mouthpiece, whispering softly to him, "It's fine, go back to sleep... I think it's just Zoey."

Then she spoke back into the phone. "He drank too much at the downtown club tonight and just fell asleep. If it's about work, can it wait until tomorrow?"

My throat felt like it had been stuffed with burning coal.

The raw flesh of my throat felt scorched, blistered, and torn.

The pain was so intense I wanted to rip my own vocal cords out.

Simply pressing the button to end the call felt like it took every ounce of life left in me.

I went to the police station alone, limping, looking utterly wretched.

By the time the paperwork was done, the clock on my phone hit 12:01 AM.

I finally received another call from Alexander.

His tone was as arrogant and detached as ever. "Have you realized your mistake yet?"

In that second, I understood. He had done this on purpose.

All those unanswered calls on our anniversary.

It was his punishment for my "lack of trust."

Tears streamed down my swollen face, burning my scraped skin like battery acid.

When I spoke, my voice was a broken, raspy whisper.

"Alexander, let's break up."

There was only a second of silence on the other end.

Then, Alexander let out a cold scoff. "Fine. Don't regret it."

He hung up without a shred of hesitation.

He agreed to the breakup as if throwing away a piece of trash.

***