After the Ninth Breakup, He Regretted It

After leaving the rental apartment, I carried my takeout to a five-star hotel.

The moment I stepped through the hotel doors, I almost laughed.

Before I left home, I'd been the princess of the Ferrante Family, with absolute power, status, and wealth.

After getting together with Lawrence, I'd sunk to living in a run-down rental, worrying about bills and rent.

Now that I'd decided to leave him, there was no reason to keep depriving myself.

I handed over my ID to check in. The receptionist gave me a polished smile, though her eyes kept darting to the takeout bag in my hand.

Apparently, someone eating a cheap burger combo couldn't possibly afford a five-thousand-dollar-a-night presidential suite.

And my stained clothes seemed to strengthen the impression that I was some pitiful woman who'd been kicked out of her home.

"Kicked out" wasn't exactly right, though. We'd just had a fight.

The first big fight, he told me we were done. I begged him shamelessly, did everything I could to hold on, and he grudgingly took me back.

The second time, he broke up with me again. I begged, I apologized, but he didn't take me back. Instead, he made me write a three-page apology letter.

"Camilla, writing apologies is supposed to teach you a lesson. Obviously the last one didn't work, so this time make it five pages."

I stayed up all night writing the most heartfelt apology I could, but it wasn't long before the third breakup came.

But this time, even a ten-page apology couldn't move him. He threw my things out the door.

In the end, I broke down, fell to my knees in front of him, sobbing and begging him not to leave me. Only then did he spread his hands with a shrug.

"Camilla, your apology wasn't sincere enough. Looks like you still don't understand how serious this is."

I didn't want to know how "serious" it was anymore, or how many more pages he'd make me write.

This time, I wouldn't write a single word.

After checking in, I tossed the takeout bag into a trash can right before stepping into the room.

I soaked in the bath and ordered the most expensive set meal on the menu, complete with wine and dessert.

In the past, my head would have been full of Lawrence, and I'd still be groveling.

I'd cried, begged, written apology after apology, bought lingerie to please him, all to keep him from leaving me.

Once, I even bought something I'd always found humiliating, cleaned it, stripped down, and knelt between his legs.

But he barely glanced at me, pushed me aside with one finger, mockery in his eyes.

"Camilla, is your body the only thing you know how to beg with?"

But now I lay comfortably in the tub, swirling a glass of wine, shopping online for designer clothes.

The moment I closed the page, a message from Lawrence popped up.

"Finish that twenty-page apology as soon as possible. My birthday's in three days. Don't forget my party."

That was just how he was. Even after breaking up with me, whenever he needed something, he'd grace me with a few curt words from his throne.

I stared at those words for three seconds before replying, "We already broke up."

The message had barely sent before a glaring red exclamation mark bounced it back.

He'd blocked me again the second after he sent it.

His childish, idiotic games actually made me laugh. No heartache this time, just amusement.

And apparently, he still hadn't noticed that I'd never come back from picking up that takeout.