Chapter 2

William stood a few steps away from Camelia, watching the woman who sat quietly at the edge of their apartment bed. The curtains were not fully open yet, allowing the morning light to enter halfheartedly—like the mood hanging in the room.

Camelia was not like her usual self.

Usually, when William came, she would greet him with a gentle look or a small smile that seemed as if she had always saved it especially for him. But this morning, her face was pale, her eyes were empty, and her body looked stiff like a statue forced to stand upright.

William approached.

He did not like an atmosphere that felt tense. He did not like it when Camelia was gloomy. Not because he cared too much about the woman’s feelings—but because a gloomy Camelia often meant a Camelia who was difficult to control.

As usual, if Camelia was upset, William knew how to make her soften.

He would kiss her.

Over and over again.

Until the woman laughed, until her shoulders relaxed, until any anger she might have simply melted away.

And all this time, that method had always worked.

Without saying much, William sat beside Camelia and immediately cupped her face. His lips landed on her cheek, then her temple, then the corner of her lips.

“Why are you so gloomy?” he murmured lightly.

Camelia turned her head, trying to avoid him.

William did not give up. He leaned closer again, kissing her cheek more deeply, his hand beginning to wrap around her waist with a movement that was already very familiar.

But this time was different.

Camelia gently pushed against his chest.

“I’m not feeling well, William. Please don’t kiss me anymore.”

Her tone was flat.

William stopped.

There was a small pause that felt awkward.

He looked at Camelia with furrowed brows. “Not feeling well?” he repeated, as if the words sounded foreign.

Camelia stood up and walked a few steps away, creating a clear distance between them.

William felt something strange. Very strange.

Camelia suddenly rejected him. She did not even want to be touched.

Even though in the past…

In the past, Camelia was always the one who approached first.

The woman often begged for attention. Asked to be held longer. Asked to be kissed more deeply. Sometimes even pleaded for William not to be too busy with work and to give her a little time.

William knew that.

And he also knew that he did not always fulfill Camelia’s wishes. Often he refused with the excuse of being tired or busy. Yet Camelia persisted, continued trying to win his love, as if William’s love was something that had to be fought for desperately.

Now it was the opposite.

William stood and approached Camelia again.

“What’s wrong with you, Camelia? Why do you seem angry at me?”

Camelia slowly turned her head. A faint smile formed on her lips—a smile that did not reach her eyes.

“I’m not angry,” she answered softly.

That answer made William even more uncomfortable.

He preferred Camelia who was jealous. Camelia who complained. Camelia who was emotional.

Not Camelia who was this calm.

Not Camelia who felt so distant even though she was only standing a few steps away from him.

William exhaled, trying to soften the situation. “If you’re tired, I won’t force you to meet that client. Rest. Let me work.”

The sentence sounded like a form of concern.

But to Camelia, it sounded like calculation.

William was only making sure his project kept running.

Not making sure her heart was fine.

“Alright,” Camelia answered briefly.

William took his suit jacket that hung on the chair. Before leaving, he glanced at Camelia once more. There was a curiosity that remained unanswered, but his ego was too big to ask further.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he said.

Camelia only nodded.

The apartment door closed.

The sound of William’s footsteps in the hallway slowly disappeared.

Camelia let out a long breath that felt heavy.

The room suddenly felt silent.

A suffocating silence.

Camelia stood still for a moment, staring at the door that had just closed. The image of William from last night flashed again in her mind—the man’s body so easily embracing another woman, his words without hesitation admitting that he had only taken advantage of her intelligence.

Her hands clenched into fists.

Her tears did not fall.

She was too tired to cry.

Slowly, Camelia walked toward the wardrobe. She opened it and looked at the rows of dresses, blazers, and work clothes she had worn all this time to help build William’s small kingdom.

One by one, she pulled the clothes out.

She took a large suitcase from under the bed and opened it on the floor.

Each fold of clothing felt like a piece of memory she was putting away again without any intention of reopening. She folded her favorite dress—the one William had once praised during their first big presentation. She placed the high heels she usually wore during important negotiations inside.

Everything she used to be proud of.

Everything she used to do for that man.

Now felt like a burden she had to leave behind.

After the suitcase was almost full, Camelia paused for a moment. She looked around the room—the apartment that had once been the place where she believed they would build a future together.

It turned out that future belonged only to her.

“Do you think I will stay with you, William?” she whispered softly, her voice almost inaudible in the silence of the room.

She smiled faintly, but it was no longer a hopeful smile.

“I will not stand at the edge of a cliff with you.”