Chapter 4

Before leaving to the airport, I scheduled a courier to deliver the remaining boxes straight to the clubhouse where Carl was.

Half an hour later, someone posted an unboxing video in a group chat.

Inside were the scarves, plushies, keychains, and handwritten cards Carl had given me over the three years we were together.

At the very bottom lay a printed itemized ledger.

I had meticulously logged every single expense Carl had paid for—meals, trips, and our shared rent.

After my share was deducted, the remaining balance came to 11,360 dollars.

I wired the exact amount to his account.

In the video, one of his friends picked up the ledger and slapped his knee as he burst into laughter.

"What is this? Is she settling her service fee?"

"Only 11 grand for three years? Reyna must feel totally ripped off!"

"It's no wonder she canceled the wedding and packed her bags. She's just trying to shake Carl down for more money."

Another guy dangled the worn-out scarf from his fingertips.

"Sending back a ten-dollar cheap scarf? Who is she trying to fool with this noble act?"

"That's how poor people operate. They've never seen real luxury, so they treat trash like emotional artifacts."

Miriam snatched the ledger and skimmed through the numbers. "She's calculating every penny on purpose to remind Carl that she gave him three years of her youth. Just watch. Next, she'll demand compensation for the emotional distress she has suffered."

Carl sat on the couch, his complexion growing darker by the second.

As he stared at the pile of clutter, he suddenly broke his silence. "What if Reyna actually just wants to break up?"

Miriam scoffed. "Carl, don't tell me you're actually falling for her act. How much does she even make a month? Once she leaves you, she'll be paying rent, grinding at work, crammed into subways, and dating average losers.

"She's grown accustomed to the high life you gave her. Do you think she can ever go back?"

The guy beside him chimed in with another round of taunts, "Carl, you've just developed soft feelings for your charity project. A woman like her won't find anyone better out there. She'll come crawling back on her own.

"Who knows, she might be standing right outside the door right now, just waiting for you to say you forgive her."

The video abruptly cut off.

I left every shared group chat, then deleted the account associated with the phone number I had used for seven years.

The boarding call resonated through the terminal again.

As I stepped into the line, a message popped up from Carl's assistant, Jasper Kirby.

"Ms. Cote, Mr. Humphry asked me to check when you'll be returning."

I didn't bother replying.

The line slowly shuffled forward.

Just as I reached the gate agent, Steve called. "The company just notified our partners. Carl's side will likely find out very soon that you've signed the three-year contract. Are you absolutely certain about this?"

I looked out down the jet bridge leading into the cabin.

"I'm certain. This time, I'm not turning back."

After hanging up, I opened my final chat with Carl.

For the past three years, almost every message had come from me.

I would ask what time he'd be home, remind him to take his medication, and tell him where his fresh laundry was put away.

Across dozens of my recent texts, his only response had been a single word—"Okay".

I typed out my last words to him.

"Carl, your friends were right about one thing. I really am a great actress. I was fed up a long time ago, yet I spent three years playing the role of someone madly in love with you.

"The show's over now. From now on, no matter how many car crashes, drunken nights, or disappearing acts you stage to test me, I'll never come running back to you."

Carl's call came in instantly, but I didn't pick up.

He tried calling again and again. His name flashed relentlessly across the screen.

The flight attendant kindly reminded me to switch my device to airplane mode.

The screen went dark.

At that very moment, Jasper handed the overseas contract over to Carl at the clubhouse.

Black ink on white paper spelled out a binding three-year term.

Miriam reached out to grab it, but Carl slammed his hand down over the pages first.

As his eyes scanned my signature, the color drained completely from his face.

This time, there was no act. I was truly gone.