001

~YVONNE POV~

The call went to voicemail. Again.

I stared at my phone, watching Arthur's name flash on the screen before it cut off. Fifth time today. Fifth time he ignored me.

I pressed redial anyway. Maybe this time— “You have reached Arthur Klein. Leave a message.”

I let out a shaky breath and forced a smile into my voice. Like that would make a difference.

"Hey, it's me. I know you are busy, but... it's our anniversary. I thought maybe we could go to Marcello's tonight? The Italian place where you first asked me to be your girlfriend? I already made a reservation for seven. Just... call me back, okay?"

I hung up before my voice could crack.

The cab driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. I looked away, hugging Arthur's dry cleaning tighter against my chest. The plastic rustled loudly in the silence.

Maybe he was home. Maybe he had something planned and that's why he wasn't answering. Maybe he wanted to surprise me. It was a stupid hope. But it was better than nothing.

"The Deluxe, please," I told the driver.

He nodded and pulled back into traffic.

The Deluxe was the kind of building that made you feel small just looking at it. All glass and fancy tiles and doormen in perfect suits. Arthur's penthouse sat at the very top…thirtieth floor, corner unit, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city.

My one-bedroom rental had a view of the dumpsters behind the Korean BBQ place. The doorman smiled when he saw me.

"Miss Yvonne. Good to see you again."

"Hi, Ottie." I smiled back, even though my stomach was twisting into knots.

He opened the door without asking questions. By now, the staff here knew me. Arthur brought me here most weekends, telling them we had work to finish and shouldn't be disturbed.

It was never work.

It was always the same. Arthur would pour himself whiskey. I would sit on the edge of the bed, nervous and trying too hard. He would pull me close, kiss me, tell me to relax. And then—And then I would mess it up.

Too stiff, too awkward, too boring. That's what he always said. ‘You're boring, Yumi. Why can't you just let go?’

And I would spend the rest of the night crying into the pillow, whispering apologies he never answered. Promising I would do better next time.

Because I loved him.

Because losing him would mean losing the only good thing in my life.

The elevator ride to the thirtieth floor felt like it was taking forever. I checked my reflection in the mirrored walls. My hair was a mess from the wind. My lipstick had faded. I looked tired.

I always looked tired lately. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. Arthur's penthouse was at the end of the hall. The door was unlocked.

My heart jumped. He was home.

"Arthur?" I called out softly, stepping inside.

No answer.

The apartment was dark. Curtains half-drawn. The smell of expensive cologne dangled in the air, mixed with something else. Perfume. definitely Not mine.

I froze.

The dry cleaning slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a soft noise. From down the hall, I heard it. A laugh. High-pitched. Breathless.

Holly's laugh.

No. No, no, no—My feet moved on their own, carrying me toward the master bedroom. The door was cracked open. Just a sliver of light spilling out into the hallway.

I should've turned around. I should've left, but I didn't. I foolishly looked, and I saw them.

Arthur. Shirtless. Hair messy. His hands tangled in Holly's blonde hair as she leaned over him, laughing, kissing his neck.

The bed. Our bed. The one where I spent so many nights apologizing for not being enough.

She wasn't apologizing. She looked like she belonged there. My hand flew to my mouth, muffling the sob that tried to claw its way out of my throat.

Arthur didn't notice. He was too busy pulling Holly closer, whispering something that made her giggle again. I took a step back. Then another, my shoulder hit the wall. The sound echoed. Arthur's head snapped toward the door.

Our eyes met. For one horrible second, neither of us moved.

Then I ran.