Chapter 4

At 2 p.m., it started raining heavily.

I stood by the roadside with my suitcase and waited for a cab to the airport.

I had two hours left until my flight.

A cab with its light on pulled over to the curb and splashed water everywhere.

Tristan got out of it. Without an umbrella in hand, he rushed into the rain and snatched my suitcase before dragging me to the cab.

“Cass called and said she’s going to cut herself! If you hadn’t given her an attitude all morning, she wouldn’t have gotten triggered. You have to come to the hospital with me and apologize to her!”

I stumbled as he pulled me, and my stomach began to cramp again. “Let go of me! I already handed over the project. What more do you want from me?”

“But you didn’t give it to her willingly!” he shouted.

“If anything happens to Cass because of you, I’ll never forgive you!”

He shoved me in the back seat of the car.

I clung to the door frame and said, “I’m going to the airport! I don’t have time for your little games!”

“What airport?”

He lunged forward with force and shoved me hard.

My foot slipped, and I lost my balance.

My forehead slammed against the stone sidewalk, and I instantly felt a sharp pain shoot through my body.

Fresh blood streamed down my brow and into my eyes, turning my vision red.

I curled up in the rain. I was too hurt to even make a sound.

The rain was too heavy. He did not see my blood clearly.

He looked at me coldly and said, “Are you seriously going to lie on the ground and play victim right now? If you won’t come, then stay here and think about what you did. Sir, head to the City General Hospital.”

Tristan left me there as the engine roared and the cab accelerated into the heavy rain. Muddy water splashed from the road and left me drenched from head to toe.

I lay in the cold rainwater and watched the car disappear into the distance. He did not turn back even once.

This was the last time he would hurt me.

I got up, wiped the blood off, and called a private cab to take me straight to the airport.

In the car, I pressed a tissue against my forehead. The bleeding stopped, but it left a deep gash.

After I passed through security, I took out the SIM card I had used for seven years, broke it in half, and threw it into the trash bin.

When it was time to board, I stood up and walked toward the gate without looking back.

…

Meanwhile, at the First City Hospital, Tristan rubbed the space between his eyebrows as he looked at Cassandra.

She was lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV of saline solution to “calm her down.”

Her wrist was covered in an unnecessarily thick layer of gauze. He had seen the ER doctor’s examination firsthand. There was only a tiny red mark from an eyebrow razor, and it had not bled at all.

The ER doctor could not even find a reason to stitch it. He gave in to her whining and prescribed a bag of glucose before admitting her for observation.

Tristan checked his phone and noticed I had not even texted.

Usually, if he was late, I would always text to check in on him.

Today, even after he had pushed me down in the rain, I did not send him a single text to confront him.

“She’s probably still sulking,” he murmured and scoffed. He then dialed my number.

“Sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service,” said a cold, robotic female voice.

Tristan froze. I had used that number for seven years.

He dialed again. The call still could not get through.

He started to panic.

He left Cassandra and drove straight back to the apartment.

When he arrived and pushed open the door, it was pitch black inside.

“Jimelle?”

No one answered.

He turned on the light. His heart sank when he saw what was before him.

My shoes were not on the shoe rack. My mug was not on the coffee table.

He rushed into the bedroom like a madman and yanked open the closet. More than half of it was empty. Not a single piece of my clothing remained.

My toiletries in the bathroom were completely gone as well.

Tristan stumbled into the study.

On the desk lay a neatly placed quitclaim deed, with “Jimelle” already signed at the bottom with a glaring signature.

Next to it, a lawyer’s business card was attached with a paperclip, along with a note.

[My lawyer will handle all transfer documents from here. Keep the half of the down payment I put into this place. Consider it a farewell gift. It makes me sick to even think about it. I’m walking away with nothing. Clean break. No strings attached.]

Beside the agreement lay the cheap silver necklace box with another note.

[I already threw out the trash. These things reek of garbage for me now. I’m giving them back to you too.]

Tristan’s blood ran cold, and he collapsed into a chair.

He recalled the scene in the rain when I had curled up and clutched my forehead after he pushed me to the ground.

That was when it hit him. Blood had been seeping through my fingers. I had been bleeding.

I had planned everything down to the last detail. I left him without the tiniest hesitation.

“Jimelle…” he called out pitifully.

He grabbed his car keys and dashed out of the house like a madman, plunging into the torrential rain outside.