Chapter 2

Maybe guilt over how agreeable I had been at the banquet drove Lucas to find me the very next day with two plane tickets in hand.

"I booked us a trip abroad. Let's get away this weekend, just the two of us. Clear our heads," he claimed.

I had always loved traveling, so I agreed.

On the day of the flight, I waited at the airport for two and a half hours. Lucas never showed.

His call came just as boarding was about to start, his voice rushed and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Gina. Something came up at the company. I don't think I can make it. Go enjoy yourself."

I said nothing for a moment. He braced himself, expecting me to snap.

Instead, I answered in a light, almost breezy tone, "Okay. Don't worry. I'll relax enough for both of us."

A brief silence followed before he asked, "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be? I know how hard you're pushing yourself. You're doing it for our future."

"Gina, you're amazing..."

"Focus on work. I'll be fine." I rolled my eyes where he could not see me, then kept my voice sweet until the call ended. "Work hard, babe."

The moment I hung up, I switched my phone to airplane mode, leaned back, and looked out at the blue sky through the terminal window.

Traveling alone beat traveling with a man like him.

…

When the plane landed, I turned my phone back on.

As expected, Rebecca had posted.

[Accidentally cut my hand cooking, and my fiancé was at my side in no time! He even took over the kitchen and made me soup from scratch. Marrying a man who can cook and actually cares about you? Best decision I ever made!]

The attached photo showed Lucas at the stove in an apron, his back to the camera.

In five years together, he had never cooked for me. He always said he was particular about kitchens. They had to be spotless.

Once, I burned my hand while cooking. He held my fingers, his face full of concern, and gently applied ointment to the swelling.

Then he sat back down. He never offered to help. I finished the meal myself, my hand throbbing the entire time.

I used to think he simply disliked cooking. Now I saw it clearly. It was not the cooking he disliked. It was me.

I walked out of the airport and made a call. On the other end was a key investor in one of Lucas' most important projects, a connection that came through my family and one I had arranged myself.

I told him the partnership was over.

He did not ask questions. He gave a single-word reply, his tone final. "Understood."

Lucas was unaware that each time he chose to leave me behind, he lost something he could never get back.