Chapter 3

The night I left the Ashford family group chat, I submitted my resignation to Halcyon Design.

It was the company Camille and I had built together.

In the beginning, we worked from a rented warehouse. I met clients with her, revised proposals, and spent months sleeping on a folding cot.

When the company first turned a profit, Camille took my hand before the staff. “Rowan isn’t only my husband. He’s the partner who stayed through the hardest years.”

Now she assumed my resignation was simply another part of the game.

She approved it quickly and added a note beneath the confirmation.

I’ll give you time to cool down. When the seven days are over, we’ll discuss your return.

She still believed I would resume my old life as soon as the challenge ended.

The game’s fifth day fell on Halcyon Design’s seventh anniversary and my final handover day.

I went in to return my access card and equipment and transfer my projects.

An anniversary film was playing in the lobby.

Every photograph of me had disappeared. So had my name.

The footage of me packing samples, revising designs, and preparing our first major proposal was gone.

Camille’s friend had recut the film for this year’s game. It ended with Camille and Julian standing side by side.

The caption read: Thank you, Julian Cross, for your years of support and companionship.

Camille had approved it, probably believing the original could be restored after seven days.

The guests downstairs, however, did not know any of it was a game.

Camille had originally invited me to attend the anniversary celebration with her. Instead, Julian wore the tuxedo tailored for me.

Wearing the Ashford signet ring, he helped Camille cut the cake, greet guests, and pose before the company history wall.

Someone mistook him for her husband.

Julian raised his glass and accepted the congratulations with a smile.

Camille did not correct them.

A friend reminded her that explaining on the fifth day would ruin the challenge.

Camille hesitated, then continued with the reception.

I never entered the ballroom.

Upstairs, I completed the handover and gathered my access card, laptop, and files. As I left, an employee from the warehouse days recognized me.

“Mr. Vale.”

His voice carried into the ballroom. Then he looked at Julian beside Camille and asked, confused, “Who is that man?”

The room gradually fell silent.

Only then did the guests realize Camille’s actual husband was someone else.

Whispers spread quickly.

“If he isn’t her husband, why is he wearing the Ashford ring?”

“He’s wearing her husband’s tuxedo and standing beside her. That goes beyond friendship.”

Julian’s expression tightened.

Then someone nearby pulled out a phone.

“Haven’t you seen Julian’s videos? Rowan refuses to accept that his marriage is in trouble. He’s using his history with the company as an excuse to stay.”

The phone passed through the crowd, and I saw Julian’s posts too.

They showed me taking back my tuxedo, ordering him out of our bedroom, and leaving the Ashford family dinner.

Every video stopped at the moment my anger surfaced.

Camille announcing the game was missing, along with every apology, embrace, and promise she made afterward.

The caption said: Some people refuse to accept that the place they once held has changed.

Reading it brought back the anniversary games from the past three years.

Each time they pushed me until I lost control, I had to admit I had overreacted and apologize to Julian before the game would end.

Camille still kept their yearly bets on her phone: when I would lose my temper, whether I would throw Julian out, and how long I would take to apologize.

Julian’s posts showed me that three years of my anger and humiliation had been saved and replayed for their amusement.

Camille crossed the room and stopped in front of me. She lowered her voice, unease already visible in her expression.

“Rowan, can we finish the game tonight? People are misunderstanding Julian. He came to help me. I can’t let them think he’s destroying our marriage.”

I looked at her. “But they can believe I’m the husband who refuses to let go?”

“I’ll explain everything,” she said. “After tonight, Julian will delete the videos, and I’ll restore the original film. We can talk at home.”

She believed every mistake could be corrected once the game ended.

Videos could be deleted, photographs restored, and misunderstandings cleared with a statement. What had happened would remain.

I did not argue. I placed my access card and signed resignation papers on the reception desk.

“The handover is complete.”

Then I walked past her and entered the elevator.

Camille followed me for two steps.

“Rowan.”

I did not turn around.

The elevator doors slowly closed between us.

For the first time since the game began, I showed no anger, asked no questions, and demanded no choice between Julian and me.

My calm finally frightened her.

That night, Camille summoned the family attorney.

“Prepare a legally binding divorce agreement.”

The attorney stared at her in surprise.

Camille tightened her fingers around her wedding ring, and her voice dropped.

“On the seventh day, I’ll give it to him in front of everyone. If he truly wants to leave, he can tell me himself.”

She still believed that seeing the agreement would make me admit, as I always had, that I could not bear to lose her.

She wanted to force me to prove my love again.

She did not know I no longer needed the final two days.