Chapter 4

I calmly explained what had happened.

Part of me maliciously wanted to see Jax call Chloe out.

Jax hated bad workplace ethics more than anything. He despised lazy people who dumped their work on others and stole credit.

When he first started out in corporate, he had suffered plenty from toxic supervisors doing just that.

Instead, Jax shot me a cold, disgusted glare.

"Chloe is your manager," he snapped. "She assigned you a task. Since when do you have the right to refuse?

"You've been at this firm for six years and you're still a low-level worker," he sneered. "Don't you ever wonder why?

"It's because of this trash attitude," he scoffed. "You throw a fit once real work lands on your desk!"

A bitter laugh escaped my throat.

Every single peer who joined the firm at the same time as me had moved up to team lead, even those with lower sales numbers.

I was the only one stuck at the bottom.

New hires didn't know the truth.

Did Jax really not know?

Chloe gently patted Jax's arm, making a slight pout.

"It's fine, Jax," she murmured. "If Elena doesn't want to help, I can just stay late and do it myself."

Jax's voice grew harsher.

"Elena Brown, if you keep up this toxic passive-aggression, I might have to consider your termination…"

"Let's break up," I interrupted.

The noisy open-plan office fell dead silent.

Jax's pupils shrunk in shock.

"What did you say?"

I stared straight into his cold eyes, pronouncing every word clearly.

"I said, we're over. Let's break up."

Chloe gasped dramatically.

"Elena! Why are you throwing another temper tantrum? Jax is so good to you..."

I ignored her completely and gathered my things.

Jax grabbed my wrist. His grip was so tight my bone throbbed.

"Elena, do you ever get tired of using these cheap mind games?" he hissed.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, exhausted.

He let out a sharp, cruel laugh.

"You claim you want to break up, but you're just staging a scene in front of the whole department to force our relationship into the public.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he whispered furiously. "We keep work and personal life separate. Publicizing our relationship creates conflicts of interest!"

I stared down at my red wrist. A heavy wave of deep fatigue washed over me.

It was always like this.

If I showed even a sliver of hurt or frustration, I was being immature, petty, or crazy.

Yet if Chloe so much as lowered her brow, he treated it like a high-level emergency.

I wrenched my hand free and took a huge step back.

"Now that we're over, you don't have to worry about anyone accusing you of favoritism ever again."

---

The moment my shift ended, I went straight back to our apartment to pack.

I had lived in this place for five long years.

I had scavenged our worn couch from a flea market back when we shared a tiny rented studio.

When we moved into this place, I couldn't bear to throw it away.

It had witnessed our hardest days and our slow climb up the ladder.

I had spent weeks comparing dozens of fabrics just to buy the cheapest curtains.

On the wall hung a framed photo from the day we moved in.

Jax was holding a paint roller. I was holding a broom.

We were covered in gray dust, but our smiles were pure and radiant.

We finally had a home. We had made it in this big, lonely city.

I reached out, pulled the frame off the wall, and tore the photo into tiny pieces.

Then I tossed them into the trash bin.