Part-2 Back on Her Ex-Lover’s Bed

She held her breath, trying not to make a sound. Her eyes darted to Daryl—he was still asleep, his face peaceful for the first time after a night of rage.

Cheesy stood up slowly, tiptoeing to the bathroom.

Once inside, she locked the door and immediately dropped to her knees on the cold floor, coughing violently. Blood dripped onto the white marble.

Her body trembled. Her face had gone pale as death. She looked at herself in the mirror—sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, skin devoid of color. Then, she took her painkillers.

“I… just need to hold on a little longer,” she whispered, wiping her lips.

She rinsed her mouth and quickly cleaned the blood off the floor. She didn’t want Daryl to know. She didn’t want his pity—or worse, his hatred.

When she exited the bathroom, Daryl was still asleep.

Cheesy picked up the twenty-million check Daryl had thrown the night before. She stared at it for a long time, then smiled bitterly.

“Thank you… for this one night, Daryl…” she whispered. “I’ll use this money to pay our child’s school fees—even if the way I asked for it made you furious.”

With light steps, she grabbed her crumpled red dress, slipped it on the best she could, and slowly opened the door.

Before leaving, she looked back one last time at the bed. Locking the image of Daryl in her heart, in her memory, for the very last time.

“Goodbye…” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “I hope we never meet again.”

Then Cheesy left, leaving Daryl behind like a bitter dream that could never be touched again.

***

Moments later, Daryl groaned softly, stirring on the large bed. Morning light began to fill the room, stinging his heavy eyelids.

He opened his eyes slowly. His brows furrowed—Cheesy wasn’t beside him.

Daryl instinctively reached for the cold side of the bed. He shot upright, his face tightening.

“Cheesy?” he called out, but only the echo of his own voice replied.

“Damn it! She’s gone!” Daryl growled. In frustration, he grabbed a pillow and threw it to the floor. His breathing was heavy. His jaw clenched tight.

“Cheesy, you just walked away like that after everything that happened—” he muttered, frustrated.

He ran both hands over his face roughly, hating the empty feeling that suddenly flooded his chest.

SLAM!

Daryl stood and walked over to the large window, staring down at the city slowly waking below. His eyes were blank, his mind a mess.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the silence.

He turned toward it reluctantly, walked over to the table, picked it up without looking at the caller ID, and answered.

“Hello?" Daryl’s voice was rough.

“Hi, Darling…” came a cheerful voice from the other end.

Daryl closed his eyes briefly, letting out a long sigh.

Clara Berliana, his fiancée. The daughter of one of Europe’s noble families.

“Sweetheart, I just wanted to let you know that I’m all packed and ready to fly to America!” Clara sounded excited. “I’m coming to see you! We can go out together—and maybe even choose a place for our wedding!”

Daryl gripped the phone tightly. His jaw clenched harder.

“I’m flying out today!” Clara continued in her sugary tone. “Wait for me in New York, okay? I want you to pick me up!”

Daryl closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on.

On one hand, he knew Clara was his parents’ choice—an arranged political match, of course.

But on the other hand, Cheesy’s face kept haunting his mind. Her bitter smile, her tears, her small cold body in his arms last night.

Damn it.

“Yeah…” Daryl finally replied flatly. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Yayyy! I love you, Sweetheart!” Clara chirped before hanging up.

As soon as the call ended, Daryl tossed his phone onto the couch. He returned to the window.

“I hate all of this,” he murmured quietly.

His fists clenched. A storm of anger, hatred, and guilt churned in his chest.

Life with Clara would be stable—even perfect. Even though he didn’t love her.

But his heart… for some reason, it still belonged to that girl named Cheesy Evelyne, no matter how much she had hurt him in the past.

“Where did you go, Cheesy?” Daryl whispered.

But only the cold morning wind answered, slapping his cheek without mercy.

“Wherever you go, you won’t escape me. You still owe me for what you did… six years ago.”