CHAPTER 4

With three weeks remaining, I began quietly clearing out my existence from Julian's life.

I didn't make a scene. I didn't throw tantrums. I simply packed small, essential personal items into vacuum-sealed bags and mailed them directly to Maya’s office, where she was holding them for my international shipping container.

My architectural portfolios, my mother's heirlooms, my personal journals—one by one, they vanished from the penthouse.

Julian was so preoccupied with Clara that he didn't notice a single missing item.

Clara’s new psychological clinic was holding its grand opening, and Julian had practically taken on the role of her executive sponsor. He was managing her venue contracts, handling her marketing PR through his corporate firm, and spending almost every evening out with her under the guise of "business dinners."

On Tuesday afternoon, while Julian was at the office, a courier arrived at the penthouse door.

"Package for Mrs. Nora Vance," the courier said, handing me a flat, official envelope requiring a signature.

I signed for it and brought it inside. It was my official work visa and non-domiciled tax documents from the British Consulate, stamped and verified.

I sat down at the dining table, opening the envelope to inspect the paperwork. Printed in bold black ink was my name, alongside my confirmed start date at Vance & Associates in London: *October 15th.*

Suddenly, the front door lock beeped.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Julian wasn't supposed to be home for another four hours!

I quickly tried to slide the visa documents back into the heavy brown envelope, but as I did, my trembling fingers accidentally knocked over a glass of water sitting on the table. The water spilled straight across the open mahogany surface, drenching the edge of the official consulate letter.

"Nora?" Julian's voice echoed from the foyer.

Panicking, I shoved the soaked visa papers into the middle drawer of the sideboard buffet, shutting it silently just as Julian walked into the dining area.

He was unbuttoning his suit jacket, looking tired. "I forgot my quarterly financial reports for the afternoon board meeting."

He stopped when he saw me standing stiffly by the table, holding a wet napkin.

"What happened?" he asked, glancing at the spilled water.

"Just... spilled some water," I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible despite the thunderous beating of my heart. "I was cleaning it up."

Julian walked toward the table, his eyes scanning the surface. He spotted the brown official envelope from the British Consulate lying near the spill.

He picked it up.

"What's this?" Julian asked, turning the envelope over. "British Consulate General? Why are you getting mail from the consulate?"

My throat felt bone-dry. If he opened the envelope, he would find the cover letter detailing my upcoming relocation.

"It's... it's just administrative inquiry papers," I lied smoothly, forcing myself to look him dead in the eye. "Professor Vance asked me to sign some verification documents regarding my old academic credentials for a publication he's doing in London."

Julian stared at the envelope for a long, tense moment. He reached into his pocket for his phone, as if contemplating calling Professor Vance to check.

"You're still in touch with Vance?" Julian asked, his brow furrowing. "Nora, I thought we agreed you shouldn't be engaging with high-stress academic work right now. Clara said—"

"Clara doesn't control my academic history, Julian," I interrupted sharply.

Julian’s phone suddenly began ringing in his hand. The caller ID flashed: *Clara.*

He immediately abandoned the envelope, dropping it onto the table, and answered the call.

"Clara? What's wrong?" Julian's tone shifted instantly to frantic concern. "...What? The catering team canceled for the opening night? Calm down, Clara. I'll handle it right now. I'll call our corporate event planners. Don't worry, I'm coming over."

He hung up, completely forgetting about the consulate envelope and my suspicious behavior.

He grabbed his laptop bag from the counter. "I have to go help Clara. Her launch event is in crisis."

"Go ahead," I said softly.

Julian paused at the doorway, looking back at me for a split second. A strange, fleeting look of hesitation passed over his face. "Nora... are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm perfectly fine, Julian," I replied, giving him a polite, distant smile. "Go help Clara."

He nodded, turning on his heel and leaving.

As soon as the door closed, I collapsed into a chair, letting out a ragged breath. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. That was too close.

I opened the sideboard drawer, retrieved the soaked visa documents, and dried them carefully with a microfiber towel.

I looked at the calendar on my phone.

*14 days remaining.*

That evening, Maya came over to help me organize the final shipment of my belongings. We sat on the floor of the guest bedroom, packing my remaining sketchbooks into a secure trunk.

"He almost found out today," I told Maya, handed her a stack of design journals.

Maya scoffed, sealing a box with packing tape. "Julian is so blinded by his obsession with playing Clara's savior that you could pack up the entire living room couch and he wouldn't notice until Clara told him to sit down."

"He genuinely believes I can't live without him," I said, looking out the window at the city skyline. "He told me I'm a debt he has to repay forever."

"That's not love, Nora. That's a hostage situation built on guilt," Maya said fiercely. "He wants to keep you dependent so he can feel like a good man, while giving all his affection to Clara. It's disgusting. But you know what?"

"What?"

"In two weeks, when he realizes you've walked away forever, his guilty conscience is going to burn him to the ground."

I didn't answer. I didn't care about his guilty conscience anymore. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted my freedom.

Later that night, Julian returned home long after midnight. I was lying awake in the guest room when I heard his footsteps stop outside my door.

He stood there for a long time. The door handle jiggled slightly, as if he was thinking about coming in, but then he stopped.

"Nora?" he called softly through the wooden door. "Are you awake?"

I kept my eyes closed and remained silent.

"Clara's event is all set for next week," Julian murmured through the door, his voice sounding curiously lonely in the dark apartment. "She wants you to sit at the VIP head table with us... I told her you'd be there."

I pulled the blanket higher over my shoulders, turning my back to the door.

He could reserve all the seats he wanted. But by the end of next week, the seat beside him would be permanently empty.