The penthouse was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against my ears, loud and suffocating in its stillness. Every tick of the clock echoed like a hammer in my chest. I stayed there all night, perched on the edge of the velvet couch, waiting for him to come back. The city lights spilled through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor, but the door never opened.I waited and waited.Night bled into morning, and still nothing. My bags remained packed, untouched in the corner, like silent witnesses to my uncertainty. They felt like an accusation, mocking me for clinging to hope. I hadn’t expected much, but I held onto it anyway, gripping the fragile thread as though it could anchor me to him.I wanted to call, to hear his voice just once, but the words caught in my throat every time I picked up the phone. What if he ignored me again? That's will hurt me more buts what's wrong with him,I am worried about him I told myself I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, t
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