Chapter 3
He didn't wait for an answer, simply snatching the resignation letter right out of my hand.
Staring into his eyes, I saw that familiar, nauseating confidence. He didn't even bother to glance at the signature at the bottom of the page.
He was so sure of himself. Sure that I was just throwing a tantrum. Sure that I would be nothing without him. Sure that all my grievances could be smoothed over with a single, overpriced dinner.
This was how he saw the woman who had stood by him for six grueling years: a spineless doormat, completely tamed and perpetually at his beck and call.
Turning on his heel, he strode over to Brad's desk and shoved the crisp paper directly into the shredder.
With a harsh mechanical whine, the letter was instantly chewed into meaningless white confetti.
"Alright, enough with the dramatics," Xavier said, dusting his hands off before turning back to face me. His tone dripped with undeniable condescension—a dictator handing out a pardon. "Seven o'clock tonight at Le Coucou. Don't be late. We'll have dinner, and we can consider this whole thing water under the bridge."
Looking at his arrogant, overbearing face, I didn't argue. My eyes didn't well up with tears the way they used to.
"Fine," I agreed, my voice carrying the eerie stillness of a stagnant pool. "See you at seven."
My response caught the eavesdropping HR staff visibly off guard. Xavier blinked in mild surprise, but then offered a satisfied nod, a flash of poorly concealed triumph dancing in his eyes. To him, this was confirmation that he was firmly back in the driver's seat.
Without another word, I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, turned, and walked out.
Just as I stepped into the corridor, Xavier's unapologetic scoff echoed behind me, pitched perfectly for Brad and the other managers to hear.
"See? I told you it was nothing." His voice was loaded with toxic male arrogance. "Women just like to throw tantrums. Coax them a little, and they fall right back into line. She'll be obediently sitting at her desk tomorrow."
Sycophantic chuckles from the male executives rippled behind the glass walls.
Had this been yesterday, hearing that banter would have felt like a jagged knife twisting in my gut. Now? It was frankly absurd.
I paused, my back still to his door, and let out a silent laugh.
Laugh all you want, Xavier. Soak up your delusional sense of control. You think you just shredded my ticket out of here, oblivious to the fact that my endgame is already in motion.
Tonight wouldn't be a reconciliation. It would be a permanent farewell.
At exactly seven o'clock, I pushed open the heavy brass doors of Le Coucou.
For tonight's occasion, I had ditched my usual submissive pencil skirt, swapping it for a sharply tailored white Le Smoking suit that screamed effortless authority.
Xavier was already waiting in our private suite. Surprise flickered in his eyes when he saw me, quickly replaced by a magnanimous, patronizing smile. "You made it. The outfit looks good. Listen, I lost my temper in the office this morning. Can you forgive me? About getting you back to your desk tomorrow, I was thinking we could—"
I barely opened my mouth before the door was abruptly pushed open.
"Xavier! I knew you'd be here!"
Accompanying the frantic click-clack of stilettos, Wendy burst into the room like a chaotic fireball, poured into a painfully tacky, deep-red sequined dress. "I was just shopping downstairs and heard there was a 'reconciliation dinner' happening. I just had to come up and say hi to Estelle."
Foregoing any pretense of manners, she plopped herself down directly next to Xavier—in the seat rightfully reserved for his fiancée.
The truly pathetic part? Xavier didn't even try to stop her.
The waiter began serving the courses. A culinary atrocity of a well-done Beef Wellington, an overly rich heavy cream soup, and a caramel dessert that looked nauseatingly sweet.
There wasn't a single thing on the table I could stomach.
"Try this." Xavier sliced off a greasy, ruined piece of the pastry-wrapped steak and dropped it onto my fine china. "Wendy says you girls are all obsessed with these high-calorie cheat meals lately."
I stared at the congealed meat grease pooling on my plate and almost laughed out loud. Two years ago, after drinking myself into a gastric hemorrhage to secure a massive client for him, my diet had been strictly as bland as a monk's. He used to know that.
"No thanks," I said, calmly sliding the plate away. "I'm not very hungry."
For the rest of the meal, Xavier's attention was superglued to Wendy. Whether she was showing off her new Birkins or whining about trivial gossip, she drew out his endless, patient chuckles. I was completely cast aside, reduced to nothing more than an expensive, redundant centerpiece.
"Oh, right, Estelle." Xavier finally turned to me, as if belatedly remembering I existed. "About your position tomorrow, I think..."
"Oww..."
A pained moan interrupted him with impeccable timing. Wendy clutched her stomach, her face scrunched up in agony as she leaned pitifully into Xavier's shoulder. "Xavier... my stomach hurts so badly... it feels like it's twisting into knots..."
"What's wrong?" Xavier's detached, affluent composure evaporated instantly. He shot up from his chair, completely forgetting I was even in the room.
"I think... the ice cream I had this afternoon must have been off..." she whimpered, her knuckles white as she gripped his lapel.
"Don't panic. I'm taking you to the ER right now." Xavier scooped her up into his arms in one fluid motion. He had already pivoted toward the door before he suddenly remembered me. He froze in his tracks, looking genuinely awkward for a fraction of a second. "Estelle, I..."
"Go." I looked at him, my voice stripped of all emotion. "Wendy's health comes first."
He hesitated for a heartbeat before nodding, letting out a breath of relief. "I'll make this dinner up to you. I'll be back as soon as I can."
I sat perfectly still, watching him rush out of the suite with the "fragile" girl secured in his arms. Just a second before they disappeared into the hallway, Wendy peered over his shoulder. She shot me a smug, mocking smirk—the absolute trademark of a victor.
Staring across the ruined table, a profound, unshakable tranquility washed over my mind.
Enough. Every choice he made tonight was the ultimate closure I never knew I needed.
Ignoring the untouched food, I slowly pushed my chair back and slipped into my tailored coat. I breezed right past the bewildered waiter, didn't spare a single glance at the absurdly high check, and walked out of Le Coucou, stepping into the brisk night cold.
Exiting the restaurant, I slipped into the backseat of a sleek, black town car idling at the street corner.
The moment I shut the door, my phone screen lit up. A text from Xavier:
[Wendy needs me to stay at the hospital with her tonight, so I won't be coming back to the apartment. Be at the office on time Monday to clean up the mess you made today. As long as you drop this attitude and behave, I'll officially announce our engagement to the board and let you be my fiancée in public.]
Reading that imperious, self-congratulatory text, a cold smile spread across my face.
I didn't bother typing a reply. Instead, I held down the power button and watched the screen's glow fade into absolute black. Using an earring post, I popped the tray and extracted the SIM card—the dedicated line that had kept me on a twenty-four-hour leash for six grueling years.
Without a shred of hesitation, I snapped it in half.
With a satisfying crack, the useless pieces of plastic were tossed out the cracked window into the night breeze, swallowed instantly by the darkness.
At that very moment, a vivid image formed in my mind: Xavier, instinctively reaching for his phone tomorrow to dump his latest corporate mess into my lap, only to hear the dead, hollow tone of a disconnected number. I could clearly see the exasperated, red-faced frenzy that would follow.
He always assumed I was an accessory he could command at will. Tomorrow, he would experience the crushing reality of losing his entire safety net.
But as for me, having officially severed myself from his toxic orbit, I took in a deep breath. The air tasted sweeter and freer than it had in six years.
"Let's go," I murmured to the driver up front—a loyal man who had served my real family for over twenty years. I took one last, indifferent look at the hypocritical glitter of the Manhattan skyline.
"It's time to go home."
