Chapter2

The taxi stopped in front of a detached villa in a wealthy neighborhood of Seattle. The wipers scraped mechanically across the windshield, making a low rubbery squeal.

Sir the meter is still running the driver reminded him.

Wait ten minutes I said, pushed the door open, and stepped through the pooled water toward the porch.

I pushed open the brass door with carved patterns. The entryway sensor light came on. Warm yellow light spilled over an expensive Persian rug in the living room. The air still carried the French perfume Elena always used.

This was the place where she and I had lived together for three years. A photo of us at the Milan Biennale hung on the wall. The glass display cabinet was filled with trophies she had won under her own name. Countless nights, I had worked in the basement studio, fighting stabbing neck pain as I drew, while she stood in this living room with champagne in hand, chatting with socialites about her design philosophy.

I did not smash a single trophy. I did not walk up to the wall with the photo.

The urge to destroy comes from resentment, and right now I felt only a clear headed lightness.

I took a black twenty inch carry on suitcase from the storage room and spread it open on the marble island. I did not have many belongings. Two solid color shirts, two backup suits that did not require dry cleaning, and a few sets of everyday clothes. I pulled open the drawers in the walk in closet and skipped over the expensive custom ties Elena had picked for banquets. They were props she used to decorate the role of successful female designer fiance.

Then I walked into the study and put a German carbon fiber precision compass I had used for seven years, along with several drafting rulers that fit my hand, into a leather case and packed them into the suitcase. As for the other drafts and models I had stayed up nights to finish, I did not even look at them twice. Since she thought those drawings could be redone anytime, she could leave them to her newly returned first love prodigy to redraw.

I zipped the suitcase shut and walked to the crystal coffee table in the center of the living room, pulling out a sheet of plain white office paper.

I uncapped my fountain pen and wrote three lines.

To Elena Architecture Studio

Effective immediately I resign as chief designer and from all related nominal positions

Payment settled no handover required

There was no need to accuse her of betrayal, no hysterical questioning, no long winded condemnation. When a job or a relationship loses all value, the most effective counterattack is to leave.

I set the pen down and slid the engagement ring off my left ring finger.

The platinum band had sat there for three years, leaving a faint pale mark. I placed it neatly in the center of the resignation letter. Metal met paper with a soft tap.

That was enough.

I leaned back on the sofa and took out my phone. Several unread messages popped up in the studio group chat, apparently the deputy was asking about the parameter errors in Lukes presentation earlier. I did not open them.

I went into settings and canceled my work email without hesitation, logging out of every social account. Then, using the SIM eject pin I carried, I pulled out the tray and removed the SIM card that tied me to every contact in Seattles circle.

I snapped it in half and dropped it into the trash beside me.

Next, on the public network from the airport shuttle, I booked a one way international flight departing in two hours. Destination Europe.

When I picked up the suitcase and turned away, I did not look back at the house even once. The lock clicked shut, sealing five years of stupidity and compromise behind the door.

The taxi started up again and headed toward Seattle Tacoma International Airport. I watched the neon lights slide backward outside the window, closed my eyes, and felt the calm of leaving the swamp behind.

Three days later, the Seattle villa.

The lock made a successful recognition chime and the door swung open.

Elena stepped into the entryway in high heels, carrying the mixed scent of expensive champagne and upscale restaurants. Over the past three days she had been busy using the news of passing the preliminary review as hype, throwing celebrations for Luke and calming the Dubai clients who were anxious about the contract breach.

Victor pour me a glass of water.

Out of habit she kicked off her shoes without even looking around, rubbing her temples as she walked into the living room. For years no matter how late she came home, Victor would hand her a glass of warm water at the perfect temperature, and there would be a late night snack warming in the kitchen.

But the only answer was the empty echo of the villa.

Elena frowned, irritation rising, and lifted her head. Victor

Silence. The air felt a little cold. The kitchen counter was spotless, without a trace of life. She hurried down to the basement studio. The door was open. The drafting table had been cleaned until it gleamed, but several customized calipers he always used were gone from the wall.

A flicker of unease crossed Elenas eyes. She turned back to the living room, and at once saw the sheet of white paper on the coffee table.

She walked over. Her eyes landed on the platinum ring and the three short, emotionless lines of resignation.

That familiar handwriting carried no feeling, yet it stabbed straight into her. She immediately pulled out her phone and called Victors number.

Sorry the number you have dialed is not in service.

The automated voice froze Elena in place. She quickly opened social apps and tried to enter his profile, only to see the message that the user had been deactivated.

Gone

Elena stared at the ring on the table. First came shock. Then her lips curled into a dismissive sneer.

She picked up her phone and called her best friend Sarah.

Honey what is it Did Lukes celebration go well Sarah asked.

Perfectly Elena walked to the bar and poured herself a glass of red wine. She looked at the resignation letter on the table, her tone full of arrogance and certainty. But Victor is throwing a tantrum.

Victor That quiet guy who hardly dares to raise his voice How is he tantruming

He packed a few cheap clothes, left the ring and the resignation letter on the table, and canceled his phone number Elena swirled the wine in her glass, eyes full of contempt. He thinks this pathetic disappearing act will force me to give him the projects credit back.

Oh my God is he insane Without you how can he survive in Seattles architecture circle Sarah laughed.

He is just testing my bottom line, trying to raise his bargaining chips Elena took a sip, looked around the empty room, and leaned against the bar without the slightest burden. Ignore him. He thinks he matters more than he does.

Just watch Sarah Elena looked into the night outside the window and smiled as if everything were under control. Within a week, once the money in his pocket runs out and he realizes no one will hire an invisible nobody who only draws in a basement, he will come back and knock on my door on his own.