Chapter 3

When I returned to the company, Manhattan’s morning had already shifted into high gear.

The light beyond the glass curtain wall was cold and sharp. Traffic stacked into a straight line at the red light. Pedestrians hurried across the crosswalk.

I pushed open my office door. My assistant, Aiden, was already waiting.

He didn’t ask what had happened last night. He simply handed me his tablet, his tone as controlled as ever.

“As you requested, the maintenance center reserved an emergency slot last night,” he said. “Do you want to cancel it?”

“Cancel it.” I slid the tablet back toward him. “She won’t be coming.”

Aiden nodded and started working.

I draped my coat over the chair back and went straight to the point. “Handle two personal matters for me today.”

I didn’t bother with preamble. “I’m moving out. Contact the property manager and a moving company. Today, clear out all my personal items, documents, and hard drives from that place.”

Aiden asked, “What about the apartment? Do you want the keys back?”

“No.”

We bought that apartment together back when the company didn’t even exist.

I wasn’t going to let a piece of real estate drag me into endless negotiations, emails, lawyer letters, and media speculation.

I paused, my voice still even. “Empty my things. If there has to be a formal handoff later, let the lawyers handle it. I won’t show up.”

Aiden’s eyes flickered, as if he wanted to confirm I wasn’t acting on impulse.

I didn’t give him the chance. “This isn’t spite. It’s damage control. The apartment stays with her. The entanglement ends here.”

Aiden nodded. “Understood. I’ll have the movers and property management follow your instructions.”

“Second.” I continued, as if reading out a clause that should’ve been enforced long ago. “Freeze every personal payment tied to her.”

In the past, all her daily spending—checkups, maintenance, emergency replacements—had gone straight through my accounts.

“Shut down every supplementary card under my name linked to her. Cancel all auto-pay.” I looked at Aiden. “And any pre-authorizations made under my personal name—withdraw them all. She wants to live her way, then she can use her own account.”

Aiden hesitated. “If she suddenly needs urgent work, the cost—”

“She signs. She pays.” I made it plain. “I’m not trying to humiliate her. I’m ending my role as the payer.”

Aiden nodded and went to handle it.

The rest of the day, I did what I always did. Meetings. Reports. Signatures.

“The maintenance center asked,” Aiden added later. “If she contacts them personally, what should we say?”

“Respond as a normal appointment.” I didn’t look up. “Give her the nearest available slot. Deliver the risk warnings as usual. Say nothing else.”

Aiden acknowledged and left my office.

—

Victoria’s life looked even livelier than before.

She and Blake showed up at the entrance of a restaurant.

Blake opened the car door for her and helped her out—overdone, like he was performing for a camera.

Victoria lifted her head and smiled, as if telling the world her choice had been the right one.

She posted a photo on social media, raising a glass. The caption was short: New beginning.

Comments flooded in—congratulations, teasing, and plenty of people taking the chance to step on “that boring ex.”

Victoria didn’t explain anything. She liked the sharpest comment instead:

Congrats on finally ditching the past.

Blake saw her gesture and grinned. “See? You don’t need him at all.”

Victoria slipped her phone back into her bag, her tone flat. “I never did.”

That night, they went to a party. Dim lights. Heavy music. Crowds pressed tight.

Victoria stayed busy the whole time—drinking, talking, getting pulled into photos.

Like she was using the noise to prove one thing: she was fine.

Until she wasn’t.

When she turned away from the bar, her joint response lagged by half a beat. Her heel scraped the floor with a faint rasp.

She paused for a fraction of a second, then kept walking as if nothing happened.

A system alert popped up:

Cooling fluctuation detected. Reduce activity intensity and schedule maintenance as soon as possible.

Victoria frowned and swiped it away.

She didn’t want any “warnings” interrupting this kind of night. She didn’t want Blake noticing, either.

Blake leaned in. “What is it?”

“Shoes,” Victoria said casually, smiling like it was nothing. “They’re uncomfortable. I’m going to the terrace for some air.”

She stood outside for two minutes, let the wind hit her face, felt steadier again—and filed it away as an accident.

She didn’t mention it. She didn’t tell anyone.

She didn’t want to hear, “Should we get you checked?” and she especially didn’t want to admit Leon might’ve been right.

The next day, it got worse.

Victoria woke up in a high-rise hotel room. Outside the window were the river and the bridge lights. Blake was still asleep. She stared at the ceiling for two seconds, as if confirming she’d finally escaped a set of rules, then got up, changed, and went to the hotel gym.

The gym was empty. Treadmills lined up in a row. Mirrors made every movement painfully clear.

Victoria hit start. The speed climbed from slow to fast. She deliberately pushed the pace—past anything a human body should maintain.

The first few minutes were normal.

Her steps were steady. Her breathing rhythm was steady.

She loved the feeling—like she wasn’t the same as ordinary people, like she was something higher.

Then, at a certain beat, her joint response froze for a brief instant—like someone had hit pause inside her.

Her feet couldn’t match her body’s forward tilt. Her center of gravity shifted, and she pitched forward.

Instinctively she reached for the treadmill handrail, but she was half a beat late. Her palm scraped the edge. Her knee slammed hard into the floor.

Victoria’s gut tightened. She pushed herself up and shut off the treadmill.

And for the first time, something in her truly went cold.

This wasn’t “an accident.” It wasn’t “being tired.”

It was escalating.

Back in the room, Blake finally woke up and asked casually, “Where’d you go?”

“The gym.” Victoria set her water bottle on the table, her voice light. “Nothing.”

Blake didn’t look at her twice. He just scrolled through his phone. “People are asking us to go out this afternoon. Don’t be late.”

Hearing that, Victoria became even more determined not to show a single sign of instability in front of him.

She told herself: I can handle it. If I find the right way, I can handle it myself.

But when she changed her shoes to head out, the delay hit again—at her ankle this time—like some internal component reminding her:

Every step you take now is burning through your remaining margin.

She stopped. Finally, she pulled out her phone, opened her contacts, and hovered over “Leon.”

She stared at the name for a few seconds. What rose in her mind wasn’t guilt, but certainty:

He’ll pick up.

He can’t really ignore me.

She hit call and pressed the phone to her ear.

No ringing. The call went straight to voicemail.

Victoria froze. She hung up and tried again.

Voicemail.

Clean, immediate—like a wall.

She stared at the screen, her finger resting on End Call, and suddenly understood:

This wasn’t a signal issue. It wasn’t a coincidence.

He was telling her in the simplest way possible—

He wasn’t answering.