Chapter 2

The apartment felt alien when I returned. The lavender scent that once comforted me now smelled like poison. Every object-the framed photo of us on the nightstand, the stupid ceramic mug she bought me that said 'World's Best Boyfriend'-was a monument to my own foolishness. I moved through the small space with a cold, methodical purpose. I grabbed a duffel bag from the back of the closet and started stuffing my clothes into it. T-shirts, jeans, a couple of worn-out sweaters. I left everything she had ever given me.

I worked quickly, a silent fury fueling my movements. I took the photo of us, slid it from its frame, and tore it neatly in half. I dropped the pieces into the trash can. I was erasing her, one memory at a time. My passport was in the desk drawer, along with the few hundred dollars I had saved for emergencies. This was an emergency. I booked a one-way ticket to London on my phone, the confirmation email a beacon of hope in the suffocating darkness.

Just as I zipped the bag shut, I heard the key turn in the lock. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained a mask of calm. Chloe walked in, a concerned look plastered on her face.

"Alex, you were gone so long! I was worried," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Did you... did you get it?"

She looked from my face to the duffel bag on the floor. A flicker of confusion crossed her features.

"I did," I said, my voice even. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the thick wad of cash. I held it out to her. "Here. For your treatment."

Her eyes lit up, a greedy glint she couldn't quite conceal. She reached for the money, her fingers brushing mine. Her touch felt like ice.

"Oh, Alex, thank you," she breathed, clutching the bills to her chest. "You've saved me. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I know," I said. The words were simple, but they carried a weight she couldn't understand. I saw the duffel bag again and quickly added, "I'm just... going to stay at my friend's place for a couple of nights. The air is better over there. It'll be good for me to clear my head after... all this."

She bought it instantly. Of course she did. In her mind, I was a simple, emotional fool. "Of course, baby," she cooed. "You do what you need to do. I'll call you tomorrow after I schedule the appointment."

She turned away, already pulling out her phone, a triumphant little smile playing on her lips. She thought she had won. As she scrolled through her contacts, probably to text Mark and their friends, her screen lit up. I saw it for just a second, a new message at the top of her screen. It was from Mark.

`Can't wait to see his face when we post the video of him crying at the studio. Tonight at 10 PM. It's going to go viral.`

A fresh wave of cold fury washed over me. It wasn't enough to steal from me and humiliate me in private. They wanted to destroy me publicly. They wanted to turn my deepest moment of pain and sacrifice into a spectacle for the world to laugh at. That predatory executive, Mr. Graves, must have an office full of hidden cameras.

Something inside me snapped. The despair was gone, replaced by a sharp, clear determination. They weren't going to get the last laugh. Not this time.

"Hey, Chloe," I said, my voice casual. "I'm feeling really drained. Could you get me a glass of water before I go?"

"Sure, honey," she said, distracted, still smiling at her phone. She set it face down on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen.

The moment her back was turned, I moved. My fingers were nimble, my mind sharp. I picked up her phone. It was unlocked. I went to her gallery, my stomach churning at the sight of the video. There I was, on a small screen, my face contorted in grief as I handed over my grandfather' s guitar. The audio was crystal clear. My voice, thick with emotion, thanking the executive. It was devastating.

But I had an idea. I remembered the recording app on my own phone. While she was out of the room, I had started a recording. I had her voice, clear as a bell, mocking me with her friends.

I quickly Airdropped the video from her phone to mine. Then, using a simple editing app, I did something ruthless. I took their video-the one of me crying-and I replaced the audio track. I stripped out my own broken voice and laid their cruel, mocking laughter and conversation over it. The one I had just recorded outside the studio door.

Now, the video showed my face, twisted in pain, while Chloe' s voice played over it, saying, "He's such a pathetic loser," and "This is for humiliating Mark." It was a masterpiece of poetic justice. I saved the new version, deleted the original from her phone, and then, for good measure, I found the file I'd just sent from her phone to mine and deleted that too, clearing the trail. I put her phone back on the table, exactly where it had been, just as the sound of running water in the kitchen stopped.

She came back into the room, holding a glass of water. She was smiling. "Here you go."

"Thanks," I said, taking the glass. I didn't drink it. I just held it, my hand steady. "I should go."

"Okay. I love you," she said, the words empty and meaningless.

"I love you too," I replied, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. It was the last lie I would ever tell her.

I picked up my duffel bag, walked to the door, and didn't look back. I closed the door softly behind me, the click of the latch sounding like the final punctuation on a chapter of my life I was desperate to end.

I walked out of the building and into the anonymity of the New York night. I was alone, with nothing but a bag of clothes, a plane ticket, and a video file that was about to burn their world to the ground. I felt a grim satisfaction settle in my chest. I wasn't just running away. I was fighting back.

As I sat in the back of the cab on the way to JFK, I took one last look at the edited video. It was perfect. I created a new, anonymous social media account. I scheduled the post for 9:55 PM, five minutes before Mark's planned release. Their moment of triumph was about to become their public execution. And I would be 30,000 feet in the air when it happened.

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