Your Company, Not My Life

Derrick said I was being petty. Then, like it proved some point, he used it as an excuse to "make it official" and moved Molly to work directly under him.

The more upset I got, the harder he leaned in—dragging her to every social event, serving her food, even wiping her mouth at company dinners.

When we fought, he'd ice me out. When I apologized, he'd round up his buddies to lecture me like I was some jealous mess.

For a while, I actually blamed myself. Thought maybe I wasn't generous enough. Thought maybe that's why we ended up here.

But on day three of one of his silent treatments—when I was too sick to even sit up and he still packed his bags for a trip with Molly—I gave up.

That's when it hit me: he wasn't trying to be noble. He just used my "pettiness" as a shield so he could keep doing what he wanted without feeling guilty.

Even if I hadn't caught those late-night chats, he would've just found another excuse to be with her.

After their latest business trip, they were still grabbing dinner, drinks, playing tennis—same routine. But something between them had changed. I could feel it.

Not that it mattered.

Five years together, and it was done.

This whole mess had dragged on long enough.

I was the last one in the office, finishing up the proposal. Checked my phone—Molly had been busy posting.

Candlelit dinner at some fancy spot. Two plates of steak. Derrick, all polished and perfect, cutting hers for her.

Caption: [Steak cut by the CEO himself—it has to taste better.]

The comments were full of heart emojis and fangirling. A few clueless people even asked when the wedding was. Derrick replied with three dots. Molly followed up with a cheeky emoji.

No clarification. Just like always.

But this time, I didn't blow up. Didn't call him, didn't get scolded for "overreacting."

I just texted him: proposal's done. Dropped the docs in his office, refilled the water like he asked, then drove home.

The second I walked in, my phone rang—Derrick's number.

I picked up, but it wasn't him.

"Yara, it's Molly. Thanks for your help with the project. I'll treat you to dinner sometime." Her voice was all sugar.

Before I could answer, Derrick cut in. "No need to thank her. It's her job."

Molly teased. "Mr. Cromwell, she's your fiancée. Can't you talk to her a little nicer?"

They sounded like the real couple.

I let out a quiet laugh.

Derrick—who used to freak out if I even glanced at his phone—now handed it to Molly like it was no big deal.

And honestly? I felt weirdly calm.

What used to feel like the end of the world suddenly felt... small.

They kept joking for a bit, then Derrick finally remembered I was still on the line. "I'll be back soon. No need to wait—get some rest."

Then he hung up.

His "soon" usually meant four, five hours. I used to pace the whole time, worried sick.

But this time, I didn't bother.

I just walked to the study and looked at the calendar on my desk.