Your Company, Not My Life

I asked, "Did you need something?"

Back then, I used to light up when Derrick dropped by just to chat. Not this time. He froze like he didn't expect me to be so blunt.

His face shifted—awkward, like he'd stepped in something. "Yeah, actually. Molly just wrapped up a big project, so I'm thinking of promoting her. Should give the team a boost. What do you think?"

He looked straight at me.

Sure, he said he wanted my opinion, but we both knew that wasn't true.

I just nodded. "I don't mind."

Then he added, "But rewards should come with penalties too. You haven't finished a project in a while, so I'm thinking of moving you to a lower-level position. Just for now.

"Once things calm down, I'll bring you back. Don't worry—it's for the greater good. You're my fiancée, so you'll support me, right?"

I laughed—silently, in my head.

He still had no clue I'd already quit.

He could read Molly like a book—knew her mood from a glance, remembered every little thing she liked. But his own fiancée handed him a resignation letter he signed, and he didn't even realize.

That's what it looks like when someone just doesn't care. You can tell in one or two lines.

When I stayed quiet, Derrick assumed I was gearing up to argue, like always. His face darkened. "Even if you disagree, it won't change anything. The announcement's already out. Your office belongs to Molly now."

"Either accept the transfer or leave," he said. "But just a heads-up—the company's going public. Might wanna think twice before walking away."

He really thought I'd stay.

It wasn't new. I'd been shoved down the ladder more than once, all because of Molly's petty comments.

I took it back then. Derrick figured I'd cling even harder now.

I gave a dry smile. "I didn't say I disagreed."

"Then it's settled," Derrick said, sounding relieved.

To him, silence meant agreement.

He was halfway out the door when he turned back. "Didn't you used to keep our photo on your desk? Where'd it go?"

That's when it hit me.

It wasn't just the desk. I'd plastered our photos everywhere—my phone, the bedroom wall, my wallet. Little reminders that no matter how cold he got, he still loved me.

He used to laugh at that. Said I was obsessed with those "silly little things." He never got it. Never understood they were the only thing keeping me from walking.

Later, I saw them for what they were—proof of how pathetic I'd been.

"I broke the frame," I said flatly. "Put it away."

He frowned, immediately scanning the floor. "Try not to be so clumsy. Make sure you cleaned it up—don't want anyone getting hurt."

His tone softened a little, probably because I wasn't arguing. Then he left the study.

I watched him go and almost laughed.

That warning wasn't about me.

It was about not letting Molly get hurt.

This was supposed to be our home. I'd been the one keeping it together—until a few months ago, when I found a hair tie in his study. Pillows on our bed, out of place. That's when I knew. Molly had been here. More than once.