The days that followed, I moved like a ghost through bank offices, registry desks, and phone companies, erasing every trace of myself. Canceling cards, changing addresses, ditching my number—I was prepping for a clean break, ready to vanish from Dominic's world the second those bond-breaking papers were official.
On our binding anniversary, the villa was a hollow shell. No candlelit dinner, no thoughtful gifts. Just me, sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out.
Dominic came home, his face darkening at the empty house. "You forget something?" he asked, voice tight.
I kept my gaze down, my tone flat. "You mean our anniversary? You never cared about it. No need to bother from now on."
His eyes dimmed, and without a word, he stormed out.
The comments rolled in, right on cue.
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