After Mia finally left, Julian collapsed onto the plush sofa, looking as if his soul had been sucked out of his body.
His mind was violently assaulted by memories of me.
Standing in that very kitchen, I cheerfully cooked his favorite meals. Every single morning, I would make him breakfast.
I would wait up late in the night to hand him a hangover soup after his grueling corporate dinners. During the holidays, I was the only one who could help him relax.
This penthouse was practically built on the foundation of our shared memories. Yet, while I was still physically there, he had taken me for granted. He treated me like a tool to satisfy his desires, hiding his betrayal under the guise of "doing what was best for us".
He was the one who tore this home apart with his own hands and crus
