Chapter 4

Gwyneth appeared bashful, but Gerard seemed unconcerned.

We collided near the elevator entrance.

I remained quiet, but Gwyneth began squirming in Gerard's grasp. Her cheeks were flushed crimson.

"Gerard, release me now."

Gerard scowled. "You're injured. Cease moving."

Unexpectedly, he addressed me. "Why are you here? Are you unwell?"

I displayed the medication in my hand. "Just trouble sleeping."

He contemplated briefly. "I'll have my aide procure some lavender. Place it in your room; it might be beneficial."

He was about to continue, but the girl he held interrupted.

Gwyneth emitted a soft mewl like a young cat.

The elevator continued its descent—until a sudden loud noise brought it to an abrupt halt.

The illumination failed.

In the complete darkness, I crouched down. My entire form began trembling.

I have an intense fear of darkness.

Gerard remembered. He called out, "Yvaine? Yvaine, are you alright?"

I managed a shaky response. "M-Mm-mm."

"Gwyneth, stand for a moment," he said. "Yvaine's afraid of the dark..."

But Gwyneth began quietly weeping in the corner. "But I'm scared too, Gerard! Don't put me down..."

Gerard didn't address me again after that. His focus was entirely on her, comforting her with his gentle tone.

Meanwhile, my hands grew clammy, and my body continued shaking.

This wasn't unprecedented. Years ago, Gerard and I had been trapped in an elevator together.

The lights had failed, and we were stuck between floors.

I was so terrified I couldn't even cry, just trembled and broke into a cold sweat.

Back then, Gerard had embraced me. He's fastidious and detests any kind of untidiness, but that day, he held me gently. No complaints, no revulsion.

Just as he was now—consoling Gwyneth.

"G-Gerard..." I murmured.

The darkness made me feel vulnerable; tears trickled down my face.

I found myself yearning for the comfort of his embrace again.

But then he crushed that small, foolish hope. He replied, "Gwyneth's injured..."

I remained silent afterward. Just hid my face in my arms and stayed quiet.

After what seemed an eternity, the lights flickered on, and the elevator resumed moving.

As soon as we reached the ground floor, I stumbled to my feet and hurried out.

Upon returning home, I was still in a daze.

Mom had sent photos of wedding gowns for me to choose from, but I couldn't concentrate on them.

I just sat there, silently watching time pass on the clock.

I'm unsure how long it was before Gerard returned.

He entered carrying a bunch of lavender and a bag of takeaway food.

I opened it. A container of lobster soup.

Gerard had forgotten my shellfish allergy.

He didn't even notice. He just mumbled an apology.

"You haven't eaten yet, right? Consume this while it's warm."

I removed the lid and drank every drop.

The allergic reaction appeared almost immediately, but I was indifferent.

"Return for dinner tomorrow," I said. "It's your birthday."

He paused, surprised, but then quickly agreed.

I rose to take some allergy medication.

Cooking has never been my forte.

The only dish I'm somewhat competent at preparing is birthday pasta.

But tonight, regardless of my efforts, it kept turning out poorly.

I didn't want to waste it, so I forced myself to eat the unsuccessful attempts.

I monitored the time closely.

Once Gerard came home and had his birthday meal, I'd depart.

Permanently this time.

But he never arrived.

Instead, he phoned.

"Gwyneth burned her fingers while cooking. I need to take her to the hospital," he said. "Go ahead and eat without me."

His deceptions have always been transparent.

My primary Facebook account couldn't view his updates anymore.

But my secondary account? It revealed everything—a photo of him and Gwyneth beside a cake, decorations suspended in the air, and both of them smiling and holding hands.

"Hello? Hello?" Gerard's voice interrupted my thoughts. He was still on the line.

I just exhaled slowly, shakily. "It's... It's fine. No hurry."

Then, from my alternate account, I approved his post.

I discarded the pasta directly into the garbage.

Gerard no longer loves me.

Releasing him would likely make him happier anyway, so I pulled my suitcase out of the house.

En route, I compiled all the evidence of Gwyneth and Gerard's years of flirtation and shared it on my main Facebook account.

Many of our mutual acquaintances would see it.

If I'm leaving, well, I'm not departing quietly.

Before the aircraft took off, I sent Gerard a final message.

[Happy birthday. Farewell.]

I didn't even bother declaring it was over.

Seven years together without commitment—there wasn't much of a relationship to end.

Even the terminated pregnancies meant nothing to him—just collateral damage in his chaotic life.

Just before I turned off my phone, the calls began pouring in, and I accidentally answered one.