Chapter 8
Zach froze for half a second before suddenly exploding, his voice raw with hysteria.
“How dare you sell the house without my permission?”
I let out a dry laugh. “I’m not asking for a single share from the company. But this house? I paid for it entirely with my own money. It’s only right that I decide what to do with it.
Besides, if I’m not mistaken, you already brought Hannah a new place out in Pinecrast Manor, didn’t you? It’s not like you’ll be out on the street. You can just move in with her.”
By both logic and sentiment, I had every right. Zach opened his mouth but nothing came out. His face drained of color.
I thought he’d finally concede–that he’d give me the breakup without a fight. But instead, he forced himself to calm down, his voice low, almost pleading.
“That house was never for Hannah. I bought it as a gift for you. I only put her name on the deed to…make her feel valued.
If you’re that upset about it, I’ll have her name removed, alright? Serena, we have ten years together. How could you believe I would just throw all that away?”
He took a breath, softening further. “I know you’re upset. Just calm down, alright? We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Then he turned and walked out. That was always his pattern. Whenever things got too heated, he’d pretend to still love me, play the role of the patient one, and tell me to calm down.
Every time, I’d do exactly that. I’d convince myself not to be rash, swallow my pride, reach out first, apologize, and patch things back
together.
At the beginning, it was because I truly loved him. Later, even when I knew his heart wasn’t with me anymore, I still clung to the years we’d spent together, telling myself that if I endured a little longer, we could get back what we’d lost.
But time had proved me wrong. Nothing ever changed.It was all just my wishful thinking.
Zach probably thought I’d play my old part again, falling into his hands like before. But he was wrong. Whatever love I had left had long since been worn away, ground down into nothing.
After he left, I swept up the broken porcelain, tended to the cut on my foot, and went to bed.
By the time I went out the next morning, Zach and Hannah were gone. The half–eaten dinner still sat on the table, wax from a
half–melted candle hardened on the floor.
The cleaning had always been mine to handle–Zach never lifted a finger. Over time, he’d come to expect it.
But I couldn’t be bothered. The house would need a full cleaning before I handed it over anyway. I figured I’d just hire someone tomorrow, so I washed up and went to bed.
The next morning, I opened my door to find the place spotless. Zach was in the kitchen, of all places, doing something I never thought I’d see.
“I was just about to call you,” he said, smiling like nothing had happened yesterday. He stood there with an apron tied around his waist, looking as casual as if betrayal and screaming had never touched us.
“I cleaned the house–disinfected everything, too.”
In the past, I would have smiled, pretended not to notice the streaky glass, the smeared floors, and praised him just to give him that little burst of validation he craved.
But now? I let out a short laugh and answered with a flat, “Oh.”
His smile faltered at my indifference. But quickly, he forced it back and carried out two plates. “Here. I made breakfast. Try it.”
I glanced down. Two neatly plated Cheesy Deluxe Burgers. For a second, I had to admit–it looked decent.
In fact, this was the first time Zach had ever made me breakfast. By all rights, it should’ve been touching. But then I remembered. He’d forgotten something crucial.
“I’m allergic to cheese.”
