A bitter smile touched my lips. *Well. These past few days have been like a fever dream. How could that not count as unforgettable?*

Packing didn't take long. I had very little to my name.

Material things had never mattered much to me. I rarely bought anything for myself. The clothes, bags, and cosmetics cluttering the room were mostly gifts from Walter. Now that I knew the filth behind his generosity, they might as well have been garbage.

Fortunately, I had savings from my working days—enough to relocate and start over with dignity.

After packing, I returned to the bedroom to rest.

---

The next morning, the moment I opened my eyes, Walter was sitting by the bed.

Bloodshot eyes. Thunderous expression.

The second he saw me stir, the interrogation began.

"What are you doing packing your luggage?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "I made a small mistake, and you won't even let me explain? You're getting ready to run away from home?"

A scoff. "You've been with me since you were eighteen. Can you even survive without me? You aren't young anymore, yet you're still acting like a petulant child throwing a tantrum."

The accusations came in a barrage—sentence after sentence—leaving me no room to breathe, let alone respond.

I looked at the redness rimming his eyes and sighed softly. Just as I hesitated, debating whether to tell him I was leaving for good, he plowed on.

"You know how it is. Charlotte has been spoiled since she was little. Go apologize to her, and we'll treat this whole mess as if it never happened."

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my throat.

So *that* was why he came back.

I couldn't count how many times I had capitulated to Charlotte.

Completed business plans handed over to her because *"Charlotte needs the recognition more than you."* The jade bracelet my mother left me on her deathbed—smashed by Charlotte. And Walter, blind to right and wrong, told me to be the *bigger person.*

During a company retreat, we were in a car accident. Walter had scrambled to protect Charlotte, who had barely scraped her skin.

He hadn't even glanced at me.

I'd sat there with blood streaming down my forehead, invisible.

A wave of dizziness washed over me.

*I've been wronged for so long.*

The love I thought existed was just a defense mechanism. My subconscious had been lying to me, whispering that as long as I didn't acknowledge the truth, I was still loved.