Chapter 3

Hayley's POV

When I got back to the luxury penthouse, an icy chill settled into my bones.

Every corner of this place bore Julian's mark. His limited-edition sneakers kicked off carelessly by the entryway, his financial magazines strewn across the couch, the imported coffee beans on the counter that I bought specifically to cater to his taste. For three years, I had acted like a mindless maid, keeping this cold, sterile space running flawlessly.

Now, none of it had anything to do with me.

I dragged a black suitcase out of the closet and began packing my belongings in silence. I didn't actually own much—just some old clothes and my art supplies. Most of the designer dresses filling the walk-in closet were bought by him on a whim, either to show me off at corporate galas or to make Clara jealous.

I didn't take a single one.

Standing by the nightstand, I opened the drawer to find neatly stacked boxes of stomach medication. Every single box had a sticky note in my handwriting, detailing the exact dosage and schedule. Julian drank heavily and had severe ulcers; every time it flared up, I was the one who stayed awake all night taking care of him.

Looking at my own handwriting on those notes, I felt an overwhelming urge to laugh at myself. With one clean sweep, I shoved all the pills into the trash can.

There was no need to tell him I was leaving. His heart only belonged to Clara anyway. Now that the charity case linked to his supposed savior was vanishing on her own, he would probably breathe a sigh of relief. He might even pop a bottle of champagne to celebrate. He had been sick of my presence for a long time, hadn't he?

Just as I packed the last sketchbook and reached for the zipper, the electronic lock on the front door was punched in aggressively.

*Beep-beep-beep... Bang!*

The door was shoved open and slammed shut. A heavy stench of alcohol mixed with Clara's signature rose perfume instantly flooded the apartment.

Julian was wasted. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his collar was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He stumbled into the doorway of the bedroom, his eyes landing immediately on the suitcase on the floor, and then on my cold, detached face.

He took large, unsteady strides toward me, opening his arms to pull me in while slurring, "Hayley, what kind of fit are you throwing now? Who gave you permission to pack your bags?"

Catching the scent of another woman's perfume on his breath, my stomach turned. A second before his hands could touch my shoulders, I stepped back sharply, dodging his embrace.

Reaching for empty air, he stumbled and nearly fell over. His expression instantly darkened, the alcohol clearing from his head just a bit.

"What are you dodging for?" He glared at me with predatory eyes.

"I asked you, why are you dodging me?! You've been defying me since this morning, and now you're running away? Hayley, do you seriously think playing these games will get my attention? You think this will force me to send Clara away?"

Looking at his handsome face, twisted in rage, I felt only profound alienation. I didn't care to explain. I didn't even have the energy to speak. I bent down to zip up my suitcase.

My silence pushed him over the edge.

"Talk to me! Are you deaf?" He grabbed my wrist, yanking me violently toward his chest. "Don't play these cheap tricks with me, Hayley! You think I don't know what you're after? You practically threw yourself into my bed back then just to stay by my side, didn't you? What are you acting pure for now?!"

He leaned down with cruel intent, aiming straight for my lips to force a kiss.

*Slap!*

A sharp, ringing slap echoed violently through the quiet bedroom.

His head whipped to the side, five bright red finger marks rising instantly on his fair skin. He froze entirely, his eyes widening in pure disbelief.

My hand was still trembling in midair. Because of the force of the strike, the cut from earlier tore open again, blood seeping through the fresh gauze.

"Don't touch me," I said, my voice dead and cold. "Julian, you make me sick."