The sound of the door slamming echoed through the mansion like thunder. Zara didn't look back.
Not once.
Not even when she heard her name whispered from Aiden's lips like it might anchor her in place.
But it didn't.
Because she was already unraveling — one thread at a time.
Still wearing the lock necklace.
Still aching with the memory of his touch.
Still haunted by the message she never got to read.
> Camille's been talking. You should clean this up before it gets messy.
She hadn't seen it.
But she'd seen her. Camille. In his office. Again.
Too close. Too comfortable.
Zara couldn't fight ghosts — not when Aiden kept inviting them in.
---
Aiden stood in the foyer long after she left, fingers tangled in his hair, the silence pressing in like guilt.
He didn't chase her.
Didn't stop her.
Didn't know how.
Not when the part of him that should've was the same part that had started to believe he didn't deserve her in the first place.
He poured himself a drink. Then another. Then another.
By the time the doorbell rang again, the bottle was half-empty.
And the damage… already done.
---
Camille stepped inside like she belonged there.
Like she still belonged to him.
She took one look at the glass in his hand, the pain in his eyes, and smiled like a wolf dressed in red silk.
> "Rough day?"
He didn't answer.
She didn't wait.
---
The night blurred.
One drink became two.
Two became four.
And somewhere in the haze, Camille's fingers slid down his shirt, her lips brushing his jaw, whispering poison in his ear.
> "She doesn't get you like I do." "You were mine first, Aiden." "You're breaking over a girl who only loves the power you give her."
And maybe it was the liquor.
Maybe it was the ache.
Maybe it was the hollow, gnawing grief of watching Zara walk away.
But when Camille kissed him…
He didn't stop her.
When she pushed him toward the bed…
He didn't fight it.
And when the lights went out, and her body curled against his like a victory…
Aiden closed his eyes.
Pretending it was Zara.
---
The morning hit like a freight train.
Aiden woke with a splitting headache, the sheets tangled around his legs, the scent of Camille clinging to the air like smoke.
He didn't look at her.
Couldn't.
He just sat there — elbows on knees, head in hands — as the weight of everything slammed into his chest.
And in that moment, Aiden Knight — the man with all the power, all the control — felt completely, utterly lost.
---
Across town, Zara stared at her phone.
No calls.
No messages.
No explanation.
But the headlines said enough:
"CEO Aiden Knight Spotted With Ex at Private Estate — Trouble in Paradise?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned off the screen.
The tears didn't come.
Not yet.
Instead, she looked in the mirror, straightened her shoulders, and whispered:
> "If he can replace me that easily… maybe I was never his to begin with."
Zara didn't sleep that night.
She couldn't.
Even curled up on her sister's couch with a blanket tucked to her chin, the scent of Aiden still clung to her skin — the reminder of a night filled with whispers, promises, and something dangerously close to love.
And yet…
Here she was.
Alone.
Abandoned.
Again.
---
By morning, her phone buzzed with notifications. Social media had exploded.
The photo wasn't explicit — just Aiden stepping out of the balcony with Camille in his shirt, her lipstick smudged and his hair a mess. But it was enough.
Enough to set fire to everything they'd built.
Enough to break her.
She locked the phone and tossed it across the room.
Her sister, Eliana, entered with a mug of tea and a knowing look.
> "You don't have to pretend you're fine," she said, handing it over.
Zara didn't meet her eyes. "I'm not pretending."
> "Then you're bottling. Which is worse."
Zara took a sip, then curled her legs under her. "He didn't even try to call me back."
Eliana sat beside her. "And what if he does?"
That question…
That ache…
Zara didn't have an answer.
---
Meanwhile…
Camille was still in his bed when Aiden finally dragged himself into the shower. The hot water did little to wash off the guilt that clung to his skin.
He had made a mistake.
No — he had made the mistake.
And even though Camille was downstairs sipping espresso like she'd won something, Aiden could only hear Zara's voice echo in his head.
> "You didn't chain me. That was new." "Then let me put you back together."
He'd let her go.
And for what? A distraction?
No.
A self-destruction.
---
Camille padded into the kitchen, wearing one of Aiden's shirts like a trophy.
> "No breakfast?" she asked, smirking.
Aiden didn't answer.
> "I'm guessing you're regretting things," she added.
Still, he said nothing.
> "You know," she continued, voice honey-sweet, "you might want to delete that photo before the press gets to it. Oh… too late."
That's when he looked up.
Eyes cold.
Mouth grim.
Voice like ice.
> "You leaked it."
Camille's smile didn't even falter.
> "You made a mess, Aiden. I just made sure she saw it."
He didn't yell.
Didn't rage.
He just walked past her.
But in that silence, Camille heard something that terrified her more than anger ever could:
Finality.
---
Across the city, Zara wiped away the last tear she'd allow herself to shed.
Then she picked up her phone, opened her camera, and took a photo — red lips, sharp eyeliner, eyes dry but glittering with pain.
She posted it with three words:
> "Lesson learned. Goodbye."
---
And that was the beginning of the end.
Of Aiden's silence.
Of Camille's games.
Of Zara's obedience.
Because this time, when she left…
She wasn't coming back the same.
---