He shot me a cold glance, then carried the drunken Chloe straight into the master bedroom.
Moments later, I heard her shrill giggles from behind the closed door.
Annoyed, Mark told her to be quiet and came out to ask me for hangover medicine.
Back when he had frequent business dinners, I always kept a supply of pills ready in the cabinet.
Not anymore. I'd thrown them all away—along with the rest of my patience.
Thinking of this, I responded flatly, "We're out."
"Fine. Just send me the brand name—I'll buy it myself."
When I didn't reply, he grabbed my phone from the table, visibly irritated, and tried to unlock it himself.
But after several failed attempts, his face darkened with frustration.
"Clara, when did you change your password?"
I calmly took my phone back. "I changed it when I felt like it. Do I need a reason?"
His anger erupted. "How long are you going to keep acting like this?!"
He turned on his heel and stormed back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
All night, the walls echoed with Chloe's coy whining—her voice laced with laughter, asking Mark to kiss her, hug her, and pamper her.
The next morning, a mild earthquake suddenly shook the city.
Startled awake, Mark's first instinct was to grab the panicking Chloe and rush her out of the building.
Only after the tremors stopped and the danger had passed did he remember—he had left me behind.
By then, I was already at the airport.
My suitcase beside me, I watched as his name flashed repeatedly on my phone screen.
I didn't answer.
Just before boarding, I sent him one final message:
[We're done.]
Then I removed the SIM card, snapped it in two, and tossed it into the airport trash bin.
At the exact moment he received my message, Mark was holding his phone, his expression frozen, his eyes turning icy.
Beside him, Chloe's expression flickered with barely disguised joy—but she quickly forced tears into her eyes.
"Mark… Clara must be upset because of me. It's my fault… If she comes back, I'll move out. I promise I won't bother you anymore."
Mark rubbed his temples, his tone irritable. "Don't worry. I won't let her kick you out."
He pulled out his phone, about to type a message asking me to come back, but then his gaze landed on the coffee table—and he froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
At that moment, his phone rang again. It was a call from a relative.
"Mark! Check the family group chat. Did you see the link Clara sent? What's going on?"