The men at the table, noticing the rising tension, hurried to pull Maxton back to his seat.
Seizing the moment, I shoved the door open and stepped out without looking back.
"Looks like she’s truly upset. Aren’t you going to comfort her?" one of them teased.
Maxton’s voice, dripping with scorn, carried after me. "No need. Trust me, she’ll come crawling back like a dog, begging for forgiveness."
His words cut through me like a knife, my fists clenching so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. The ache in my chest deepened, splintering the last fragile threads of love I had for him.
But Maxton was wrong this time. He would never see me crawl back—not now, not ever.
On the way home in a taxi, my stomach churned with pain, cold sweat trickling down my back.
"Miss, are you okay? Should I take you to a hospital?" the driver asked, his worried gaze catching my pale reflection in the mirror.
I weakly shook my head, forcing a faint smile. "No, it’s fine. Just take me to the address I gave you."
Before I could say another word, darkness swallowed me whole.