I stepped inside the apartment, which was filled with memories of Ezail and me. Everything was a painful reminder—the matching couple pajamas, the towels, the walls covered in photos of us together. I could almost picture him standing in the kitchen, wearing soft loungewear as he cooked soup for me, his smile warm and gentle. That image of him, so different from the cold man in the black suit, was like a dagger to my heart.
The memories felt too real, each one cutting deeper than the last.
Without hesitating, I called a junk collector and sold everything. I didn’t leave a single thing behind. Even if it was just a small amount, I wanted to get back whatever I could. When Ezail returned for his belongings, he would find nothing but an empty room.
When he finally came back, he looked around in disbelief. "Marla, you..."
Without lifting my eyes, I held my cat in my arms and calmly said, "I thought Mr. Ford wouldn’t care about these things, so I sold them all."
For a long time, I had doubted Ezail’s feelings for me. But over time, his affection seemed to fill the emptiness inside me, and I started to trust him. Somewhere along the way, I ended up loving him more than he ever loved me.