No footsteps echoing in the hallway. No muffled phone calls in another room. No quiet pressure to get up early for someone else's routine.
Just silence.
Actual silence.
She rolled onto her side and let out a long breath, like she'd finally let go of something she'd been clutching for years.
Her new place was tiny—way smaller than the Vale estate. But somehow, it felt warmer than that sprawling mansion ever did. The walls were bare, the furniture simple, but every piece belonged to her. She'd picked them out herself. No strings attached.
No one expected anything from her here.
Evelyn slid out of bed and wandered barefoot into the kitchen. She made her coffee strong, just the way she liked it, and stood by the narrow window as the city started to stir. Cars crawled down the street. People rushed along the sidewalk, caught up in their own worlds.
No one here knew her as Mrs. Vale.
That mattered more than she'd realized.
Her phone sat on the counter.
Face down.
She'd ignored it all night, and she ignored it again now. Whatever waited there could wait a little longer.
After breakfast, she dressed with care. Not out of habit, but because she wanted to. Crisp blouse, tailored pants, hair pinned neat and low. She glanced in the mirror and almost didn't recognize herself.
Not because her face had changed.
She just looked... here. Present.
At her desk, she opened her laptop and dug through an old folder—proposals, rough drafts, abandoned plans. Stuff she'd shoved aside years ago. She used to tell herself it was only temporary.
I'll get back to this, she'd promised.
Once Lucas gets the company under control.
Once things calm down.
Things never did calm down.
Her inbox chimed.
A new email.
She hovered for a second, then clicked.
> Subject: Re: Project Submission
We've reviewed your proposal and would like to move forward with a formal discussion.
Evelyn stared at the screen.
A smile crept onto her lips. It wasn't big or showy. Just quiet. Genuine.
She closed the laptop and let herself sit with it—relief, validation, and something warmer underneath.
Pride.
---
Across town, Lucas Vale sat through a meeting he should've led with ease.
But his mind kept wandering.
He checked his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.
Still nothing.
His assistant cleared her throat. "Mr. Vale?"
He snapped to attention. "Yes. Go on."
She continued, but he barely listened.
Evelyn always knew when to call. When to remind him to eat, to pause, to breathe.
Now—nothing.
The meeting wrapped up with polite applause and a heavy, unsettled air. Lucas waved everyone out and drifted over to the window, watching the traffic snake below.
Why wasn't she answering?
It was just a question.
Then, an uncomfortable thought surfaced.
What if she doesn't want to?
He pushed it back. No—Evelyn was always patient. Always understanding.
She'd come back around.
She always had.
---
That afternoon, Evelyn walked into a modest office building downtown.
The receptionist looked up with a smile. "Ms. Hart?"
"That's me."
"They're expecting you."
Hearing her own name—just hers—felt grounding.
The meeting moved quickly. Professional, respectful. They asked what she thought. They listened. Nobody talked over her. Nobody assumed.
At the end, one of the executives stood up and shook her hand. "We're impressed, Ms. Hart. We look forward to working with you."
Evelyn shook his hand, steady.
"So do I," she said.
Outside, she paused on the steps, letting the city noise fill her up. Her phone buzzed in her bag.
She knew who it was.
She didn't check.
Instead, she headed to a nearby café, ordered a sandwich, and sat by the window with a notebook open in front of her.
She started to write.
Ideas. Plans. Her own possibilities.
A future that didn't spin around someone else.
---
Lucas got home late again.
He yanked off his tie, frustration simmering under his skin. The house met him with that same hollow quiet.
He paced through the rooms, finally stopping at the study.
Something felt off.
He opened a drawer.
Empty.
Evelyn used to keep spare papers there—notes, reminders, schedules. He'd barely noticed them before.
Now, he sat at her old desk and stared at the blank surface.
When did she stop leaving reminders for him?
When did she stop waiting?
Lucas pulled out his phone and scrolled through their old messages.
So many texts from her, left hanging.
Are you coming home tonight?
Dinner's ready.
Can we talk?
He hadn't meant to ignore her.
He just hadn't made her a priority.
The truth stung.
He typed a message.
> We should talk.
He paused, then added:
> About everything.
He hit send.
Delivered.
No reply.
Minutes slipped by.
He set the phone down, jaw clenched.
---
That evening, Evelyn came home to her apartment and found a bouquet waiting by the door.
White lilies.
Lucas loved those.
She stared at them for a while, just standing there.
After a bit, she picked them up, carried them inside, and set them down on the kitchen counter—careful, almost too gentle.
She didn't toss them in the trash.
She didn't really keep them, either.
She just left them there, untouched.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message.
>We should talk. About everything.
Evelyn read it, slow.
Her chest tightened—not because she missed him, but because the memories wouldn't let go.
All those talks that never led anywhere. Promises that just faded out.
She started to type something back.
Stopped. Deleted it.
Turned off her phone and pushed it aside.
Tonight wasn't for him.
She stood at the window, watched the city lights blur in the glass.
And suddenly, it hit her: leaving hadn't been the hardest part.
Staying gone would be.