The humid Chicago night air didn't do anything to cool the fire in Morris's chest. He marched across the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, his boots heavy against the ground. He reached his light grey 2023 Ford Escape SE, the keychain clicking as he unlocked the doors, but before he could pull the handle, a blur of green slammed it shut.
"WE ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS LIKE ADULTS!" Connie shrieked, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the surrounding buildings.
Morris didn't even flinch. He kept his hand firmly on the SUV handle, his knuckles white. "There is nothing for us to talk about. And lower your voice, Connie. You're making a scene."
"I don't care about a scene!" she cried, her eyes welling with a mix of genuine panic and practiced manipulation. "You're just going to walk? After everything? You're willing to throw twelve years away over a few bills and a misunderstanding?"
"It wasn't a misunderstanding," Morris said, turning his head slowly to look her in the eye. "It was a betrayal. And yes. I am willing to throw twelve years away and trade it in for another woman who actually wants the same priorities. We were barely working together, Connie. I didn't want that fifty-fifty deal. I wanted teamwork. A partner."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble that was far more intimidating than her screaming.
"I have a life I want to live and a huge picture to paint. Now that I think of it, I am grateful we aren't married, because I would have been dealing with a nightmare divorce with you. You've shown me exactly who you are. Now step aside. I won't ask again."
The coldness in his tone finally pierced through her hysteria. Connie looked at him, searching for the man who used to cave whenever she pouted or cried, but that man was gone. Slowly, she stepped back, her green bodycon dress tight against her frame, her high heels clicking softly as she retreated toward the apartment entrance.
Morris didn't wait for another word. He climbed into the Ford, the engine turning over with a smooth purr. He pulled out of the lot without a backward glance, leaving Connie standing under the flickering lightpole.
The door to the Hyatt suite clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the city and the echoes of Connie's screaming. Morris dropped his keys on the dresser and stripped off his heavy coat. For the first time in twelve years, he was breathing air that didn't feel heavy with someone else's expectations.
He changed into a pair of comfortable black pajama pants and slipped on his Dragon Ball Z sandals—a small comfort Connie used to roll her eyes at, calling them "immature." In this room, they were just part of his new reality.
He sat at the small desk and flipped open his 2023 black MacBook Air. The glow of the screen reflected in his eyes, revealing the secret world he'd been building for the last three years. While Connie was browsing boutiques, Morris had been playing the long game.
The Secret Blueprint
Morris logged into his Chase Bank portal. A sense of pride swelled in his chest as he looked at the finalized documents.
Property: Navy Blue Ranch Home with a two car garage.
Location: Wentzville, Missouri.
Approved Mortgage: $210,480.
Status: Closed and Inspection Complete.
He'd done it. With the help of Emily, his realtor—a sharp, well-dressed blonde who had handled his need for discretion with total professionalism—he had secured a fresh start in the suburbs of St. Louis. The house was a beauty. It wasn't fully lived-in yet, but the essentials were there; the living room and his primary bedroom were already furnished and waiting for him.
He checked his flight confirmation for the next day. 1:00 PM. By sunset tomorrow, he'd be across state lines.
Digital Exorcism
Morris picked up his green iPhone 17. It was time for the hardest part of the night.
He opened his photo gallery. 6,432 items. He started at the top. Graduation. Their first anniversary at the lake. Christmas at her parents' house where he'd paid for everyone's dinner. He hit "Select." His thumb moved with a rhythmic, cold precision.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
He synced the phone to his MacBook, ensuring every trace of the last twelve years was scrubbed from his cloud storage. As the progress bar moved across the screen, Morris leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
He wasn't just erasing photos; he was reclaiming his future. He had tried to build a kingdom with a woman who only wanted the crown, never the work. Now, he was going to Missouri to build it for himself.