Chapter 3

There was only one day left before my flight to Paris.

Today also happened to be my three-year anniversary with Liam.

In my hand, I carried a white paper box containing a small cake I had picked up while passing by a bakery that morning.

I had no intention of celebrating with him. Going to his private studio was purely to retrieve the black sketchbook that held the very first drawing he had done of me three years ago.

It was the starting point of our relationship.

I wanted to take it with me to serve as a final piece of closure before leaving this man for good.

The studio door wasn't locked; it was slightly ajar.

I reached out and pushed the door open. The scene before me made my fingers involuntarily freeze on the wood.

On the old leather sofa in the middle of the studio, Chloe lay completely naked.

There was absolutely nothing covering her body.

Liam stood in front of his canvas a few steps away, a paintbrush in his hand.

His eyes held an undisguised, feverish intensity, staring straight at Chloe's body, his gaze tracing every muscle and contour with painstaking detail.

The air in the studio seemed to stop entirely.

The faint scraping of the door against the floor interrupted them.

On the sofa, Chloe turned her head toward the doorway.

She didn't panic or scramble for clothes at being caught naked. Instead, she maintained her relaxed posture, watching me with a distinctly provocative look in her eyes.

Liam made no attempt to cover up or show any sign of guilt. Instead, his brow furrowed sharply, and he irritably slammed his paintbrush onto the adjacent wooden table with a harsh smack.

"Maya, do you not know how to knock before entering?" Liam raised his voice, his tone filled with harsh reprimand. "Chloe is making a sacrifice for art here, and this painting just reached its most crucial stage. You barging in so recklessly just ruined that perfect lighting effect and completely destroyed my inspiration!"

I stood by the door, holding the small paper box, and stared quietly at him.

Looking at the self-righteous annoyance and impatience on his face, an extreme sense of clarity surfaced in my mind.

In this moment, I didn't feel angry.

I completely understood that this three-year relationship had long since rotted to its very core.

With unusual calm, I stepped forward, ignoring the naked Chloe on the sofa, and walked straight to a cluttered long table off to the side.

I bent down, placed the cake steadily on the corner of the table, then reached out and cleanly pulled my black hardcover sketchbook from beneath a thick stack of reference books.

I wiped a thin layer of dust from the cover with the back of my hand and tucked the sketchbook tightly under my arm.

When I turned back to look at Liam, my gaze lingered for only a second.

"I understand," I said flatly. "I won't interrupt your sacrifice for art."

Without waiting for any reaction from him, I turned decisively and walked out the door.

After returning to the apartment, I threw the sketchbook into the dumpster downstairs.

I walked out with my luggage, leaving the spare key on the shoe cabinet in the entryway.

The cab I had called was already waiting downstairs.

As the car drove off, I looked at the streetscape outside the window and gave the driver the name of the international airport.

I was going to catch that flight to Paris.

————

By evening, the sky had turned completely dark.

Liam finished his day of painting and returned, with total peace of mind, to the apartment that had once belonged to the both of us.

Subconsciously, he believed that even if Maya had seen the scene earlier today, after throwing a fit and cooling down, she would ultimately lower her head and give in to him just like before.

He pushed open the door and headed toward the bedroom out of habit, ready to change out of his paint-splattered jacket, but abruptly stopped in his tracks.

The closet, which used to be packed with both of our clothes, was now more than half empty. Every single piece of Maya's clothing was gone.

He quickened his pace into the bathroom. On the sink counter, only his toothbrush and razor remained.

The living room, the storage closet, the study...

In every room, all of Maya's personal belongings had completely vanished.

The apartment was so clean it was as if she had never existed there at all.

Liam stood in the center of the empty living room, his breathing instinctively growing rapid.

He fumbled for his phone, his stiff fingers finding Maya's name, and quickly dialed her number.

There was a brief, dead silence through the receiver. A few seconds later, an automated, emotionless carrier prompt played:

"We're sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service."

A wave of panic hit him. He pulled the phone away, hung up, and dialed again, only to be met with the same cold, unfeeling out-of-service message.

Maya had canceled her number.

The phone slipped from his palm, hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud.

Liam slumped helplessly onto the sofa. In that moment of overwhelming dread, the reality finally, belatedly crashed down on him—Maya had completely and utterly vanished from his world.