Chapter 6
1183words
Francis Foster's steady breathing sounded behind my ear; he seemed to have fallen asleep. While I, with eyes wide open, stared at the ceiling without a hint of drowsiness.
His arm around my waist, which once gave me immense comfort, now felt like a heavy iron chain, restraining me, making it difficult to breathe.
He was confused by my recent "differences."
"You've been a little different lately." Last night, he whispered this in my ear.
How did I respond at that time?
"Is my reaction not good enough? I'm sorry, sir. Whatever you prefer, I can learn it." I responded submissively, thinking he was criticizing my performance in bed.
He let out a light chuckle, as if helpless, and said: "That's not what I meant. Go to sleep, stop fretting."
Now I understand that the "different" he referred to meant I had started to have my own thoughts, emotions I shouldn't have, and was no longer just an obedient, soulless doll.
And about the roses I threw in the trash can, he never asked.
We formed a strange unspoken agreement—as long as neither of us tore through that thin veil of pretense, we could pretend nothing happened and continue maintaining this distorted relationship.
Unfortunately, I don't want to pretend anymore.
The next day, I received a call from Francis Foster. His voice was calm as always, carrying a command that brooked no refusal.
"Jessica, bring that necklace box on the nightstand to the banquet hall at the Ritz-Carlton."
He was going to attend his formal engagement ceremony with Sophia Stewart. And that necklace, which should have belonged to his fiancée, was forgotten on the nightstand in our "home."
How ironic.
I took the blue jewelry box and arrived at the backstage dressing room before the event started. Sophia Stewart was sitting elegantly in front of the mirror, wearing an elaborate and gorgeous custom gown, looking as beautiful as a queen about to be crowned.
Francis Foster took the necklace from my hand and, with gentle movements, personally clasped it around Sophia's long, fair neck. The diamonds sparkled brilliantly under the lights, complementing the pearl earrings at her ears perfectly.
Sophia gazed at herself in the mirror with satisfaction, then turned her head tenderly and planted a kiss on Francis Foster's cheek.
I stood behind them, separated by a massive mirror, like an outsider, calmly watching their intimate interaction.
Francis Foster went out to prepare his speech, and in the dressing room, apart from a few makeup artists who were cleaning up, only Sophia Stewart and I remained.
A makeup artist knelt down, preparing to help Sophia Stewart, who was hindered by her long trailing dress, put on those crystal high heels.
But Sophia Stewart stopped her.
She extended her hand wearing lace gloves, elegantly pointing at me.
"Miss Johnson, right?" her voice was sweet yet carried an undeniable authority. "May I trouble you?"
Expressionless, I took the diamond-studded high heels from the makeup artist's hands. They were beautiful and expensive, but wearing them would inevitably mean walking with great discomfort.
I knelt on the cold floor in front of her, carefully helping her put on the shoes.
Just as I was about to stand up, Sophia Stewart suddenly reached out and, just like Francis Foster, grabbed my chin. Her nails were painted bright red, and though her grip wasn't strong, it was full of contempt.
She held my face, turning it left and right to examine me, as if inspecting a cheap product.
"Miss Johnson has quite a pretty face," she chuckled softly, then roughly jerked my face to the side, "too bad it's of no use."
She pulled out a wet wipe and methodically cleaned the fingers that had just touched me, as if I were something dirty.
"In the future, I don't want to see you around Francis again," she leaned in close and said, enunciating each word in a voice only the two of us could hear, "understand?"
I didn't answer.
Because there was no need to anymore.
I stood in the most inconspicuous corner of the venue, like a ghost, and watched their entire engagement ceremony from start to finish.
They embraced, kissed, and raised the champagne tower together, smiling as they distributed cake under the shower of colorful confetti. The applause and cheers from the audience continued without end.
All of this was hardly different from a real wedding.
At this moment, my phone vibrated once.
It was a text message from Felix Foster.
【Thanks for your hard work. I'm not coming home tonight.】
Following that was a bank transfer notification. A sum large enough to require several years of hard work for an ordinary person was just casually deposited into my account.
How thoughtful of him to find time to placate me, his soon-to-be-discarded old lover, even during such an important engagement event.
I reached out and caught a piece of golden confetti floating in the air. It remained shimmering in the palm of my hand.
These streamers dancing through the air were like layers of thick soil, completely burying my love that had died before ever seeing the light.
A canary bird should never fall in love with its keeper.
I think it's time for me to leave.
……
Returning to the empty villa, I didn't turn on the lights.
I've lived here for five years and accumulated many things. I once naively considered this place as the love nest for Francis Foster and me, decorating it meticulously, cleaning it diligently, and filling it to the brim with all kinds of cozy little items.
Now, it's time to clear them all away.
I began to sort and categorize everything, preparing to take away all that belonged to me.
Francis Foster is now engaged, and what little self-respect I have left doesn't allow me to continue being a hidden lover who can't be brought into the light.
I arranged all the designer bags, jewelry, and clothes he gave me neatly in the closet, like soldiers standing in formation, waiting for their true owner.
My own few cheap clothes and old books were stuffed into a small suitcase.
Finally, I neatly arranged all the bank cards he had given me over the years, along with the keys to this villa, on the coffee table in the living room.
I took out my phone, removed the SIM card that had been with me for five years, forcefully broke it in half, and without any hesitation, threw it together with the phone into the scenic lake outside the window.
The lake surface rippled in small circles, but soon returned to calmness.
Just like my five years of youth.
Dragging my only suitcase, I took one last look at this gilded cage that had confined me for five years, then resolutely turned away and closed the door.
Outside the door, the predawn air was crisp and liberating.
I took out the plane ticket I had already purchased online, with the details clearly printed—
Flight number: T2375.
Destination: A warm southern town without Francis Foster.
