Chapter 2

After I finally managed to pull myself together, I cleaned myself up as best as I could in a public restroom. My only thought was getting back to the hotel to retrieve my severance package.

Once I had that piece of paper, I could finally, completely, cut all ties with Mark.

I pushed open the door to the hotel suite we used to share. The first thing I saw was Mark, sitting on the edge of the bed, gently applying lotion to Tiffany' s arm.

He looked up as I walked in. He glanced at me, and his gaze fell on the red, angry marks on my neck that my collar couldn't hide. A cruel sneer twisted his lips.

"Chloe, not pretending to be a virtuous woman anymore?"

His voice was laced with contempt.

"You really are cheap, anyone can have you."

I didn' t say a word. I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I ignored him and walked toward the corner of the room where I had left my luggage. But the space was empty.

"Mark, where are my things?"

Tiffany, who had been watching me with triumphant eyes, now put on a show of apology. She pinched her nose and fanned the air in front of her face.

"Chloe, your luggage smelled awful."

She looked at Mark with wide, innocent eyes.

"I just mentioned it casually, and Mark had someone throw it in the dumpster."

Then she looked back at me, her expression shifting to one of mischievous amusement.

"I' m really sorry."

She raised her eyebrows arrogantly, her victory complete.

I turned to leave. I couldn't stand to be in that room for another second. But Mark moved to block my way.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the kitchen. The counter was piled high with fresh groceries.

"Chloe, Tiffany says she' s hungry. Cook for her before you leave."

I forcefully shook off his hand, looking up at him with a sarcastic smile I didn't feel.

There was a time when Mark often asked me to bring lunch to his office. I thought he genuinely liked my cooking, so I had even taken a special cooking class, wanting to make him happy.

But then one day, I arrived with his lunch to find him dotingly holding Tiffany on his lap, feeding her a sandwich.

Tiffany had smiled, her eyes crinkling. "Chloe' s cooking is so good."

But in the next second, she had lowered her head, looking wronged.

"But I can' t do anything, I' m not as good as Chloe at anything."

Mark had kissed her lips then, patiently comforting her.

"Even if you can' t do anything, you' re still the one I love most."

I lowered my eyelids now, remembering that moment. My heart, which had once shattered, now felt completely calm, completely empty.

"If I cook, will you let me go?"

Mark frowned, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He didn' t understand what I meant.

"Go? Where are you going?"

I was afraid he would discover my escape plan. I had to provoke him, to make him think this was just another one of our usual fights. I sneered and retorted.

"Not going? Just stay here and watch you and Tiffany making out?"

My words angered him, just as I' d hoped. He grabbed the extra blankets from the closet and threw them onto the floor by the door.

"Fine, after you cook, you can sleep by the door."

I turned without another word and started obediently washing the vegetables and preparing the meal. Soon, the dining table was filled with steaming, fragrant dishes.

Mark glanced at me, then picked up a piece of meat with his chopsticks and held it up to Tiffany' s mouth. Sauce accidentally stained her lips, and Mark gently wiped it away with his thumb.

"You' re such a grown-up, and you still need me to take care of you when you eat?" he teased her softly.

Tiffany giggled like a child, not forgetting to raise her eyebrows at me in a look of pure triumph.

"You don' t want to take care of me?"

Mark smiled faintly, then scooped up some soup and brought the spoon to her lips.

I couldn' t watch their sickening display of affection anymore. I turned to Mark, my voice cold and flat.

"Where did you throw my luggage?"

Mark frowned, about to speak, but Tiffany suddenly started coughing, interrupting him. She choked, her face turning red. She covered her mouth, looking deeply uncomfortable as two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

"So spicy…"

Mark frantically dropped his chopsticks. He poured her a glass of water and carefully patted her back, his face a mask of concern.

Tiffany, her eyes teary, nestled into his arms, looking wronged and fragile.

"Mark, I can' t eat spicy food."

Her voice was a pathetic whimper.

"Does Chloe dislike me, that' s why she put so much chili in the dish?"

I opened my mouth to explain, to tell him that I hadn't, but Mark was already on his feet. He rushed over and grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron.

He violently pulled me towards the dining table. "Chloe, you did this on purpose, didn' t you?"

I pointed at the dish in front of my own plate, trying to prove my innocence.

"Mark, I didn' t put any chili in it."