Chapter 2

2.

I spent the entire night packing.

I gathered my clothes, my books, and all the small decor pieces I had added to this house over the years.

I used to think I would be the mistress of this home. I had put so much heart into arranging every corner.

Now, those things needed to disappear along with me.

Rain poured against the windows all night long.

Clint didn't come back until the next morning. He was wearing only a white button-down shirt, and he was soaked to the bone.

When he saw me, he flinched, his eyes darting away guiltily. He gave a forced, awkward laugh. "Why are you up so early? You should have slept in."

"The air is better in the morning," I replied.

Clint nodded, oblivious to the boxes tucked away in the closet. "Right. Well, I'm going to go take a hot shower."

"Clint."

"Yeah, Celia?"

"Last night..."

"Oh, I had to work late at the office," he interrupted quickly. "A client had a last-minute emergency. I was busy all night, didn't even have time to eat. I'm exhausted..."

When people lie, they tend to become incredibly talkative.

They provide unnecessary details to make their story seem more believable.

Clint was exactly like that.

Usually, he was a man of few words. He was concise and rarely bothered to explain himself, even when he was trying to be romantic.

"I was just going to ask about your coat," I said calmly. "You were wearing it when you left. Did you leave it at the office?"

Clint visibly relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, at the office. Don't worry, I'm not cold."

"Oh. Go take your shower then."

He walked over and ruffled my hair affectionately. "My Celia worries about me so much, huh?"

I tilted my head, pulling away from his touch.

I walked toward the window, putting my back to him. "Just go. You shouldn't stay in those wet clothes."

His hand hung in the air for a second, looking surprised. Then he chuckled. "Right. Don't want to get you wet too."

The sound of the shower starting echoed from the bathroom.

I never checked Clint's phone. He never felt the need to hide it from me either.

It was sitting right there on the coffee table.

Buzz.

The screen lit up with a message.

【Ceci: Strawberry Cake, did you make it home okay?】

【Ceci: Thanks for the jacket. It really kept me warm.】

Was I surprised? Not really.

The way he had rushed out the door yesterday, the sheer panic and excitement on his face... I already knew.

But knowing and seeing the proof are two different things.

I pulled up Cecilia's social media on my own phone.

She had posted a new video thirty minutes ago.

She was running through the rain, looking like a playful forest sprite. She was vibrant and full of joy.

When she finally stopped, a man wrapped a large coat around her shoulders from behind, pulling her into a tight embrace.

The man's voice was filled with a tenderness I had never experienced.

"Slow down," he said. "You'll catch a cold."

Cecilia looked up at him. "I have you. I'm not afraid of anything."

He let out a soft, doting laugh. "Right. I'll always be right behind you."

The caption was: 【After all this time, you were still here waiting for me.】

Clint walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. "Did my phone go off?"

I pointed to the table. "It vibrated."

He practically lunged for it, snatching it out of my reach.

His grip was so tight his knuckles were white.

After replying to the message, he seemed to realize he had overreacted.

"The client is being pushy... sorry if I scared you," he muttered.

"It's fine," I said, cutting him off. "I'm going out."

Clint caught my wrist as I tried to walk past him. "Celia, are you mad?"

"No."

I wasn't mad. I didn't even have the right to be mad.

Clint's gaze shifted to the corner of the living room, where several large trash bags were piled up. "Did you do some deep cleaning last night? That's a lot of stuff to throw out."

"Yeah," I murmured.

He smiled. "Good. Leave it there. I'll take it down to the curb in a bit."

"Clint, have you noticed anything missing from the bathroom?" I asked.

"...No? I didn't see anything," he said. "Are we out of body wash? I can pick some up."

I just nodded slowly.

In the bathroom, our towels, toothbrushes, and slippers were all matching sets.

We had kept them side by side for three years.

His was blue; mine was pink.

They were impossible to miss.

But last night, I had packed away every single item that belonged to me. The bathroom held only his things now.

He hadn't noticed.

Maybe his mind was elsewhere, or maybe he just never cared enough to look.

I didn't want to find the answer anymore.