Chapter 2 · She Took My Hair, He Took Her Side

The bedroom door swung open.

Victor came in with a frown. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his tie was loosened, like he'd just finished an unpleasant phone call.

"What's all the noise?" he said, his voice laced with his usual impatience. "It's the middle of the night."

His gaze landed on me first, taking in my hair, which looked like a mess, and his frown deepened. Then he looked at Bianca, and the shiny scissors in her hand.

Bianca quickly hid the scissors behind her back, scurried over to his side, and clung to his sleeve, her voice instantly took on a tearful tone. "Victor.

"Autumn's hair was too long, and since she's sick, it's hard for her to manage, so I wanted to help trim it. I-I didn't know she didn't like it."

She looked up at him, her eyes reddened in an instant, with tears hanging on her lashes, ready to drop.

I pointed at all that chopped hair in the sink, my throat tight and my voice hoarse. "Victor, you think this a trim?"

Victor looked down at the sink, then back up at me.

He was silent for a couple of seconds.

Then he reached up, as if to rub his temples, but let his hands drop halfway.

"Enough," he said, his tone half-hearted, trying to smooth things over. "Bianca got back from abroad not long ago. She doesn't know any better. It was just a joke. Do you have to make such a fuss?"

I froze.

"Just a joke?" I repeated, barely recognizing my own voice. "She cut my hair, took pictures of me, and sold them to your friends for two bucks each. Victor, tell me, is that your idea of a joke?"

"What else could it be?" Victor's frown deepened, his impatience turning into clear annoyance. "It's just hair. It'll grow back. You're already sick and in a bad mood, so don't make a mountain out of a molehill. Bianca was trying to help."

Trying to help?

I looked at his face, the one I'd known for seven years. It used to seem handsome and reliable, but now it only seemed distant and cold.

My gaze dropped to the lapel of his suit jacket.

There was a silver tie clip, small, but with a striking design, glinting coldly under the light.

I recognized that tie clip.

Last week, on the third day after Bianca got back, she posted nine photos on Instagram. One of the shots was a close-up of that tie clip.

The caption said: [Handmade welcome-home gift. Hope he likes it.]

Victor had replied with a simple [Yep.]

Now, that handmade gift was clipped to his lapel, and here he was, all dressed up, telling me that Bianca chopping off my hair was her being kind or a joke.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like talking anymore.

What was the point in saying anything? Should I tell him how much time I'd spent caring for my hair every day for the past seven years? Or what my hair meant to me? Or the pain of being humiliated in front of everyone?

He didn't get it. Or maybe he didn't want to.

Bianca peeked out from behind Victor and pulled a face at me. Her eyes were smug and taunting.

Victor either didn't notice, or maybe he did and thought she was being playful.

I took a deep breath.

The feverish dizziness still lingered, but that icy, piercing sensation had already started in my chest and was now seeping into every inch of me.

I pushed past Victor, who was blocking the bathroom door, and brushed aside Bianca, who was playing the damsel behind him.

I didn't look at either of them, heading straight for the walk-in closet.

"Where are you going?" Victor asked from behind, his voice full of irritation at being ignored.

I didn't answer.

I opened the closet, grabbed a rarely used commuter bag from the back, threw in some simple clothes, my ID, and every dollar I could find in the drawer.

Then I grabbed the bag and headed for the bedroom door.

"Autumn!" Victor called out, his voice rising. "Are you done making a scene? Bianca already said sorry about your hair, isn't that enough? Why are you going crazy in the middle of the night?"

I stopped and glanced back at him.

My eyes swept over the tie clip at his collar, the edge of a white document peeking out from his suit pocket, and the expression on his face, like he thought women were nothing but trouble.

Finally, I saw how tightly he was guarding Bianca, like she was the only thing that mattered.

"Victor," I said, my voice calm, even surprising myself. "We're done."

With that, I pulled open the bedroom door and walked out.

My footsteps echoed through the deserted hallway of the villa.

Behind me, Bianca's phony, tearful voice rang out. "Victor, did I really mess up? Autumn seems really upset."

Victor tried to comfort her, but I could hear the irritation in his voice. "It's nothing. She always had a bad temper. She'll be fine in a couple days. Don't let it bother you."

I smirked and didn't look back.

Chapter 2

The bedroom door swung open.

Victor came in with a frown. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his tie was loosened, like he'd just finished an unpleasant phone call.

"What's all the noise?" he said, his voice laced with his usual impatience. "It's the middle of the night."

His gaze landed on me first, taking in my hair, which looked like a mess, and his frown deepened. Then he looked at Bianca, and the shiny scissors in her hand.

Bianca quickly hid the scissors behind her back, scurried over to his side, and clung to his sleeve, her voice instantly took on a tearful tone. "Victor.

"Autumn's hair was too long, and since she's sick, it's hard for her to manage, so I wanted to help trim it. I-I didn't know she didn't like it."

She looked up at him, her eyes reddened in an instant, with tears hanging on her lashes, ready to drop.

I pointed at all that chopped hair in the sink, my throat tight and my voice hoarse. "Victor, you think this a trim?"

Victor looked down at the sink, then back up at me.

He was silent for a couple of seconds.

Then he reached up, as if to rub his temples, but let his hands drop halfway.

"Enough," he said, his tone half-hearted, trying to smooth things over. "Bianca got back from abroad not long ago. She doesn't know any better. It was just a joke. Do you have to make such a fuss?"

I froze.

"Just a joke?" I repeated, barely recognizing my own voice. "She cut my hair, took pictures of me, and sold them to your friends for two bucks each. Victor, tell me, is that your idea of a joke?"

Trying to help?

I looked at his face, the one I'd known for seven years. It used to seem handsome and reliable, but now it only seemed distant and cold.

My gaze dropped to the lapel of his suit jacket.

There was a silver tie clip, small, but with a striking design, glinting coldly under the light.

I recognized that tie clip.

Last week, on the third day after Bianca got back, she posted nine photos on Instagram. One of the shots was a close-up of that tie clip.

The caption said: [Handmade welcome-home gift. Hope he likes it.]

Victor had replied with a simple [Yep.]

Now, that handmade gift was clipped to his lapel, and here he was, all dressed up, telling me that Bianca chopping off my hair was her being kind or a joke.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like talking anymore.

He didn't get it. Or maybe he didn't want to.

Bianca peeked out from behind Victor and pulled a face at me. Her eyes were smug and taunting.

Victor either didn't notice, or maybe he did and thought she was being playful.

I took a deep breath.

The feverish dizziness still lingered, but that icy, piercing sensation had already started in my chest and was now seeping into every inch of me.

I pushed past Victor, who was blocking the bathroom door, and brushed aside Bianca, who was playing the damsel behind him.

I didn't look at either of them, heading straight for the walk-in closet.

"Where are you going?" Victor asked from behind, his voice full of irritation at being ignored.

I didn't answer.

I opened the closet, grabbed a rarely used commuter bag from the back, threw in some simple clothes, my ID, and every dollar I could find in the drawer.

Then I grabbed the bag and headed for the bedroom door.

"Autumn!" Victor called out, his voice rising. "Are you done making a scene? Bianca already said sorry about your hair, isn't that enough? Why are you going crazy in the middle of the night?"

I stopped and glanced back at him.

My eyes swept over the tie clip at his collar, the edge of a white document peeking out from his suit pocket, and the expression on his face, like he thought women were nothing but trouble.

Finally, I saw how tightly he was guarding Bianca, like she was the only thing that mattered.

"Victor," I said, my voice calm, even surprising myself. "We're done."

With that, I pulled open the bedroom door and walked out.

My footsteps echoed through the deserted hallway of the villa.

Behind me, Bianca's phony, tearful voice rang out. "Victor, did I really mess up? Autumn seems really upset."

Victor tried to comfort her, but I could hear the irritation in his voice. "It's nothing. She always had a bad temper. She'll be fine in a couple days. Don't let it bother you."

I smirked and didn't look back.