Chapter 2
There were no long explanations. No accusations. No tears.
There was only one sentence on the paper, the handwriting elegant yet firm. It read: [Edison, game over.]
She wheeled her suitcase downstairs.
As she stepped out, the cup of cold chocolate sat alone on the table. A quiet reminder of how absurd the past four years had been.
*****
By the time Edison got back to Regency Bay, it was already two a.m.
Someone had offered him a cigarette at the business dinner, but he'd turned it down. Still, the scent of smoke and alcohol clung to his suit. He tugged at his tie. A trace of weariness lingered on his brow.
He pushed open the door. The house was pitch black.
Normally, no matter how late he came home, there'd always be a warm, yellow light glowing in the entryway. Bethany would be curled up on the couch in her silk nightgown, reading. The moment she heard him, she'd get up, take his coat, and ask if he wanted a glass of water with honey.
But tonight, none of that.
The place was deserted. Only the faint hum of the ventilation system filled the silence.
"Bethany?" Edison called out. His voice was low and rough.
No response.
He frowned and casually flipped on the lights. The living room was spotless, almost unnaturally so. The usual aroma of jasmine was gone, replaced by the chilly emptiness of a place that felt abandoned.
He walked upstairs.
The bedroom door was left slightly ajar.
He pushed it open. The bed was perfectly made, not even a crease in sight.
Edison's gaze fell on the nightstand.
A key and a note sat there.
He walked over and pinched the note between his fingers.
It read: [Edison, game over.]
Only three words. Not even a name at the bottom.
He laughed in disbelief, anger simmering beneath the surface.
He tossed the note into the trash, unbuttoned his shirt, and walked into the bathroom.
She was just sulking.
That was his first thought.
It was her birthday, and he'd stood her up. Of course she'd be a little emotional.
It wasn't the first time. A few sweet words, or a designer bag, and she'd get over it. Bethany was smart. She always knew where to draw the line, never actually put him on the spot.
As the water ran over him, Edison didn't bother to dwell on it.
He believed she'd come crawling back by morning. Where else could she go after leaving him? Her deadbeat dad, who was always in debt, and her sick brother in the hospital both needed money.
After his shower, Edison reached for his phone on the nightstand. Old habit.
He opened WhatsApp, and the last message in their pinned chat was still from yesterday morning.
It read: [I ironed your tie and hung it in the usual spot.]
He typed out a message: [Stop pouting. Come back. I'll have my assistant drop off this season's new arrivals at your studio tomorrow.]
Then he hit send. A single grey tick appeared. And stayed there. Edison froze, his hand pausing mid stroke as he dried his hair.
He waited. Nothing. He realized she had blocked him.
Edison narrowed his eyes, a ripple finally stirring in his gaze.
It wasn't anger. It was the sheer absurdity of it all.
He tried calling her from another number.
"Sorry, the number you dialed is switched off." That was the only answer he got.
He tossed the phone onto the bed. It landed with a heavy thud.
Fine, he thought bitterly. She'd got some nerve now.
If she wanted to cut ties, then fine. He'd make it clean. There had never been a shortage of women in his life. The last thing he needed was a disobedient pet.