The café was too nice for a man whose reputation had just gone up in flames.
But of course he'd still pick somewhere with velvet chairs and overpriced lattes. Still clinging to the illusion of control.
I arrived five minutes late. On purpose.
He looked up, bags under his eyes, suit wrinkled, a nervous tremor in his fingers as he stirred his untouched drink.
I sat across from him, crossed my legs, and waited.
He didn't speak right away.
"I just want to understand," he said finally, voice hoarse. "Why?"
I tilted my head. "Why what?"
He scoffed. "Don't play dumb, Yining."
Ah, there it was—the entitlement, the denial. The pathetic little man who still thought he was the genius and I was the sidekick who betrayed him.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice quiet. "You want the truth, Yifeng?"
He nodded, swallowing hard.
"You didn't lose because of me," I said. "You lost because you were so busy pretending to be untouchable, you forgot to actually be smart."
"You set me up."
"No," I replied, almost bored. "I just didn't stop you when you dug your own grave. I simply made sure the cameras were rolling."
He looked stunned. Maybe for the first time, really seeing me. Not the version he molded to fit beside him—but the woman he underestimated and discarded.
"Do you hate me that much?" he whispered.
I looked at him for a long second. "I don't hate you, Yifeng."
Relief flickered in his eyes.
Then I smiled—slow and sad and dangerous.
"I pity you."
He flinched.
"I loved you once," I said softly, "and that version of me died the day you chose greed over us. Over me."
I stood up, pulled my coat around me.
"I came today because I wanted you to know—you didn't break me. You just made room for someone better."
He didn't ask who.
He didn't have to.
I walked out, heels clicking, spine straight.
And I never looked back.
-THE END-