No More Love by the WheelChapter 3

Since the day I met Victoria, I never asked her for a single expensive gift. My salary was standard market rate for my position.

To prove I was worthy of her, I worked myself to the bone. I secured over a dozen massive contracts for her company. My industry peers called me a workaholic machine. Several rival conglomerates had even secretly offered me lucrative positions.

When I got back to my apartment, I dragged out a heavy cardboard box filled with leather-bound journals and tossed them into a metal fire pit.

Years ago, Victoria demanded I write down every little detail of our relationship, claiming we would read them together when we grew old. Now, staring at pages filled with my desperate devotion, I just felt nauseous.

As the journals turned to gray ash, I finished packing my single suitcase. Just then, the front door clicked open. Simon walked in, supporting a heavily intoxicated Victoria.

"Rowan."

"You never deserved her. You were just a temporary toy for when she was in a bad mood."

"I am the man she is going to marry. The entire Harrington family approves of me."

Simon pointed to a dark purple hickey on his neck. "See this? Here is the proof."

I always knew there was something going on between them. Victoria's constant defense of Simon made it obvious. I just never realized the full extent of her cruelty. She was stringing me along for a sick power trip while sleeping with him behind my back.

"If you know what is good for you, pack your trash and leave. Stop playing these pathetic hard-to-get games," Simon sneered before strutting out the door.

"Rowan!"

Victoria, slumped on the sofa, blindly reached out and grabbed my wrist. She mumbled, "Where is my hangover soup? Why haven't you made it yet?"

"There will never be another bowl of soup."

I shook my head and reached for my suitcase. Victoria suddenly bolted upright, throwing her arms around my neck. She leaned in, trying to force a kiss onto my lips.

In the past, I would have kissed her back like my life depended on it.

Tonight, I shoved her away. She collapsed back onto the cushions.

"Rowan, do you love me? Do you even love me?" she slurred, her eyes half-closed.

It was a question she asked constantly. And I had always given her the answer she wanted.

"No. I don't love you anymore."

I zipped up my bag, grabbed the handle, and walked out into the cold night air.

When I arrived at my parents' small suburban home, they had a massive dinner waiting on the table. They didn't ask questions. They didn't pry.

My mother just stroked my hair and said, "Son, if you are tired, just rest. Tell us what you want to eat. This house will always be your safe harbor."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

For seven years, my entire universe revolved around Victoria. I chased a cold, distant moon, completely neglecting the warm sun right beside me. But my parents never blamed me. They never tested me. They only wanted me to be happy.

After dinner, I lay in my tiny childhood bedroom. It lacked the marble floors and silk sheets of the city, but it was the most peaceful I had felt in years.

Then, my phone buzzed. It was Richard Harrington, Victoria's father.

"You poor piece of trash! When are you going to stop leaching off my daughter?"

Every time he called, it was the exact same script. And every time, I swallowed my pride, swore I wouldn't leave, and promised to prove my worth.

This time, I fired back. "Trash? Are you looking in a mirror? As of today, I have absolutely nothing to do with your family. Stop harassing me."

I hung up. I blocked his number. I blocked his entire staff.

The next morning, the shrill ring of my phone woke me up. It was Victoria.