For Personal Gain, He Chooses to Waste Our Days Together

I pointed at the metal box full of ticket stubs, my voice trembling. "Inside are ticket stubs from the concerts we went to together, your competition tickets and the flight ticket stub from your promise to take me to Syrena."

"Thirteen years, Matteo, I’ve waited thirteen years for you. And what do I get? You’re getting married and the bride isn’t me? And you come to tell me it’s a misunderstanding, afraid I’ll overthink it?"

His face grew even paler. He reached out to touch my face, but I shoved his hand away fiercely.

"Don't touch me," I said in a cold tone.

"Matteo, no need to explain. I’m here today just to take back what’s rightfully mine and from now on, we owe each other nothing."

"No!" He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt.

"Anna, I can't live without you. That bank card was just my way of giving you some compensation. I know I've wronged you these years. I'm not involved with Yvette — she and I have never been as you imagined."

I looked at him, my eyes brimming with tears, yet stubbornly refusing to let them fall.

"Do you think my thirteen years can be compensated with a bank card? You say you can't live without me, but you promised to marry someone else. You said you loved me, but you wouldn't even give me a proper farewell."

"I didn't!" He cried, his eyes reddening with anxiety.

"I never said anything like that to her! Anna, you're too suspicious. We've known each other for thirteen years, don't you know me? You're the only one in my heart."

I chuckled at his words.

"It's precisely because I know you so well that I find it laughable. Matteo, your greatest skill is portraying your own selfishness and betrayal as someone else's suspicion."

I forcefully shook off his hand, leaving several red marks on my wrist and said, "I've got what I needed, goodbye."

With that, I turned and left, afraid to look him in the eye, afraid that if I stayed even a second longer, I would soften and give in.

He shouted behind me. "Ariana! Ariana, don't go! Let me finish what I have to say!"

I didn't turn around, my steps unwavering.

As I stepped out of the building, the evening breeze carried the fragrance of banyan trees and the faint scent of rain.

I raised my head and let the tears fall, scattering in the wind.

Thirteen years of our relationship lay scattered like debris on a street swept by a typhoon—seemingly calm, yet utterly ravaged beneath the surface.