The Art of a Silent Exit

The comments were a flood of heart emojis and gushing fans. A few uninformed followers asked if they were official. Alvin replied with an ellipsis. Cassidy followed up with a winking emoji.

No denial. Same as always.

But this time, I didn't explode. I didn't call him, and I didn't set myself up to be berated for "overreacting."

I just sent him a text: 'Report's done.' I dropped the file in his office, booked the table he wanted, and drove home.

The moment I walked in the door, my phone rang—Alvin's number.

I answered, but it wasn't him.

"Xena, it's Cassidy. Thanks for your help with the project. I'll treat you to dinner sometime." Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

Before I could answer, Alvin cut in. "Don't thank her. It's her job."

Cassidy said playfully, "Alvin, she's your fiancée. Can't you be a little nicer to her?"

Listening to them, you’d think they were the actual couple.

A dry laugh escaped me.

Alvin—the same Alvin who used to lose his mind if I so much as glanced at his phone—was now handing it over to Cassidy like it was nothing.

Honestly? I felt unnervingly calm.

The things that used to feel world-ending suddenly felt… insignificant.

They joked around for another minute before Alvin finally remembered I was on the line. "I'll be back soon. Don't wait up for me—get some rest."

Then he hung up.

His "soon" usually meant four or five hours. I used to pace the floor, sick with worry.

But this time, I couldn't be bothered.

I strode into the study, my eyes fixed on the countdown glowing on the digital wall calendar.

Not long ago, Alvin and Cassidy had turned a business trip to Napa Valley into a personal vacation. While they were out playing house, I had quietly slipped my resignation letter into a stack of venture capital documents. Alvin had been too distracted to notice—he'd approved it without a second glance.

Three days left.

Once the handover was complete, I was gone.

I paused, then called Dr. Alistair Finch, my old design mentor and now the head of a top design studio in New York City.

Right after graduation, I had landed a spot in a top residency program there. But Alvin said he needed my help to start his company, and like an idiot, I dropped everything and rushed back to Austin. Dr. Finch had advised against it. I didn't listen.

Looking back now… yeah, I was a fool.

Feelings? They change. A career? That will never betray you.

When the call connected, I explained my situation. I was prepared for a lecture. Instead, Dr. Finch just sighed.

"I'd heard… I was thinking about calling you. But this time… are you really sure?"

"I'm sure. The resignation is already processed."

"Resignation? What resignation?"

The voice didn't come from the phone.

I turned.

Alvin was standing in the doorway.

I’d ended the call before I even realized what I was doing.

I locked my phone without a word.

As I was trying to figure out what to say, his phone buzzed. It was Cassidy again. She had found a new, trendy restaurant and sent him a picture, asking if he wanted to go next time.

"Looks good," Alvin murmured into his phone, recording a voice memo.

She immediately shot back, "Does the restaurant look good, or do I look good?"

It was followed by a selfie—her winking at the camera, a brilliant smile on her face.

Alvin chuckled. "The restaurant is good, but you're better."

Then, as if suddenly remembering I was there, the warmth vanished from his face. He turned to me, his tone icy.

"Didn't I tell you to get some rest? Why are you still up?"

The shift was whiplash-inducing, a world away from the soft tone he used with her.

And he'd already forgotten I'd mentioned my resignation.