ASTRID

“Why can’t you just take the ring back and stay?”

“Why would I?” I snapped, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears building behind my eyes.

“Estelle, you can’t just return the ring like it meant nothing,” he warned, his voice low.

But then it hit me. The realization was sharp. “The only thing that knocked sense into you was me giving the ring back?” I asked.

So that was the key, huh? Returning the ring.

“The only thing?” he echoed. I could see it in his eyes how tired he was with me. It seems like I’ve broken the last thread of his patience.

He took a step closer. I held my breath. My instincts told me to move back, but I didn’t. I forced myself to stay still, even if I was seconds away from falling apart in front of him.

“You really think I don’t understand you?” he asked, eyes burning with frustration. “You really think the ring is enough for me to drop the case?”

“Maybe.”

His voice dropped, raw and low. “You think I’d withdraw the case for you to stay? You think I’d do that?”

He paused, and for a second, the anger cracked into something else—fear.

“I’d rather protect you without having you in my arms than hold you while dragging you into the hell I live with every day. That’s not love, Estelle—that’s selfish.”

My heart twisted. I was completely stunned by his words, and I wasn’t sure what to argue anymore.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” I said quietly, every word lower than the other.

His gaze met mine—shattered, confused, desperate? Maybe anything to make me see his side. I wasn’t sure anymore. I could no longer read the man I used to love.

“Well, I do!” he said suddenly. “I need to protect you because that’s what I promised before we started this relationship. That’s all I’ve been trying to do. That’s how much I love you.”

I turned around because it feels like I’ll put my walls down and eventually forget about what he did. Then later on, we’ll fight about it again. It’s like we’re stuck on repeat.

Before I could walk to the walk-in closet, he held my arm. “You can’t be serious about all this,” he said.

I yanked my arm free, spinning around to face him. "And what exactly am I not serious about, Art?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. We’re already breaking up, what’s worse than this?

"Me getting hurt and left confused with the sudden news?" I took a step closer, my chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

"Should I feel guilty for feeling this way even though I only felt this way because you went behind my back?" My voice cracked, raw now. "The fact that you made a decision for us without even considering my side?"

His lips parted like he was about to respond, but nothing came out—not right away. And in that silence, all I could hear was the pounding of my heart and the sharp sting of betrayal weighing on my body.

His eyes were dark, still burning with frustration. His black long-sleeved polo clung to the tense lines of his broad shoulders, his slacks still neat despite the chaos happening between us. He looked composed—put together—but his body language screamed otherwise.

"You think I did this for myself?" His voice was restrained, but the irritation laced beneath it was impossible to ignore. His chest rose and fell heavily, the vein in his neck twitching. "You think I went through all of this just because I felt like it? What am I feeding again? My pride and my ego?"

“Yes!” I snapped, without hesitation. My voice rang across the room—and I saw it. The way his expression twisted deeper, frustration boiling over. He’s really mad. Fuming. He’s done.

He threw his hands in the air before clasping them behind his head. “Fuck, why are you being so close-minded right now? What the fuck is happening to you?”

“Wow. Now I’m close-minded?” I said bitterly, scoffing as I crossed my arms. “Coming from someone who doesn’t even trust me enough to consider my take—and I’m not just anyone, Art. I’m your girlfriend.”

“That’s the whole point. You’re my girlfriend!” His jaw clenched tighter before he let out an exhausted sigh. "And this isn't about trust anymore!" he pointed out loudly, his voice shaking slightly—not from fear, but pure agitation.

I flinched the moment he shouted at me. My hands turned cold, and before I even realized it, I was already crying in front of him again. The freaking tears just wouldn’t cooperate.

But instead of wiping them away, he just looked at me before closing his eyes tightly, as if the sight of me breaking hurt him too.

For a moment, he turned around, his hands on his waist, as if trying to recharge the last bit of his nonexistent patience. Then, when he turned back, his eyes were much softer now—not like before.

“Love, I know you want peace. I do too.” He paused, then added more quietly, “But can’t you see? Peace doesn’t come from moving on and pretending nothing happened. It comes from knowing it won’t happen again.”

I let out a sharp breath, turning my head away for a second before meeting his gaze again. "It won’t happen again," I said, my voice quiet but certain. “If it does, that’s when I’ll play with fire.”

His eyes flashed—flickering with something unspoken. That brief softness I once knew was gone, buried beneath a hardened desperation. He sighed, long and heavy. “How can I ever change your mind?”

A moment of silence stretched between us, thick with everything we couldn’t say.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone more controlled but no less intense. "Fine. Let’s compromise. You wanted to do nothing, and now I’m letting you. Don’t sue her. But let me have my fight—so I can protect you once and for all."

His voice dropped just a bit. Quieter. Pleading.

“If it was just me she’ll ruin, I’ll let it pass. But, love, it’s you. You know I wouldn’t let that anymore. So just let me have this, okay? Let the public see it as if I was defending myself—well in reality, it’s you I’m doing this for. Hmm?”

His gaze searched mine, and for that moment, it wasn’t rage I saw—it was something softer. Desperate, almost childlike. My old Art. My love.

I should forgive him.

His hands reached for mine, but I took a subtle step back.

No, Astrid. Not until he apologizes.

I turned my head away, the conflict inside me tearing through my chest. He was just furious a moment ago, now he’s soft again. Sweet talking me like I didn’t just feel worthless and voiceless for the past hour.

“Honestly, you’re confusing me,” I murmured, brows furrowed. “I’m already struggling to figure myself out, and then you come in, adding more noise. I told you—I don’t need protection. I’ve been independent all my life. I don’t need—”

“But I’m here now. That’s why I’m here now,” he interrupted, his tone firm but endearing, like he was trying to make me remember of everything we had.

I swallowed hard, my gaze lingering on him longer than I intended. I didn’t need him to protect me—to suffer or pour out every ounce of his energy and resources just for me. But he was still choosing to.

“Can we just move forward from this?” I asked at last, my voice rasp and tired. Almost like a surrender—but not to him.

"And what happens when she comes back, huh?" By the tone of it, his patience completely gone. "What happens when she decides she hasn’t done enough? When she finds another way to hurt and ruin you? I can’t risk that."

My throat tightened. "You don’t know that will happen."

"But I know it could."

Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.

I couldn’t help but notice everything. Every little gesture made by him, every shift in his breathings and movement. The noise was unforgiving but the way I notice every detail of him is tearing my apart. His breath was harsh, his body tense, and it felt like he was breaking as much as I.

"You think filing a case is going to fix everything?" My words wavered, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "You think this will make me feel better? Because it won’t, Art. It won’t change what she did. It won’t erase the damage from the past. It’s just going to drag this out longer. Make it worse. Imagine the public scrutinizing us—making our everyday lives harder. It will affect my job, your business. Can’t you see my point?"

“And what if she comes after me just because you filed the case when she originally didn’t plan to? Will you be able to accept that? Why not just live a peaceful life with me?”

His brows furrowed as he bit his lip. "So you’d rather let her walk free? Let her think she can do whatever the hell she wants with no consequences? I don’t like the idea that I’ll be overthinking every time you’re away from me."

“She’s not that evil!” I insisted, desperation creeping into my voice. “Why are you making her sound like she’s capable of something she’s not—”

“She is!” he snapped, his voice cracking before it turned into a bitter sigh. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before facing me again. “Seven years, Estelle. Seven fucking years I spent with her. I’ve seen how far she’s willing to go when things don’t go her way. I was the one who lived through her worst. I let her wreck me more times than I can count. And you—” he pointed at me, voice tightening, “you still think you know her better than I do?”

His words were a knife to my throat, and I didn’t even try to mask the sting on my face.

You still remember everything about her? All this time.

I need to get a grip. That’s not the issue right now.

I took a shaky step back, my hands trembling at my sides. My throat tightened and I began sweating. Why is the room so suffocating right now?

“She could change, you know…” I whispered, voice barely audible. “Can’t you trust me—just this once—to let things be?”

“Or… have you never really trusted me at all?”

The moment the words slipped from my lips, I knew I’d crossed a line. I didn’t even mean it the way it sounded—but it was too late. The damage was done.

Maybe Art was right. We should’ve talked tomorrow.

Art didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But the way his shoulders tensed… the way something flickered behind his eyes—something wounded—was enough to make me bury myself alive.

Then, it vanished. He masked it with something else, but I saw it. I saw the pain in him before he could hide it.

“Wait, love. I didn’t mean that—” I started, my voice trembling.

But he cut me off.

"You really think that?" he asked, his voice low, quiet, and dangerously calm. "That I don’t trust you?"

I should’ve said no. I should’ve said I didn’t mean it.

But I froze. I hesitated. Why did I become voiceless all of a sudden?

It was barely for a second.

And that second was enough to tear everything apart.

The heavy tension lingered between us—thick, suffocating, pressing down on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake off. It was becoming unbearable, and my blurring vision only made it worse. The silence rang louder than all the shouting that came before, echoing between us like something neither of us wanted to admit.

Then finally, he spoke. “Do you want to stay in this relationship?”

Do I?

Yes?

No?

I love him… but there’s a “but.”

Why isn’t it “But I love him” anymore?

I looked at him, really looked at him—at the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes searched mine like they were looking for something to hold on to.

But I had no answer. I wasn’t sure anymore.

Because how could I say yes… when I didn’t even know if I still recognized what we were holding on to?

I dropped my gaze. “I don’t know anymore,” I whispered, the words barely making it past my throat.

But after a moment, I returned my gaze. And for the first time, I saw it—that look in his eyes like something inside him had just given up.

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "One fight. One damn fight, and you're ready to throw everything away."

I sucked in a sharp breath. "This isn’t one fight, Art. This is the same argument over and over again."

His lips parted slightly, his breath uneven like mine. I could see it—how much he wanted to argue, to throw something back at me, to fight for our love. But something in his expression changed, the fire in his eyes dimming just slightly.

Like he knew.

Like he knew, just as much as I did, that this time was different.

It felt like the damage is irreversible.

“I’ll make this easier for us,” I muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. “Let’s just… break up.” My voice cracked, but I pushed through. “This relationship… it’s not helping either of us anymore. And the longer we try to hold on, the more damage we do. To ourselves. To each other.”

”That’s not the solution to this problem, Estelle.” His brows furrowed even more as he rubbed his temples frustratedly. 

"Let's break up," I said more firmly.

The words left my lips before I could second-guess them, before I could let the fear of his reaction stop me.

Art’s brows furrowed even more, his expression hardening into something unreadable. But his anger—it was unmistakable, simmering beneath the surface, restrained yet palpable.

This wasn’t the Art I knew and maybe I wasn’t the Estelle he knew either.

This wasn’t the man who held me with careful hands, who spoke to me in hushed tones when I was upset, who always found a way to make things right and easy.

This Art was fed up. Tired.

Scaring me.

I wanted to cry even more right then and there, but I held it back, biting my lip and lifting my chin, forcing myself to meet his eyes without showing an ounce of weakness.

"Love, you know that’s not an option," he said, his voice softer now, but his frustration still heavy in the air. He dragged a hand on his nape, clearly unease with everything going on.

"I want to break up," I whispered.

He exhaled sharply, then suddenly, his hands caught mine, holding them tightly. "Love…" he said, his voice more desperate this time. "We’re just fighting. We shouldn’t break up because of this."

"You’re scaring me," I muttered, trying to pull away.

His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. "For the millionth time, my voice just got louder," he said, but it felt like an excuse.

“Your eyes weren’t the same,” I said quietly. “You never looked at me like that.”

His jaw tensed. "I’m just tired, love. Tired of going in circles. Of arguing the same things with you over and over again." His voice was sharp, but his eyes flickered with something raw. “It’s like you’re not meeting me half way.”

My brows furrowed at his words. Was he… blaming me?

“Are you blaming me?” I snapped, the hurt bleeding into my tone, my voice rising despite the lump in my throat.

He exhaled—long, slow, almost like he was steadying himself. “No, love,” he said quietly, but the weight in his voice made my chest tighten. “But… this is the first time I’m struggling to understand you. The first time I don’t know how to reach you.”

He looked at me, like he was searching for the woman he used to know.

And I looked at him, struggling to recognize the man I love.

And God, did it hurt.

Because I was still right here. I still loved him, even though part of me was screaming to end it all right now.

I went silent, refusing to meet his gaze. My fingers trembled as I wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

I pushed against his chest, desperate for some space, but he grabbed my hands again. This time, he brought them to his chest. "Hit me if you want to," he said suddenly, his voice thick with something broken. "If you’re angry, then show it."

I froze, the words cutting through me.

“Shout at me, curse at me—just don’t shut me out, Estelle.” His eyes locked onto mine, wide and pleading, the desperation in his voice raw, unfiltered. “Don’t give me the misleading words—actions. You act like you’re hurt, mad, scared, and in love all at the same time. Just… tell me how frustrated you are with me. Communicate, even if it means shouting.” His grip tightened, pulling me closer, his chest heaving as if to keep steady in the storm of emotions. "I can take it, just don’t break up with me."

I felt the weight of his words, the ache that bled from every syllable.

Before I could make another move, he pulled me into a hug, his arms locking around me tightly, as if to stop me from slipping away for good. I cried harder, feeling the warmth of his embrace. Oh, I’m going to miss this. His voice, soft but filled with urgency, whispered in my ear. “Please be honest. I could feel that you didn’t mean breaking up with me. Love, please just let it out on me.” His hand gently caressed my hair, the gesture tender but helpless.

But the words, the pain, were already spilling out of me before I could stop. “You keep demanding that I speak my mind—to communicate—but you’re the one who always holds back,” I said, pushing against his chest. “You can’t be honest with me, so why should I be honest with you?”

A flash of frustration flickered across his face before it softened into something more resigned. “I’m not honest? You want to hear everything I think about you every time we argue?” he asked, his voice rough, before clearing his throat, as if gathering the words he had been holding back for too long. “You really want me to be honest for you to tell me what’s really inside your mind? Fine.”

The space between us seemed to grow even wider. I could see the weight of his words in his eyes, and for the first time in this whole argument, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to keep speaking.

“I’m always walking on glass with you, love.” His voice trembled, but he kept going, voice cracking from restraint. “Every time we have an argument, I’m restraining myself. Because first—you’re fragile. You’re too sensitive. You cry the moment I raise my voice or say something too real—too harsh.”

He stepped back, hand on his hip, dragging a hand down his face again. He looked exhausted.

“And you don’t listen to me—God—you won’t. Ever. You’re hardheaded like that. You’re immature when it comes to dealing with our problems because you run, Estelle. You always run. You always want to learn the hard way. And if you do, we would also fight about it. It always feel like I’m at fault.”

His words weren’t just unfiltered. They were a desperate attempt to make me stay, but the sharpness only made me pull away even more. A moment ago, I wanted him to be honest, but now… now, I just wanted him to stop. I didn’t want to hear it anymore. Even at the end, I couldn’t make up my mind.

“Stop,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

But he couldn’t hear me. Or maybe he just refused to.

“And now—these past few weeks—you’re shutting me out. You don’t open up to me anymore. I can’t fucking understand you all the time—your mood swings, your silence, everything.” His words hit me harder, and with each one, I felt the distance between us grow wider. He was reaching for me, trying to pull me back, but all I felt was suffocation.

I wanted to scream, to tell him that I didn’t know how to fix this anymore, that I was just as lost as he was. But I didn’t. Instead, I just stood there, my heart breaking even more with every word he said.

His eyes steadied on mine, but the feeling just became worse. “You have more time for your job than you do for me. I barely see you, and when I finally do, you pick the wildest fight—as if you're looking for a reason to leave.”

“You know who listens more? You wanna know?” he challenged, voice edged with bitter sarcasm.

“Who?”

“You really wanna know?” he asked once more.

I didn’t answer.

“A brick wall.”

There it is again. That does it.

“You don’t mean that,” I said quietly, my voice cracking as I shook my head, trying to blink the tears away. “Take it back.”

His expression didn’t shift. “That’s what you wanted, right? The truth. Raw and unfiltered.”

My hands trembled. “Fuck... fuck you.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I sucked in a breath I couldn’t hold. “I’m breaking up with you.”

And this time, I meant it.

“Now you’re finally cursing at me? Over a brick statement?” he said bitterly. “And you’re breaking up with me? Just because I finally ran out of patience? When is it my turn, love? When is it my turn to be understood? Isn’t this supposed to be your turn to adjust?” His voice grew quieter as he held my hand again, but the pain and frustration still bled through.

I struggled against him, tears blurring my vision, my chest heaving with the weight of everything that had been said. “I already told you—I don’t want to stay in this relationship anymore! You’re not listening to me!” My voice cracked, barely holding it together.

His patience snapped even further. “I’m not listening?” His voice grew harsh again, eyes dark with frustration. “How about you? Do you think you’re listening to me? The fact that you’re here right now proves you never listened to a word I said.”

”I already told you earlier—I didn’t want to talk about it because I knew I was too exhausted to deal with your unreasonable ways,” he added, his words dripping with resentment. “I guess we’re back to square one again? The part where I’m not listening to you?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times that I didn’t want to go through with the case!” I shouted back, the frustration surging. I pushed him again, harder this time, but before I could step away, he caught my wrists in an instant, pulling me forward, the force of his grip making my heart race.

Too close.

Too suffocating.

"You know... you're as hard to love as I am," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But I can't let you go." His gaze held a kind of fear—fear of losing me, fear of losing us.

“Let go,” I said firmly.

His breath was warm against my face as he held me there, his grip firm yet trembling. “You really want to break up?” he asked, his voice lower, controlled—but I could hear it. The desperation and fear beneath it. ”Be honest, love. It’s your turn to be honest.”

“Yes.” I forced the word out, looking straight into his eyes. “You’re draining me. I’m tired of all this. I’m tired of you. It feels like my life would be easier without you in it.”

“I was wrong back then.” I whispered as I stared at the floor, fists clenched tightly by my sides. “I don’t think the pain was worth it.”

I could feel my throat closing in, a lump rising that I couldn’t swallow down. I took a shaky breath, trying to compose myself, but it was useless—I was already breaking and I refuse to see him hurt right in front of me.

“I shouldn’t have given the universe a little nudge—that was a mistake.” I finally looked up at him, chest rising and falling unevenly. “I take it all back. I shouldn’t have stepped foot on that German cafe.”

And this was the first time tonight, I saw a tear fall from his eyes.

“It was never easy loving you—” I blinked, quickly wiping at the tears now trailing down my cheeks. “I can’t take the whole package for it.”

I shook my head, breath hitching. My lips quivered as I forced the last few words out.

“I can’t love you no matter how difficult it got.” My voice broke at the end, and I turned slightly away from him, unable to keep looking him in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. I exhaled shakily, shoulders caving inward. “I can’t anymore.”

His hands loosened before he let go.

“I hope you don’t mean that,” he whispered, almost like a warning.

The silence was louder than anything I could’ve said. But I didn’t answer so he made me look at him once more.

We stood there—eye to eye, but never meeting on the same page.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeated, firmer now, stepping closer and lifting my chin like he could change my mind with a touch. But I flicked his hand away.

His breath hitched, frustration coloring his features. “You know if we break up, there’s no turning back,” he said bitterly, his voice low and sharp, like he was laying down a final rule. Like he was sealing the door shut behind us.

“I don’t plan to get back with you anyway.”

His eyes darkened. “You hate me that much?” he asked, teeth gritted, like he couldn’t believe the words were real.

“Yes!” I answered right away, even if deep down, it was a lie that burned on its way out.

There was a pause. Long enough. Unbearable and utterly suffocating.

“Fine. It’s over,” he finally said.

“Fine.”

And that’s the only thing we agreed on tonight.