For the past few days, Simon had conveniently found excuses not to visit and I was done pretending.
Today was my birthday. In the past, Simon would have planned an entire day filled with surprises. He would have showed up with gifts, dinner reservations, little romantic gestures.
However, today, my phone buzzed endlessly, not with birthday wishes, but with messages from the chat group where Simon and his buddies discussed plans for throwing a celebration, not for me though. It was for Kelly. They wanted to congratulate her on landing a spot in the Victoria runway show.
Not wanting to see any more of it, I simply turned off my phone.
After a few days of rest, I finally had enough strength to start packing. I gathered all the luxury items Simon had ever given me and stuffed them neatly into the wardrobe. As for my personal belongings, I fit them into a single, modest suitcase.
Once everything was ready, I planned to text Simon and officially break up with him. After that, I would stay in a hotel until my visa came through.
As I was dragging my suitcase downstairs, I ran straight into the last people I wanted to see … Simon’s drinking buddies. They were helping him back home, dead drunk.
“Well, well,” one of them smirked. “Where are you off to with that suitcase, Miss Luxton? Don’t tell me you’re finally leaving?”
I ignored him and focused on Simon, who was slumped between them. “What happened to him?”
They dumped him unceremoniously onto the couch, then turned to me. “Take care of him, will you? He’s your man, after all.”
The way they treated me like his nanny made my blood boil. Before, I would swallow their insults, thinking I deserved their disdain. Well, not anymore.
I said coldly, "I'm not his nanny. So don’t speak to me like I am."
"You …!"
One of them took a threatening step forward, clearly provoked, but the others held him back. I pointed to the door. “Get out.”
Once they were gone, Simon stirred awake. He bent down, trying to kiss me.
I turned my head away, shoved him off and stood up. Straightening my torn clothes, I said in a flat tone, “Not tonight. I don't want to. Besides, it's not safe to have this in the first trimester.”
Seeing my serious expression, Simon tried to coax me, softening his tone. “Why are you avoiding me? Are you still upset about the fashion show? I’m sorry, okay? How about I buy you Chanel’s new couture line? Come on, baby, forgive me.”
In the past, I would have fallen for his sweet words and puppy eyes. However, I would not fall into the same mistakes anymore.
“I’m not upset. I just don’t want to,” I replied flatly.
His face darkened and the alcohol fueled his frustration. He pressed me down again, his voice slurred but his words cutting me like a knife. “Then what do you want? Money? Bags? Show access? I can give you everything now. Just say the word. That’s what you want, right?”
His accusation hit me like a slap. I took a sharp intake of breath, my nails digging into my palm.
“There’s nothing you could give me that would make me want you again,” I said quietly.
I shoved him away with all the strength I had. He sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “No? Even if I throw money at you? You went crawling to someone else for money before, didn’t you?”
Crack!
Without hesitation, I slapped him hard across the face.
The sting of my slap seemed to sober him instantly. He scrambled to speak, but I cut him off gently, “You’re drunk. Go rest.”
Without another glance, I walked upstairs, locked the bedroom door and tuned out the apologies and sweet-talking he spouted from the hallway.
I grabbed my phone to shut it off for the night, but a string of messages in the group chat caught my eye.
I was about to ignore them until one particular comment stopped me cold.
"Did you notice? All the luxury stuff on Jane is gone. I think she finally realized they were knock-offs, huh?"
I remembered a colleague at the fashion show once whispering about how my Go-go bag did not look quite right. Back then, I had defended Simon without hesitation.
Now, it all made sense. I had been nothing but a fool. A clown.
