Paige returned to Maple Grove to move out. After sorting through everything, she realized she didn't have much—just a few large boxes and she was done. What remained were Dylan's things. He hadn't left much either; she'd already taken inventory. Most of it was office supplies, but she was terrified of accidentally discarding some important document. After much deliberation, she decided to call him and ask him to come collect his belongings.
The call connected. But it wasn't Dylan who answered.
It was Nancy.
"Hello, who is this?"
Paige's breath caught. No sound came out.
After a moment, the voice on the other end said, "I know who you are. Paige, right?"
Paige didn't deny it. Her tone stayed level. "Yes. I'm looking for Dylan."
"He's not available. Whatever you need, you can tell me."
Paige bit her lip. Deep down, she was nowhere near as calm as she appeared. She still cared—she was just pretending not to.
"Ms. James," Nancy continued, "if you're still harboring any ideas, I'd suggest you drop them. The divorce papers are signed. What, having second thoughts? Want to take it back?"
"I grew up with Dylan. I know him—really know him. Do you? Did he ever take you home to meet his family during your marriage? No? Want to know why? Because they would never accept you. That's why he never brought you."
"I was the one who rejected him back then. He found you out of spite. You were the mistake. And after three years, it's time to correct it. So stop contacting him. And stop making excuses to reach out!"
Silence.
Paige truly didn't know much about his family background. She'd brought it up before, but her own family situation was complicated. She hadn't told either of her parents about the marriage. As for his side—her own insecurities had kept her from asking, and he'd never volunteered. So it had simply... never come up.
Nancy hung up.
Paige didn't call back. She took a moment to steady herself, then contacted Dylan's driver and asked him to come handle the belongings.
"Hi, Timothy. This is Paige. When you have a moment, could you come by and pick up Dylan's things?"
"Ms. James, I'll need to check with Mr. Farley first."
She could hear the hesitation in his voice. She understood. "Then could you just give me an address? I'll ship everything over. That way you won't have to make the trip."
"Well..."
"Is that not possible?"
"Without Mr. Farley's permission, I can't give out the address. I hope you understand, Ms. James—it's a matter of his privacy." Tim's words were polite, carefully measured, as if he was afraid of offending her.
He's worried I'll use it to keep bothering Dylan.
"Alright. I understand. Please ask him, then."
Before long, Tim called back, his tone still courteous. "Ms. James, Mr. Farley says it's all unimportant. If you don't want to keep it, you can throw it away."
For some reason, Paige felt her heart clench. "Those were his exact words?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I understand. Sorry to have troubled you."
She hung up briskly, but something still felt off. She'd only been pretending to be unbothered. Three years of marriage—there had been feelings. If there hadn't been, she wouldn't have shared a bed with him all those days and nights.
She disposed of Dylan's things and left Maple Grove.
After that, Paige moved back into the apartment she'd lived in before the marriage. On her very first night there, she received a call from Dylan.
She froze, thinking she'd misread the screen. Why would he be calling now? She hesitated for a few seconds, then answered. Her voice came out soft, barely above a whisper.
"Hello?"
"You called me earlier. What did you need?"
Dylan's low, rich voice came through the speaker.
Paige kept her tone flat. "It's nothing now."
"I sent Timothy to Maple Grove this morning."
"..."
"You're selling the house?"
Word travels fast.
She didn't bother hiding it. The house was hers now; what she did with it was her business. Besides, she'd done nothing wrong in this marriage. She had nothing to be secretive about.
"Yes. I'm selling it."
"Where are you staying?"
"I have a place."
"You don't like Maple Grove? You used to say you loved the environment there." His tone was neither cold nor warm.
She had said that once—just an offhand comment. She hadn't expected him to remember.
She took a deep breath. "I don't anymore."
A pause. Then: "I called you earlier to ask what to do with the things you left at Maple Grove. It's been handled now. If there's nothing else, we don't need to contact each other again."
"Suit yourself."
Was it her imagination, or did Dylan sound... annoyed?
No. Probably just her imagination.
...
Dylan was the one who ended the call. He tossed his phone onto the desk, his gaze darkening. The air around him grew heavy, suffocating. He pressed pale fingers to the bridge of his nose, a nameless irritation coiling tight in his chest.
Timothy Dickerson stood nearby, his eyelid twitching. The pressure in the room was palpable—and its source needed no explanation.
Especially after this morning. Tim had gone to Maple Grove and discovered the house was already listed for sale online. He'd reported it to Mr. Farley immediately.
Mr. Farley had not seemed pleased.
Why he wasn't pleased—Tim didn't dare ask.
Dylan lit a cigarette and drew on it slowly, his brow furrowed low. Smoke curled around his sharp features, obscuring his expression, making his thoughts impossible to read.
"Sir, about the house—how would you like to handle it? Should I speak with Ms. James?"
Dylan flicked ash from the cigarette. "No need. The house is hers now. What she does with it is her business."
Tim said nothing more.
A moment passed. Dylan's impatient expression smoothed over, though no real emotion replaced it.
"Do you know where she's staying these days?"
"I believe she moved back to her old apartment." Tim wasn't entirely certain. "I heard it from Ms. Whitney."
Worried that Dylan might not remember who that was, he added, "Ms. Whitney—she's Ms. James's friend."
Dylan looked up. His gaze turned cold, as if the clarification had been unnecessary.
Tim fell silent.
