Anastasia’s POV
Leonardo’s questioning edge disappeared the moment my response landed—cool, detached, and unmistakably final. Whatever he’d been preparing to say stalled in his throat. I didn’t wait for him to recover.
I ended the call and leaned back against the leather seat, turning my attention to the window as the car cut through the darkened stretch of private woodland leading toward the family estate. The headlights sliced through towering trees, their shadows stretching endlessly across the road, mirroring the weight pressing against my chest.
As soon as I stepped out of the vehicle, an unease settled deep in my bones. The night was quiet, the moon hanging high above the treetops, its pale light spilling over the manicured grounds like a silent witness. It felt as though the world itself was watching me—observing, judging, remembering.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, snapping me out of the moment.
Leonardo’s executive group chat was exploding. Notifications stacked one after another, the unread count climbing at an alarming rate.
Against my better judgment, I opened it.
The first thing that appeared on my screen was a photo Camila had uploaded. Leonardo was kneeling on the floor of her newly acquired villa, sleeves rolled up, shoulders tense as he worked on exposed wiring near the wall. His shirt clung to him, damp from exertion, the image framed deliberately to highlight his focus—and his body.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Her caption followed immediately beneath the image:
Does anyone else have a CEO this attentive? I’d dedicate my entire career to this company. Should I just sign a lifetime contract now?
Replies poured in within seconds—from senior managers, department heads, and long-time executives.
I’ve never seen Mr. Vale this hands-on before. Guess the rumors about him being emotionally distant were exaggerated.
Those arms should be illegal. Fixing wires is clearly not his only talent.
Stop showing off, Camila. We all know who’s going to be standing beside him at future galas.
The screen blurred as my grip tightened until the phone creaked faintly in protest.
She was brilliant at it—subtle, public, unmistakable. Every move designed to stake her claim without ever saying it outright. I’d been there once. Leonardo used to do the same with me—posting candid moments from business trips, charity events, late-night strategy sessions, small smiles caught between meetings. Back then, it felt solid. Unbreakable.
Now, I was nothing more than a footnote in his history.
I exited the chat and muted the notifications, refusing to watch her replace me in real time. Despite the ache twisting in my chest, my resolve remained steady. Walking forward still felt right—even if it hurt.
I stepped into the estate house that had been my home for nearly a decade. Eight years of shared space, shared routines, shared silence. Every room carried echoes of what we’d been—what I’d believed we were building.
Tonight, I was done clinging to echoes.
As I began packing, my eyes landed on the thick leather-bound album resting on the coffee table. It had been Leonardo’s idea. A private tradition. Every photo inside marked a moment from our years together—business victories, quiet dinners, stolen laughter between deadlines.
He once told me he wanted to give me 9,999 memories before asking me to marry him. Not because of contracts or expectations—but because he wanted me to choose him willingly.
The album was almost complete. Only one blank page remained.
But promises mean nothing when devotion fades.
I carried the album outside to the open clearing behind the estate—the place where bonfires were once lit for celebrations and milestones. Under the cold glow of moonlight, I built a small fire. When the flames caught, I placed the album on top.
The leather curled. Pages blackened. Smoke rose into the air, thick and final, carrying years of hope with it.
Footsteps broke the silence.
I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Leonardo. His presence was unmistakable.
He stopped short when he saw the flames. Panic flashed across his face as he rushed forward.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, his voice sharp, commanding, furious.
I didn’t move.
He lunged toward the fire, trying to salvage what remained, but the heat forced him back. He cursed under his breath as his hands reddened, stamping at the embers in a desperate attempt to put out what was already gone.
“Have you lost your mind?” he snapped, spinning toward me. “Do you even understand what you just destroyed? Years of memories—gone. Why would you do this?”
I met his gaze without flinching.
“Because memories are meaningless when the promises behind them are broken,” I replied evenly. “You said you’d give me reasons to choose you. Instead, you handed that role to someone else before we even reached the end.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re twisting this. Camila—”
“Camila,” I cut in calmly, “took exactly what you allowed her to take. The photos. The comments. The way she leans on you in public. Don’t pretend it’s accidental. And don’t insult me by thinking I wouldn’t notice.”
He stepped closer, his voice lowering, almost pleading.
“You’re wrong. She works for me. As CEO, I’m responsible for—”
“Stop.” I raised my hand. “Don’t hide behind titles and responsibilities. This isn’t about business. You made your decision through your actions.”
I took a step back, the firelight flickering between us.
“And now,” I continued quietly, “I’m making mine.”
