Milla POV
I didn’t plan to stay.
The second I saw them—Alfa and Emilia, laughing softly over a shared croissant—I turned on my heel to leave. I just wanted to disappear.
I figured finding a cappuccino somewhere else might be just as nice.
But the universe had other plans.
Thunder cracked like a whip across the sky, and then the rain came. Not a drizzle. A full-on storm. A biblical downpour. No cabs. No ride-hailing apps. No way out.
So I stayed. Stupidly.
I found the farthest corner from them, kept my head down. Tried to disappear. But my eyes? They betrayed me.
They kept darting in their direction. Watching her feed him another bite of pastry. Watching them laugh like they were the only two people in the world.
And me?
I was breaking quietly, piece by piece.
"Stupid," I cursed under my breath.
I moved to switch seats, and my foot caught the edge of the rug. I stumbled. Hard. The sound of silverware clattering stopped. All eyes turned. Including theirs.
I hit the floor. My knee stung, but my pride? That took the real hit.
They didn’t get up. Not Alfa. Not Emilia. No one said, "Are you okay, Milla?"
They just sat there.
I bit down the pain, stood up, and headed to the counter with shaking hands to pay for my untouched coffee.
And just as I reached the register, the universe twisted the knife—again.
They stepped up beside me.
I pretended not to see them. But Emilia spoke first.
“I’ll wait in the car, Alfa,” she said sweetly when the light drizzle continued as she stepped toward the car.
Alfa caught her hand. Concern etched across his face, he reminded her of the upcoming trip to Bali, urging her to stay dry to avoid catching a cold.
Trip. Bali. Together for exactly.
Each word hit like a blow to the chest.
“What a coincidence,” Alfa said, his tone sharp. “Are you following us, Milla?”
I almost laughed. “Seriously? My psychiatrist told me to relax. This place seemed like a good start.”
He looked genuinely thrown. “Psychiatrist? What happened to you?”
“Work pressure, toxic environment, and lies.”
That was directed at both of them. Emilia turned away, lips pursed.
“You broke your own laptop,” Alfa muttered. “I’ll find time to take you somewhere, Milla. You need help.”
Then, suddenly, Emilia’s hand flew to her stomach and face twisted.
“What’s wrong?” Alfa panicked.
“Nausea…” she murmured, glancing at me.
And I knew what that meant.
Pregnant. Or she wanted me to think she was.
I walked outside. The rain had let up, but the storm inside me hadn’t.
I waited for a cab. I saw Alfa guiding a pale Emilia to their car. Then—cold steel pressed against my neck.
“Ssh. Don’t scream. Give me your bag or I’ll slit your throat.”
My blood ran cold. My breath hitched. My heart tried to leap out of my chest.
He yanked at my bag. I didn’t resist. But before he could run, someone kicked him hard. He staggered back, the knife grazing my neck just enough to draw blood.
“Milla! God, you’re bleeding!”
Blood dripped down my collar, but honestly? It hurt less than everything else.
Alfa helped me into his car. Emilia didn’t want to move to the backseat.
“I’m nauseous, Alfa. If I throw up—”
“She’s bleeding, Emy!”
“And if I get worse? What about Bali? We won’t get a refund!”
I nearly passed out—not from the cut, but from the absurdity of it all.
At the hospital, I got stitches. Emilia? She pouted over mild nausea like she was dying. Her symptoms were mild. But her moaning and dramatics? Academy Award-worthy.
I lay down, closed my eyes, and drifted into memory.
Two years ago, I was the one who got mugged for him. I tore my dress, got bruised. And he said, “I don’t care about your dress. You’re safe, that’s what matters.”
Now?
"Come, rest your head on my shoulder," he murmured, his voice tender and comforting. "Later, I'll make you some porridge.
"Why does it have to hurt this much?
“Milla?” Alfa peeked into my room.
I wiped my tears quickly, afraid my voice would shatter if I spoke.
“I need to take Emilia home. She’s really weak.”
I nodded, turning my back to him. He kissed my cheek gently.
“I’ll be back to pick you up.”
Two hours later, I was discharged. I stepped into the lobby alone.
A nurse's eyes flickered with concern. She offered a faint smile, and I continued toward the exit.
Outside, the sky was overcast with impending rain. I was scanning the street devoid of Alfa's face or his waiting cars. The realization settled in—no one was coming.
Drawing my coat tighter, I began to walk, each step a quiet affirmation of solitude. Luckily, I caught a cab.
Back at my flat, Alfa’s car was gone. Emilia’s windows were dark. Who knew where they were now?
My phone buzzed—texts from Mom.
[Milla, pick a wedding venue. Lucas's mom is waiting for your answer.]
The phone slipped from my grasp, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. I changed into clean clothes, each movement sending a sharp pulse through the ache in my neck.
Later, Alfa arrived, his eyes scanning the half-empty apartment with a puzzled expression. I handed him my phone, and a message was displayed:
Mouse problem. I threw out everything. Sorry for not telling you.
He read it silently, then looked at me without pressing for details. Instead, he reached into a bag and produced a box of donuts and a birthday card.
It wasn't my birthday.
“I thought it was today,” he shrugged. “Still, the donuts are good, right?”
I ate one. Sweet. Hollow. Like everything else between us.
“Alfa, I’m tired. Come back tomorrow. Help me get new furniture.”
“I can stay tonight, if—”
“No.”
That night, I made my decision.
The next day, I resigned from my teaching position. Packed every memory, every trace of him, and sent it all to my mother’s place.
I’d planned to drain Alfa’s wallet like Emilia did. But no—I was leaving.
He didn’t even show up that day.
Instead, I went to his flat and met Stevan—Alfa’s coworker. He wasn’t alone.
“Alfa’s embezzled company funds. Travel, electronics, rent. We’ve been tracking him.”
Then I saw Alfa’s car. Parked outside a jewelry store.
I called him.
“Where are you, Alfa? You said you’d come.”
“I had a sudden meeting, Milla. I’ll call you later.”
Lie after lie. Enough!
I canceled my morning flight for tonight instead.
Before I left, I gave Stevan Alfa’s hidden number. The one only Emilia and I knew.
“Alfa and Emilia are flying to Bali today. You need to stop them at the airport. This is your chance.”
He traced it. The flight tickets were confirmed.
It was the last gift I ever gave Alfa. Because no matter how much he broke me, I had once loved him with everything I had.
And exposing him?
That was my final act of love.
My phone buzzed.
I stared at the screen. My finger hovered. Then ... I answered.
