He was certain I couldn't leave him.
And why wouldn't he be? For five years, I'd cut off nearly every relationship I had, pouring everything into orbiting his life.
Back then, I'd fought bitterly with my brother just to be with Antony, defying his objections until I finally walked out of the family home.
To prove to my brother that my choice was right, I'd lied to Antony, told him I was just an orphan with no family left.
Five years, and I'd been too proud to go back to the Barnes family even once.
Turns out my brother had been right all along.
I took a deep breath, turned, and walked into the bedroom.
I dragged out a suitcase and started packing.
Antony leaned against the doorframe, watching me.
He didn't try to stop me. His voice was all mockery.
“Packing a few outfits to scare who, exactly? That temper of yours only exists because I let you get away with it.”
“Walk out that door, and who do you think is going to put up with you the way I have?”
I ignored him, shoving the clothes I wore most into the suitcase.
The moment I zipped it shut, Bonnie's call came through on his phone.
Antony glanced at the screen, made no move to step away from me, and picked up.
“Tony, my foot hurts so bad. Can you take me to the hospital?”
Bonnie's syrupy whine poured out of the speaker.
Antony looked at me.
“Sure. Stay put, I'm on my way.”
He hung up and straightened his jacket.
“Bonnie twisted her ankle. I need to go check on her.”
“Stay home and have a good long think about yourself.”
“When I get back, I don't want to hear the word 'breakup' again.”
I walked out with my suitcase.
Once I'd checked into a hotel, I sent my brother a message.
【I was wrong. Come get me.】
I closed the chat and noticed a new post on my feed.
A photo from Bonnie.
She was sitting in a hospital chair.
A man's hand, long-fingered and elegant, was wrapped around her ankle, kneading it gently.
On that wrist was a Patek Philippe.
The one I'd saved up months of freelance earnings to buy Antony for his birthday last year.
The caption read：Some people just know when to show up and spoil you like a little kid.
The comments underneath had already blown up.
“Ooh, Bonnie, is something going on here?”
“Those hands obviously belong to a gorgeous man. Just make it official already!”
I stared at the comments, cold all the way through.
I didn't blow up. I just closed the app.
Making a scene now would only give Bonnie exactly what she wanted.
That afternoon, I got a call from a publisher I'd worked with before.
“Philippa, that art book you submitted? The editor-in-chief picked it up.”
“There's just one thing. We need you to appear at a signing event next week.”
It was the first piece of good news I'd had in years.
I agreed on the spot.
To get ready for the signing, I went to an upscale styling studio in the city center.
I'd barely sat down when a familiar figure appeared in the mirror.
Bonnie, arm linked through Antony's, laughing and chatting as they walked in.
The moment they saw me, both of them stopped dead.
Bonnie recovered first.
She let go of Antony and sidled up to me, all warmth and smiles.
“Philippa! What are you doing here?”
“A place like this isn't exactly cheap, you know—where'd you even get the money?”
She pitched her voice loud enough for every stylist in the room to turn and look.
I met her fake smile in the mirror.
“None of your business.”
Bonnie covered her mouth with a little laugh.
“Oh, don't be mad.”
“Tony said you stormed out of the house. I was worried you'd end up sleeping on the street.”
