Chapter 41 Why are you leaving?

Chapter 41 Why are you leaving?
I walked behind him quietly. We entered the elevator, and the doors closed. The air felt heavy, full of emotions I didn’t want to face. I moved to the far side, trying to put space between us.

He pressed the button marked PH. That meant the penthouse. The elevator started going up, and it felt like forever before we reached the top.

The motion didn’t startle me; if anything, it confirmed what I already suspected. Marco seemed loaded, and this was just another reminder of the world he lived in, a world far above mine.

“Why did we have to come here?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Marco looked at me but didn’t answer. He just kept walking to the door, calm and sure of himself, while I followed slowly, unsure of what waited inside..

This is where I die, I thought. How can I trust someone this much?

I used to criticize those women in movies—the ones who followed men without thinking twice. I told myself I would never be like them. And yet, here I was, walking behind Marco, doing exactly what I swore I wouldn’t.

He opened the door, and for a moment I lost my mind. The place looked like heaven. I couldn’t think of any word good enough to describe it.

I stood there, taking it all in—the wide space, the lights, the view. Minutes seemed to pass while I just admired everything. I didn’t even notice Marco was staring at me until I finally turned my head.

“What?” I asked. He only shrugged his shoulders and walked toward what looked like a liquor bar. Rich people and alcohol, I thought

“What do you want to drink?” he asked

I hesitated. I could use a drink, but it might interfere with work tomorrow. Still, one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. I debated with myself while he stood there, waiting, his eyes fixed on me.

“Any dry wine,” I finally said

He looked at me, gave a small nod, and turned back to the bar.

“Can we get straight to why we’re here? I had a long day and I need to rest,” I said. “Please be quick.

Marco paused with the wine bottle in his hand. His eyes met mine, steady and unreadable. For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy enough to make me shift in my seat.

“You are impatient,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

I pressed my lips together, feeling the weight of his words. Maybe I was impatient, but after the long day I’d had, I didn’t have the strength for games. I wanted answers, not silence.

Marco poured the wine slowly, almost deliberately, as if testing how long I could wait. The sound of liquid hitting the glass filled the quiet room, and I realized he was dragging this out on purpose.

“I have been engaged before—with the same lady you saw that day,” Marco finally said, breaking the silence.

Oh, so it’s exes getting back together, I thought to myself, the words bitter in my mind

He walked toward me, holding out the wine glass. I took it slowly, my fingers brushing the cool stem, while he lifted his bourbon and drank without hesitation. His calmness only made my thoughts louder.

“In the type of business I’m in, you don’t marry for love,” he said. “You marry for alliance. Love makes you weak, and they can easily target you.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and cold. I stared at him, trying to read his face, but he looked calm, almost detached, as if this was a rule he had lived by for years

I felt a chill run through me. So this is what he believes, I thought. Love is weakness. Marriage is strategy.

“She knows these terms,” Marco said. “It was decided that we call back our engagement because of circumstances. She will give me heirs, and after that we will decide what happens.”

His voice was steady, almost cold, as if he was talking about a business deal instead of a life. I held the wine glass tighter, the taste already bitter before it touched my lips. So this is what it means to him, I thought. Marriage, heirs, decisions—everything but love.

So this is it? I thought. It could have been a text

He just had to bring me here, to pull off the last bandage in person. Not that I wanted a future with him—but the way he makes me feel still confuses me.

I just said, “Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say.

The word felt small, almost empty, but it was all I could manage. My mind was racing, yet my mouth refused to follow. Marco didn’t seem surprised—he only leaned back with his glass, as if my silence was the answer he expected

I sat there, holding the wine, wondering if I had just agreed to something I didn’t fully understand.

I had to make sure he understood what my “okay” meant.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I only have a few weeks left before I go back home. It’s not like we were anything. Enjoy your married life.”

The words came out steady, even though my chest felt tight. I wanted him to know I wasn’t holding on, that I wasn’t waiting for him. Still, as I spoke, his eyes stayed on me, unreadable, and I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not.

He quickly stood up and began pacing through the room, his movements sharp, restless. It was like I had said something offensive.

I watched him, unsure if I should speak or stay quiet. The sound of his footsteps filled the silence, each step heavier than the last. My words replayed in my head, and I wondered if I had crossed a line I didn’t even see.

“Why are you leaving?” he asked, his voice sharper now, cutting through the silence.