1 The year I turned thirty-two, my dad's nagging about marriage became an all-out, indiscriminate assault. So I promptly broke up with my supermodel girlfriend of four years, packed my bags, and moved back to my hometown. My best friend was floored. "Are you insane? I thought you were obsessed with Sienna's face. You can really just walk away?" I scoffed. "I'm not an idiot. A woman like her is a thrill to date, but to actually marry her? Do I look like I want to spend the rest of my life catching her cheating and then forgiving her?" The words had barely left my mouth when a voice, as cold as ice yet terrifyingly familiar, cut through the air behind me. "Lucas, is that really why you dumped me?" ... Dragging my suitcase back to the apartment Sienna and I shared, I bumped right into a guy walking out. He was wearing a flimsy tank top with Sienna’s oversized shirt thrown carelessly over it. Barefoot, he was carrying a pair of limited-edition sneakers in one hand. I recognized him. Aaron. A print model Sienna had recently signed. Barely twenty, bursting with a raw, youthful energy. I instinctively took a step back, melting into the shadows of the elevator bay. A few seconds later, Sienna followed him out. She was wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, her hair still dripping, her skin flushed with a post-shower glow. Leaning against the doorframe, she lit a slender cigarette, her expression a perfect blend of languid and weary. After a moment, she casually tossed an unopened box for the latest iPhone at him. "Here." Aaron’s eyes lit up. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Sienna with a joyous shout. "Oh my god! No way, the new one! Sienna, you're the best!" "Picked it up on my way back from the Paris show." "I fucking love you, baby!" Aaron leaned in to kiss her. But Sienna's patience had worn thin. With a slight frown, she turned her head, dodging the kiss. "Alright, that's enough. Get going." The boy didn't seem to mind. He pouted, a mix of flirtation and complaint in his voice. "So cruel. Use a guy and toss him aside. Just a minute ago in bed you were calling me your little wolf pup." He clutched the new phone box gleefully, blowing Sienna a kiss as he left. "Gone! See you at the studio tomorrow." Only after he was gone did I step out from the shadows. Sienna clearly hadn't expected me back from my business trip so early. She froze for a second, but the surprise quickly melted back into her usual mask of indifference. "You're back. Didn't you say—" "Flight got changed," I said, my eyes fixed on her. "It was late. I didn't want to wake you." The faint, reddish marks on her collarbone were fresh and damningly obvious, but she showed no hint of shame. She walked over, reaching for my luggage. "You must be exhausted. I'll run you a bath." As she bent over, the towel loosened, revealing more of her flushed skin. It was as if the scene I'd just witnessed had never happened. Seeing me stand motionless, she raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?" Then, a flicker of understanding crossed her face, and a slow, lazy smile played on her lips. "Miss me?" She moved closer, her scent a heady mix of her floral body wash and another man's cologne. Her hand slid expertly under the hem of my shirt. "Then let's take care of business first, and then we can—" Her fingertips, calloused from years of handling cameras and paintbrushes, traced a path across my skin, raising a familiar, tingling heat. I closed my eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. I pushed her away. I have to admit, I was addicted to Sienna's body. I’d pursued her after seeing her just once at an art exhibition, completely thunderstruck by her beauty. But now, whether it was the ten-hour flight or the lingering image of the boy who had just left, all I felt was a knot of disgust. I had zero interest. Sienna was rarely rejected by me. She stood there, stunned for a moment, before her expression darkened. "What's with the attitude?" My gaze dropped to the floor, landing on a single man's sock on the entryway rug. It wasn't mine. Sienna saw it too. She clicked her tongue, her face tightening with annoyance. A dead silence fell over the living room. She pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it, the smoke coiling around her like a shroud. "He's just a model. Drank too much, had nowhere to go. I let him crash here for a night." "We didn't do anything." 2 I stared at her, the white smoke a veil between us, obscuring both our faces. But we both knew how pathetic that excuse was. This wasn't the first time. Sienna was born to be surrounded by admirers, a moth drawn to an endless series of flames. She was like this when I met her. My company was launching an art collaboration, and my friend took me to meet a rising avant-garde photographer. He warned me she was brilliant but had a terrible temper. I wasn't a fan of artists; they always struck me as overly dramatic. And then Sienna walked in. She wore a simple white shirt, her slightly-too-long hair tied in a messy knot at the back of her head, a few stray strands falling across the bridge of her perfect nose. The moment she entered, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the conference room. Her face was a masterpiece sculpted by the gods. She lifted her gaze, and her almond-shaped eyes, the kind poets write about, swept over the room with a detached, almost careless coolness. I didn't hear a single word she said that day. My mind was consumed with one thought: how to make her mine. After the meeting, a crowd swarmed her, trying to get her number. She turned them all down with an icy stare. Only I persisted, cornering her in the parking garage. After twenty-six years of being terminally single, it was the boldest move of my life. Maybe she was annoyed, maybe she found it novel, but whatever the reason, I became her boyfriend. And I had been, until now. But I knew that in our four years together, Sienna had never truly loved me. Or rather, she loved parts of me. She loved that I was independent, that I was "understanding," that I could handle the PR disasters that constantly swirled around her. She loved that I never questioned the gossip, the late nights, the endless string of "friends." Every time I caught her, she'd toss out a flimsy excuse, and I would forgive her. She once laughed at me, saying I was too clear-headed, not like a real man in love. She also joked that the day she met her true soulmate, she'd kick me to the curb without a second thought. Our relationship was held together by my tolerance alone. "You promised me you wouldn't bring people back to the apartment anymore," I said, my voice low, my eyes fixed on the sock. A flicker of mockery crossed her face. She was in no mood to placate me. "Since when did you get so hung up on details?" She leaned in, blowing a stream of smoke in my face, her eyes glinting with a cruel amusement. "Can't handle it?" "If you can't handle it, then get the hell out." She'd said that countless times over the past four years. And every time, I was the one who backed down, who apologized, who held her and begged her not to be angry. Over time, she learned my weakness. She knew that as long as she held that threat over my head, I was powerless. I turned my head away. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Sienna's hand shot out, her fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice. She had high, sharp cheekbones that gave her an intimidating intensity when she was serious. "Know when to quit, Lucas. Don't push your luck." I yanked my hand free and walked into the guest room. A few moments later, the front door slammed with enough force to shake the walls. Sienna was gone. She was angry. I knew it. After all, I was always the one to compromise, to soothe her ego. I'd never given her the cold shoulder like this before. I rolled over and opened my phone. In the family group chat, my dad had sent another photo of a woman. "Lucas, this is the one Aunt Katherine introduced. A university professor. You're 32 this year, it's time to get serious." I switched to my work chat. My boss had tagged me. "@Lucas, HQ is setting up a new Brand Strategy department and they need a Director. I think your skills are a perfect fit. The resources and platform at headquarters are on a whole other level. Think about it." My dad wanted me to come home for arranged dates. My company wanted to promote me and transfer me to headquarters, which just so happened to be in my hometown. The timing, the place, the people—it seemed I had no reason to stay in this city anymore. I sighed. To be honest, I really liked Sienna. She was beautiful, she had a killer body, and we were incredible in bed. Most importantly, she was a mess. Being with her was easy. I didn't have to think about the future or take any real responsibility for her. I met her when I was buried in stress at work, just looking for a release. I'm picky about looks, a fatal flaw, but then I found Sienna. I had her during her prime years. She was the one who soothed me with her body through countless late nights while I was fighting for my KPIs. And while she had a revolving door of men, she was careful. All her flings had to provide regular health reports. I took precautions; I wasn't afraid of catching anything. Finding another... partner... this compatible would be tough. But it couldn't be helped. Dating is one thing, marriage is another. I liked Sienna a lot. But I also knew, with absolute clarity, that she was not the one. Now, the game was over. 3 Sienna didn't come back that night. For the next few days, she completely vanished. My texts went unanswered. My calls went straight to voicemail. Then, a red exclamation mark appeared next to my messages. She'd blocked me. Her signature move: the cold shoulder. It had happened before. Sienna was a master of the silent treatment. Each time, I'd have to hunt her down at her art gallery or her favorite bars, groveling and begging until she'd unblock me. But this time, I was busy with my work handover. I didn't have time to play her games. That evening, as I was booking my flight back to HQ, my phone rang. It was Sienna's assistant. The background noise was deafening—thumping music and the riotous laughter of a crowd. "Mr. Hayes? Sienna's had a bit too much to drink. She's at a bar called Phantom. Could you possibly come and get her?" Sienna loved to party. Her family was loaded; art was just an expensive hobby. I once asked her why she didn't join the family business. She'd scoffed, saying her mother's illegitimate children were already tearing each other apart over the inheritance, and she couldn't be bothered to join the fight. Besides, her grandmother's and father's shares would eventually be hers anyway. She just wanted to live her life exactly as she pleased. Sienna had zero career ambition. In that respect, we were polar opposites. Whenever I landed a big deal or got a promotion, I'd tell her, and she'd respond with a listless disinterest. She'd once said contemptuously that killing yourself for a salary that couldn't even buy a bottle of Ace of Spades was pointless. I knew we were fundamentally different people. We had nothing in common except for the physical connection. I didn't understand her soul; I only coveted her body. She ignored my efforts; she only took my compliance for granted. Which was fine. It meant that when we split, neither of us would be heartbroken. I thought for a moment, then agreed. After hanging up, I glanced at my flight details. Ten in the morning, the day after tomorrow. I sighed. I hadn't really wanted to break up this quickly. We were so good in bed, and with the stress of a new position, I was kind of hoping for one last go. A breakup fuck. I clicked my tongue, a little disappointed. But since the opportunity had presented itself, I might as well go with the flow. ... When I arrived at Phantom, Sienna was the center of attention in a VIP booth, surrounded by a glittering crowd. Men and women, all stylish, all beautiful, their faces glowing with the collagen of youth. It made sense. Sienna was rich, gorgeous, and generous. On her, even promiscuity was spun into the "untamed" charm of an artist. I subconsciously touched the fine lines around my own eyes, recalling something Sienna had once said with a hint of disdain. "Lucas, you're 32. Can't you take better care of yourself? Stop being so rugged." No wonder she was tired of me. She was surrounded by kids in their early twenties. I stayed silent, standing at the edge of the crowd. Our eyes met across the booth. She acted like she didn't see me, her gaze flicking away almost immediately. Aaron, his face flushed with alcohol, was practically draped over her, his voice syrupy. "Come on, Sienna, one more drink." Sienna smiled. Under the shifting lights, her almond-shaped eyes shimmered like dark water, breathtakingly beautiful but utterly devoid of warmth. "Drinking like this is boring. You feed it to me." "How?" Sienna didn't answer, just lowered her gaze to his lips. It took him half a second to understand. A flash of ecstasy lit up his eyes. He tilted his head back and downed the glass of champagne. Then, Sienna's hand shot out, grabbing the back of his head as she crashed her lips against his. Her kiss was anything but gentle; it was a release, an act of aggression. Aaron tilted his head back to receive it, the corners of his eyes turning red from a lack of oxygen. Champagne dribbled from the corners of their locked mouths. The atmosphere around them exploded. Whistles and cheers erupted from the crowd. I knew she was doing it for me. She was punishing me. Punishing me for not placating her the other night, for daring to give her the cold shoulder. It wasn't until I walked right up to their booth that the noise died down. Everyone turned to watch the show. Sienna looked up, her expression placid. "What are you doing here?" I stared at that face, and for a fleeting moment, I was lost in the memory of four years, of countless nights tangled together. In the heat of passion, we had even said "I love you." Did it hurt? Maybe a little. But it wasn't agony. After all, I had always known who Sienna was. Promiscuous, always chasing the next thrill, incapable of saying no. Selfish, raised to be the center of the universe, never considering anyone's feelings but her own. My voice trembled as I spoke. "Sienna, you've gone too far." She looked at me, and though she was sitting and I was standing, I felt as if she were looking down on me. She wore that same placid expression, tinged with a faint, contemptuous smile. "Too far? You can always break up with me. I'm not stopping you." I said nothing, just held her gaze. I couldn't count how many times she'd used that threat against me. Eighty? A hundred? A friend next to her must have thought she'd pushed it, tugging at her arm. "Sienna, come on. Look at Lucas, he's crushed." And in fact, my eyes were red. If you're going to put on a show, you go all the way. When that single tear hit the carpet, I saw her expression falter, just for a second. The hand holding her cigarette twitched. But she said nothing, only watched me with that cold, unwavering stare. The next second, I spoke, my voice barely a whisper. "Fine, Sienna." "Let's break up." The mask on Sienna's face finally cracked. For a moment, I thought she was going to flip the table. But instead, she laughed. It was a laugh that didn't reach her eyes, a sound that seemed squeezed from between clenched teeth. "Alright, Lucas. You've grown a spine. But you remember this: I don't do second chances." "So don't come fucking crawling back to me like a dog." "I won't," I nodded, wiping the tear from my cheek. Then I turned and walked away, and I didn't look back. Sienna didn't come home that night. I spent the early hours deleting her from my contacts, my socials, my life, and packing the last of my things. The next morning, I was on the first flight back to headquarters. As the plane climbed into the clouds, I pulled out my SIM card and dropped it into the trash bag. 4 I never contacted Sienna again. Life back at headquarters quickly fell into a routine. I quickly adapted to the rhythm of the new department and even met the woman my parents had arranged for me to see.
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