My Future Self Begged Me to Walk Away Chapter 07

The venue fell entirely dead silent.

Everyone was still immersed in the shocking reversal that had just unfolded, unable to snap out of it. The camera flashes flickered hesitantly before turning their lenses toward me. I calmly slipped my phone away, turned around, and walked out through the side exit.

The evening wind rushed over my face the moment I stepped outside the hotel. I took a deep, centering breath.

The woman who had been floating beside me all this time simply stared at me, frozen, tears silently streaming down her entire face.

“It’s over…” she murmured, as if asking herself, or perhaps asking me. “Just like that… it’s over?”

I didn’t answer right away. I merely reached up and wiped the tears from her weathered cheeks.

“Yeah, it’s over.”

“Our nightmare is finally over.”

Returning to the apartment where I had lived for five years, I began to pack my bags. The jewelry, the expensive designer bags, and every luxury item Ulysses Vanderbilt had ever given me—I left them all behind, untouched. I only packed a few pieces of clothing I wore regularly, a handful of books, and a small picture frame.

The second I zipped my suitcase shut, the sound of a key turning echoed from the front door. Ulysses pushed the door open, bringing the crisp, biting cold of the night in with him.

His eyes landed on the luggage resting at my feet, and his pupils contracted violently. “Where are you going?”

I didn’t offer an answer. Instead, I pulled up the handle of my suitcase and walked toward the door.

As I tried to walk past him, he suddenly shot out his hand and grabbed my wrist tightly, where a deep, uneven old scar rested.

“Claire, where the hell are you going?”

I stopped in my tracks, turning a detached, level gaze onto him. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I held the press conference, and the truth is out. We are even now.”

“As for where I’m going, I don’t believe I need to report my itinerary to you.”

“Even?” Ulysses looked as if he had been physically struck by the word. He took a sharp step forward, closing the distance between us, his eyes turbulent with a dark storm of chaotic emotions. “How could we ever be even?”

“These past three years… it was my fault.” His throat bobbed, and his voice dropped lower, scraping out with immense difficulty. “I shouldn’t have intentionally used Melody just to spite you. I shouldn’t have abandoned you time after time, and I never should have used money to humiliate you…”

“Claire, I was just… I was terrified you’d look down on me.”

“I was so afraid that once you knew I couldn’t have biological children, you’d view me as broken and abandon me just like everyone else would.”

“That’s why I… that’s why I used her to try and prove to myself that I was still desirable… I never imagined things would turn out like this…” He rambled incoherently, desperately trying to justify himself, clawing at whatever strings were left between us. “I only just realized that you’re the only one who genuinely loved me for who I am. Melody… she’s nothing but a fraud! She got knocked up by some random stranger, and then she staged a fake suicide just to frame you and manipulate me!”

“Claire, let’s start over, okay?”

“I’ll give the wedding back to you. No—we’ll throw an even grander ceremony! We can go register our marriage at the courthouse, first thing tomorrow morning!” He made his frantic promises, his eyes gleaming with a desperate, final shred of hope.

The phantom in the air turned her face away, unable to bear the sight any longer.

I listened to him patiently until he finished his plea. Then, finger by finger, I slowly pried his cold, trembling hand off my a deep, uneven old scar marked her wrist.

“Ulysses, it’s too late.”

“Your love is a luxury I can no longer afford, nor do I ever want it again.”

Ulysses froze entirely in his tracks, every ounce of color draining from his face until he looked like ash. He stared at me, his expression shifting from desperation to absolute despair, before finally settling into a hollow, dead grayness. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to force out one more word, but in the end, nothing came.

I gripped the handle of my suitcase, walked right past him, and stepped out of the apartment without looking back. Behind me, the front door clicked shut softly. With it, the curtains closed on the ridiculous, pathetic five years of my life.

As I walked down the stairs, my phone began to vibrate frantically in my hand. Tapping the screen, I saw that the post-press conference coverage and speculative timeline breakdowns had already taken over the media. The headlines were increasingly sensationalized.

[The Ultimate Plot Twist! Staged Jump Into River Proves to Be an Escape with a Bastard Child!]

[Vanderbilt CEO’s Infertility Exposed? Assistant Casts a Wide Net to Frame the True Fiancée!]

[Deep Dive Into Melody Sterling’s Lounge Records: Who Exactly Was the One-Night Stand?]

The tide of public opinion had completely reversed overnight. The exact same crowd that had hurled venomous insults at me just days ago was now tearing Melody apart with far more ruthless language. The sparse comments that mentioned my name had shifted entirely into tones of “sorrow,” “sympathy,” and “falling for the wrong man.”

I skimmed through a few lines before closing the page for good. The chaos, the insults, and the newfound sympathy had absolutely nothing to do with me anymore.