The Scarf That Broke Us

the email from Chloe glowing on my phone screen. It felt like a lifeli

. I' m very interested. Send me the d

uly decisive action I had taken for myself in years, and a wave of

king, my hands brushed against an old, framed certificate tucked away on a shelf. It was the "Young Architect of th

d on stage with me, her hand possessively

oice full of what I thought was shared ambition. Now, I understood. My talent was just another ass

an industry gala. I was the promising young designer everyone was talking about, and she was the formidable Victoria Ha

Isabella had said with a knowing look. "Alex, Vi

s unaware, of course. I was just a young man swept off his feet by a powerful, beautiful woman. The rumors started almost immediately. People

tently small and insignificant. I was tasked with designing parking garages and renovating lobbies while more junior architects were given the landmark

vorite cashmere scarf, a gift from my late mother. It was the one deeply personal item I cherished, a

knew, even before I walked ba

ed snugly around his neck was my gray cashmere scarf. He saw me looking at it and a smug, proprie

as a violation that went beyond the affair. That scarf was a piece of my past, a connection to my m

inced myself that I could endure the slights, the manipulation, the coldness. I

s wr

oke through all my defenses. It was the ultimate statement of my worthlessness in her eyes. I was not just replaceable; I

e; it was extinguished, leaving behind an empty, echoing silence. I turned around without a word and