Burn The Memory of Him

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I was Carters beautifully kept secret for seven long years.

On the very day his tech startup finally went public, ringing the bell on Wall Street, he officially announced his new relationship with a photo of his hand intertwined with another womans.

Blair, I have to take responsibility for her, he told me. "Youre a survivor. Youve got teeth. You'll be fine without me. But shes fragile. She only has me."

The exit of an adult from a dying romance is supposed to be polite. Dignified.

When the town car finally rolled to a stop outside my familys old estatea place I hadnt seen in yearsa familiar face was waiting by the iron gates.

"Finally figured out how to find your way home?"

He handed me a steaming paper cup of hot apple cider through the rolled-down window.

His tone was distinctly cool, laced with a biting edge. "I've been waiting for you for ten goddamn years."

The night before the company went public, Carter had been insatiable. We spent half the night tangled in the sheets, shifting from one frantic position to another.

Eventually, I collapsed against the mattress, exhausted, and nudged him away with my bare foot.

"Its an IPO tomorrow, Carter, not an execution. If you keep going this hard, we aren't going to survive the week."

He stepped out of the en-suite bathroom, a towel slung low, his dark hair still dripping wet.

"If I told you we actually weren't going to survive thisthat we're donewould you make a scene?"

"Its been seven years..." I pushed myself up on my elbows, the words slipping out automatically. "Are you insane?"

And then the silence stretched. The air in the room shifted. My chest tightened, a hard knot forming in my throat. "There's someone else."

If this had been seven years ago, I would have launched myself off that bed. I would have screamed, thrown things, demanded an explanation with tears streaming down my face.

But I was twenty-seven now.

I reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, lit one, and kept my voice unnervingly level. "So what happens to the engagement party? We already put down the deposit."

Carter plucked the cigarette from my trembling fingers. "Don't smoke. It's an ugly habit."

I watched him place that very same cigarette between his own lips, inhaling deeply without a second thought. A sudden, violent burn of acidity filled my eyes.

"Who is she, Carter?" My voice finally cracked. "Who?"

Was she stunningly beautiful? Was her family old money? What exactly gave her the right to reach into my chest and pull my beating heart out of your hands?

The tears fell then, pathetic and unbidden. Carter frowned, an expression of tired resignation settling over his handsome face.

"Blair, were adults. Let's not do the hysterical, life-or-death routine, alright?"

Carter had never been the kind of man to coddle me. In our early days, I used to throw tantrums. But whenever I did, he would just give me this looka tight, tolerant, utterly patronizing half-smile, as if he were waiting for a toddler to tucker herself out.

I hated that look.

So, I changed. I sanded down my rough edges. I became the "Cool Girl." He loved bragging to his frat-boy buddies and corporate investors about how chill his Blair was. Shes not like other women. She doesn't nag, she doesn't make a scene over nothing.

But sitting in that dim bedroom, the sickening truth finally washed over me.

Other women made scenes because they had the capital to do so. They had the confidence. They knew they were loved, cherished, and protected.

I was "chill," and my reward was seven years of absolute invisibility. I was a ghost who hadn't even earned the dignity of a public title.

I wiped the wetness from my face with the back of my hand, forcing a cold serenity I didn't feel, and stood up to get dressed.

Carter caught my wrist, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against my pulse point.

I froze. The glow of the bedside lamp was sickly and amber, casting his familiar features into shadowed, unrecognizable planes.

"Its barely 4:00 AM. Wait a bit. Its not safe to call an Uber right now."

The words were a needle, piercing straight into the last, stupidly soft corner of my heart.

I felt like an absolute clown.

I yanked my arm away with everything I had. He snatched it back, his grip bruising now, the cool resignation on his face cracking into genuine irritation. "Are you done throwing a fit?"

"If you hadnt turned into this completely closed-off person, why would I have ever fallen for someone else?" he demanded. "Can't you just take a minute and reflect on your own behavior, Blair?"

A dry, hollow laugh ripped its way out of my throat.

He cheats. He breaks every promise he ever made. He destroys a seven-year partnership. And somehow, he is standing here, self-righteous and indignant, blaming me for changing?

He was the exact same man I had loved since I was twenty, yet in that microscopic fraction of a second, it felt as though I was looking at a complete stranger.

The moment my heart truly went ice-cold, the tears miraculously stopped.

I gently, methodically peeled his fingers off my arm. "Okay," I whispered.

There was no point in arguing.

Carter had clearly forgotten something fundamental about me. Underneath the carefully curated "chill girlfriend" facade, Blair had a vicious, unforgiving temper. And I had never, ever lacked the brutal determination to cut my losses and walk away.

Seeing my sudden, eerie calm, Carters demeanor snapped back to an aloof, corporate detachment.

He started talking about her.

"Her name is Mia. Shes not even twenty yet. Her family sheltered her her whole life, so she's incredibly innocent. Sweet-tempered."

"I have to do right by her. If she stays with me without an official title, the gossip will destroy her."

"Blair, youre wild. Youre a fighter. You'll build a great life without me. But shes fragile. She only has me."

As he spoke about her, the hard, ruthless angles of his face softened into something tender.

It was the exact same look the twenty-one-year-old Carter had given me, seven years ago. Leaning against a beat-up vintage motorcycle, holding my hand in the freezing wind.

Think about it, Blair. Im just an unacknowledged bastard from a messed-up family. There's no future with me.

Later that night, he had driven me halfway across the city on that bike, sold it to a chop shop for four thousand dollars, and used the cash to rent a rat-infested studio apartment. Our first home.

We were drowning in poverty back then, armed with absolutely nothing but our love for each other. Yet, I hadn't felt an ounce of bitterness. My heart had felt so full I thought it might burst.

At 6:00 AM, Mia called him.

"Carter," she whimpered through the speaker, her voice a syrupy, pathetic whine. "I had a nightmare. I dreamt you left me."

She cried beautifullythe kind of weeping designed to make a man feel like a god.

Carter didn't say a single word to me. He just grabbed his coat and rushed out the door.

Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from him.

Take your time packing. No rush. Im taking her to the Four Seasons for a few days.

Please make sure you don't leave any of your things behind. If she sees them, itll upset her.

I set the phone down on the mattress and began, in total silence, to pack my life into cardboard boxes.

A moment later, another text lit up the screen.

If you ever need anything, financially, you can always reach out.

We can still be friends.

My fingers curled into a tight, agonizing fist. The next second, I picked up the phone and hurled it as hard as I could into the drywall. The screen shattered, raining glass onto the hardwood.

Carter, you arrogant, cruel bastard.

How terrified was he that I would cling to him, that he felt the need to grant me this condescending, magnanimous title of "friend" just to keep the peace?

It was utterly absurd.

We had only moved into this penthouse two years ago, but as I packed, I realized just how much of myself I had bled into this space.

Outside, a relentless, icy gray rain began to fall over the city skyline.

I stood on my tiptoes, peeling the very last polaroid off the refrigerator door.

It was a candid shot, taken by one of Carters old buddies in a subterranean, dingy pool hall. In the picture, Carter was leaning against a pool cue, exhaling a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.

I was next to him, my face flushed red from coughing.

He had laughed that careless, devastating laugh of his. "Blair, a good girl like you doesn't belong in a dive like this."

I had grabbed the hem of his faded leather jacket, pulled his hand toward my mouth, and taken a deep drag of his cigarette. He panicked, pinching my nose to force me to open my mouth and breathe.

I had coughed so hard I thought my lungs would collapse, burying my face in his chest, looking up at him with watering eyes. "Carter, wherever you are, that's exactly where I belong."

Back then, his mother had just died of a heroin overdose, and his billionaire biological father still refused to acknowledge his existence. Carter was bouncing at that pool hall for under-the-table cash, just scraping by for a hot meal and a couch to sleep on.

The night we finally made it official, a regular at the bar had a polaroid camera and snapped that picture. We were too broke for anniversary gifts or fancy dinners. It was the only tangible memory we had of that night.

I traced my thumb over my own youthful face in the photograph. So raw. So unbelievably stubborn. A girl whose heart was entirely ready to bleed out for the boy she loved.

A twenty-one-year-old Carter had tapped the polaroid with his index finger. "Just wait, Blair. Im gonna climb to the very top."

"And when I do, Im going to marry you in the biggest, most beautiful wedding this city has ever seen."

My newly purchased replacement phone suddenly chimed. A mutual acquaintance had forwarded me a video clip.

It was Carter at a private club, his arm wrapped tightly around a young womans waist, introducing her to his inner circle.

"This is my girlfriend, Mia. Look out for her, alright?"

The girl's face was fresh, naive, and plagued by a bizarre sense of familiarity.

The friend who sent the video added a text: What the hell is this? You guys taking a break again?

I stared at the screen for a long beat. Then, I crushed the old polaroid into a tight, jagged little ball and dropped it into the black contractor trash bag.

No break, I texted back. Were done for good.

I was never going to get that grand, beautiful wedding. At twenty-eight, having finally built his empire, he conveniently developed amnesia regarding everything he had ever promised me.

After boxing up my personal items, I wired an exorbitant amount of money to a luxury demolition crew. I paid them double to strip the apartment down to the studs. Every piece of custom furniture, every rug, every memory we had picked out togethersold for pennies or dragged to the dump.

I left Carter a blindingly white, sterile, echoing empty box.

Just before I permanently left the city limits, the VP of Finance at his company called me in a panic. The books were off by a massive margin ahead of the final IPO audit, and she was begging me to come in and look at the ledgers one last time.

My departure had been so abrupt, I had essentially abandoned my team to work overnight shifts to cover my workload. Guilt chewed at my conscience. So, I agreed to go in.

I didn't expect to be locked out by the biometric scanners in the lobby.

The young receptionist stared at me in absolute shock when I pulled off my baseball cap. It took her a full minute before she tentatively whispered, "Blair?"

She escorted me all the way up to the executive finance suite. Before leaving, she hesitated, then smiled warmly. "You know, you look incredible with barely any makeup on. Really youthful. It suits you."

I naturally had a softer, younger face. But over the years, fighting tooth and nail alongside Carter in cutthroat boardrooms, I had actively weaponized my appearance. I wore severe, dark clothing, sharp stilettos, and deep red lipstick, forcing myself into the mold of a cold, intimidating corporate shark.

I had worn the armor for so long, I had practically forgotten the shape of my own face.

Diane, the seasoned head of finance, sighed heavily when she saw me in a simple sweater and jeans.

After we finally reconciled the accounts, she walked me toward the elevators. It was shift change, and a crowd of my former colleagues swarmed around me, their voices overlapping in genuine distress.

"Blair, you can't just leave like this. The clients from the West Coast accounts are having an absolute meltdown."

"Exactly! Without you playing hardball, we had to concede five percent on the downtown development just to get them to sign the term sheet."

I offered them all polite, comforting smiles. I didn't utter a single negative syllable about Carter.

The exit of an adult from a dying romance is supposed to be polite. Dignified.

I had bled to build this company with him. Even if I was walking away, I wasn't going to burn down the livelihood of the people who worked for me.

Back in the early days, the board was packed with old-money cronies sent by Carters father, men who did nothing but sabotage my every move. Carter had been my shield. He let me act as the battering ram. I fought the bloody battles on the front lines, while he maneuvered in the shadows. Together, we were lethal.

Within three years, we had purged his father's loyalists and secured absolute control of the firm.

But suddenly, a cold, sharp voice sliced through the chatter. "Are we under the impression the company is going to file for bankruptcy just because Blair is no longer on the payroll?"

The crowd instantly fell dead silent, parting like the Red Sea.

Carter stood there, his fingers laced tightly with Mias, glaring at the group of employees.

"If someone walked in here right now, they'd think Blair was the CEO." He tilted his head, his tone laced with venom. "If you miss her that much, you're all welcome to pack your desks and follow her out."

No one dared to breathe. Carters word was absolute law here now. He radiated the kind of arrogant, suffocating authority that only came with immense wealth.

It was just a brutal irony that the very first person he had purged from his empire upon taking the thronewas me.

Mia gave his hand a gentle tug. Her voice was breathy and sweet. "Carter, is this Blair? She looks... a lot different than you described."

Her doe-eyes drifted down to my feet. "Oh my god. We're wearing the exact same shoes..."

Carters brow furrowed. He looked me up and down, his gaze entirely devoid of warmth.

It wasn't just the designer loafers. My oversized trench coat and the baseball cap were from the exact same luxury capsule collection she was wearing.

When I had seen that video clip the night before, I knew Mia looked familiar. Seeing her in the flesh, under the harsh fluorescent lights, it finally clicked. She looked exactly like me.

The pin-straight, raven hair. The pale, unblemished skin. The soft jawline. Looking at her was like staring into a funhouse mirror that reflected the twenty-one-year-old version of myself.

A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. At least his aesthetic taste was consistent.

"Blair," Carter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We agreed you weren't going to make a scene."

My mind snapped back to the present. I let out a tired exhale. "I didn't stalk her, Carter. Believe whatever you want."

Mias bottom lip trembled. "But... this collection literally dropped yesterday. Carter took me to the flagship store to get it."

I knew exactly what game she was playing. The subtle, catty flex of his attention.

What she didn't know was that I possessed a titanium Black Card for that department store. I didn't need to stand in line at a flagship. Before the merchandise even hit the velvet displays, a private concierge hand-delivered the pieces to my penthouse.

In fact, Carter had been the one to sign for the delivery boxes when they arrived.

I bit my tongue, stubbornly refusing to defend myself. I wanted to see what he would do. What he would say.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, his fingers drumming a rapid, irritated rhythm against a nearby glass partition. Anyone who worked with him knew the tell. It was his ultimate signal of lost patience.

"Its pathetic, Blair," he said coldly. "Like a cheap knockoff."

"Why are you humiliating yourself like this? Go to the boutique across the street and buy something else. Change."

He snapped his fingers at his executive assistant, who hurriedly handed him a sleek leather checkbook. Carter uncapped his gold pen and paused.

"How much do you want?" he asked, not looking up. "Name your price right now, get it all out of your system, and never pull a pathetic stunt like this again."

Next to me, Dianes grip on my arm tightened painfully.

My own fingernails bit so hard into my palms they broke the skin.

My breathing grew shallow and erratic, a violent knot twisting in my stomach. I couldn't stop my voice from rising, the volume echoing off the glass walls.

"You think I'm doing this for a payout, Carter?"

His eyes were dead, frozen over. "You gave me seven years. You're entitled to a severance package."

Outside of a very tight inner circle, almost no one in this building knew we had been sleeping together. It was a strategic decision we had made years ago, to ensure the board couldn't use our relationship as leverage.

Once the board was handled, he simply never brought up going public.

God, I had spent hours daydreaming about the day he would finally announce us. The gasps of our colleagues, the champagne, the congratulations.

Never in my darkest nightmares did I imagine that his big "reveal" of our history would be entirely designed to humiliate meto paint me as the hysterical, gold-digging ex-girlfriend who couldn't let go.

Mia practically melted into Carters chest, wrapping both arms around his torso.

Even when Carter and I were deeply, madly in love, he rarely held my hand in front of the staff. He was obsessed with "maintaining optics."

Yet here he was, letting Mia press her face into his neck in front of fifty employees.

"Its okay, Carter," she murmured loudly enough for the room to hear. "She doesn't have to change. It's fine."

"I totally get where shes coming from. I mean, you're such an incredible, successful man. What girl would ever want to let you go?" She beamed up at him, sickeningly sweet. "It just makes me realize how lucky I am. As long as you love me, that's all that matters."

Carter gazed down at her, entirely captivated, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her perfect mouth.

Deep inside my chest, the last remaining pillars of my love for him shattered into fine, useless dust.

The words clawed their way up my throat, thick with the metallic taste of blood from where I had bitten the inside of my cheek. I used the physical pain to ground me.

"You're right," I said, my voice eerily calm. "There is something I want."

Carter smirked, a look of vindicated arrogance crossing his face. "Like I said. Name your price."

I took two deliberate steps forward, reached out, and grabbed the heavy silver St. Jude medallion resting against his sternum.

Years ago, when his father had first recognized him as a legitimate heir, he had handed Carter this failing, debt-ridden tech firm as a sick joke. A test he was meant to fail.

Carter had been terrified. Paralyzed by the pressure. He didn't eat or sleep, desperate to prove his worth.

I had been the one shaking hands in seedy bars, wining and dining volatile investors to secure the seed funding. On the night I finally got the lead investor to sign, I had drank so much scotch my stomach ulcer perforated. I woke up on an operating table.

It was the first time I had ever seen Carter truly lose his mind with fear.

He had run to the hospital in the pouring rain, slipping in the mud. He arrived covered in dirt and blood, looking infinitely worse than the girl in the hospital bed.

He had gripped my hand, sobbing uncontrollably like a little boy.

"Blair, does it hurt? Please tell me it doesn't hurt."

I was hospitalized for a week, and he didn't leave the plastic chair beside my bed for a single second.

When I was coming down from the anesthesia, floating in a haze of pain and confusion, I just kept screaming his name. Every single time I called out, he answered. He didn't stop to eat. He didn't stop to drink water.

By the time I was fully lucid, his vocal cords were completely blown. He could only croak.

One of the night nurses had adjusted my IV and smiled at me. "When you finally fell asleep, he just kept talking. Kept whispering that you were safe, that he was here. He must have said it a thousand times, even though you couldn't hear him."

"He said he wanted his voice to be the only thing in your nightmares so you wouldn't be scared. You've got a good one, honey. You're a lucky girl."

God, how wildly, violently Carter had loved me back then.

The day I was discharged, he disappeared for twelve hours. When he finally showed up at the apartment, his knuckles were bruised and his knees were scraped raw.

But he was grinning like an absolute idiot, holding up a heavy, antique silver medallion.

Then he handed me the exact matching half.

"The guy at the pawn shop swore by these. St. Jude. The patron saint of lost causes. Said they carry a protective aura. That they keep you safe."

"But the trick is, you have to put it around the neck of the person you love. If you put it on me, and I put it on you... it means we survive everything. It means we last forever."

What a brilliant, hilarious joke. His definition of forever.

Seven years. That was the lifespan of his eternity.

Hot tears spilled over my lower lashes, dropping silently onto the marble floor. I stared directly into Carter's eyes.

I watched the smug irritation in his expression slowly warp into genuine, chaotic panic.

"I want this," I whispered.

"Seven years of my life. This is the only thing that covers the debt."

I yanked my hand back with everything I had.

Carter let out a sharp cry of pain as the heavy silver chain snapped, slicing an angry red line into the back of his neck.

When he had originally given it to me, the pendant was strung on a cheap, frayed leather cord. Once the company took off, Carter hated looking at the cheap leather. He dragged me to a jeweler and forced me to swap it for pure platinum chains.

He made it expensive, but he also made it fragile.

I reached up and unclasped my own pendant, letting it drop into my palm.

Seeing my raised hand, Carter lunged forward, his voice cracking with sheer terror.

"Blair, don't"

But it was too late. I hurled both pieces of silver violently against the marble floor.

The heavy metal dented, the clasps shattering into unrecognizable, broken pieces of shrapnel.

Some things, once broken, can never be repaired.

This was the end, Carter. The absolute, irreversible end.