Self

Farewell, My Love–Blinded Self

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Chapter 1

It was no secret among friends that Yara Simmons

for Yale Johnson.

had fallen hard

Her love was all–consuming; she had no life, no space of her own- she would gladly spend every waking moment with him if she could.

No matter how many times they split, she would be back within three days, asking to make up.

Anyone could say, “We’re done.”

However, not Yara. Not ever.

The moment Yale strutted in with his latest catch, the room went

dead silent for five seconds.

Yara froze mid–peel of her orange. “What’s with the silence? Why’s everyone staring at me?”

“Yara…” Her friends looked at her, eyes full of concern.

On the other hand, Yale was all cool, draping his arm around his date and plopping down on the sofa. “Happy birthday, Zachary,” he said as if he did not have a care in the world

Yara got to her feet. It was Zachary Chavez’s birthday, and she was

not about to cause a scene.

“I need the restroom.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, she caught snippets of the

chatter inside.

“Yale, Yara’s here. Didn’t I give you a heads–up? Why’d you bring her along?”

“Seriously, Yale, you’re getting out of line this time.”

“It’s fine,” Yale replied, releasing the woman’s waist to light up a smoke. His smile was hidden in the curling smoke, like a rogue who played life by his own rules.

The rest of the words were lost as the door closed; Yara did not catch.

them.

She kept her cool, finished up in the restroom, and while fixing her makeup, she caught her reflection and smirked.

“Pathetic.”

She was living a pathetic life.

Yara inhaled deeply, steeling herself with a silent decision that she

made.

However, she was still unprepared for the sight that greeted her when she pushed the door open; her fist clenched around the doorknob, and her defenses nearly shattered.

Yale’s lips were on the woman’s, separated only by a thin piece of

tissue.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers and laughter.

“Damn, Yale’s got game!”

“Those lips are so close!”

“The vibe’s all set now; we want to see a kiss!”

Yara’s grip on the doorknob was shaky.

That was the guy she had been head over heels for six years, and

right then, all she could taste was the bitter sting of irony.

“Hey, cut it out…” someone murmured, nodding toward the door.

All eyes shifted her way.

“Yara, you’re back? We were just goofing around, don’t be upset…”

Yale cut off the feeble excuse, his gaze cool and detached. “Yara, good you’re here. Let’s just lay it all out.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Going in circles these past years has been a drag, and let’s face it, we’ve both checked out.”

Yara’s fingers tightened into a fist, her nails biting into her flesh, but the pain did not register.

Six years of love, and all she got was that they had checked out.

“Xandra’s a great girl, and I want to make things official with her.”

Yara gave a numb nod. “Fine.”

“We may have called it quits, but we’re still pals, right? I’m here if you ever hit a rough patch in the Capitolium.”

“No thanks.” Yara managed a faint smile. “If we’re done, let’s keep it

clean, for her sake too.”

Yale’s eyebrow quirked a flash of surprise.

“Zachary.” Yara turned to the birthday boy. “Happy Birthday. I hope you all have a blast–I’m out. Enjoy the oranges on the table; I peeled them. Don’t let them go to waste.”

Yale was not a fan of fruit, but he made an exception for oranges.

He was fussy, though, insisting on stripping away every trace of white pith before taking a bite.

For years, Yara had meticulously prepared his daily vitamin dose,

peeling the oranges and removing every last bit of pith, arranging them just so on his plate.

Whenever Yale was in a good mood, he would wrap his arms around her and playfully whine, “My girlfriend is just too amazing. How can you be so sweet and caring? Are you doing this in hopes that I’ll pop the question?”

He always knew what she was after but never mentioned he would give it to her.

Yale said, “I’ll have my driver take you.”

“No thanks, I’ve got a ride on the way.”

Zachary chimed in, “Yara, I’ll walk you out.”

Yara gave a polite wave, declined the offer, and headed out.

“Yale, the drama this is causing… I think Yara’s really ticked off this

time.”

“Nah, it’s nothing serious.”

“Right! How many times have they had a spat? When has Yara not come back after a few days, cool as a cucumber at the next party?”

“I’m betting five days this time.”

“I say six.”

Yale glanced at the slightly ajar door of the private room, a chilly smile on his face. “Three hours, tops. She’ll be back looking for me.”

“Sure thing! Yale’s got this in the bag. Everyone knows Yara’s head over heels for him.”

“Man, why can’t I find a woman who’s that into me?”

“You? Dream on, buddy!”

Everyone laughed.

Back at the villa, well past midnight, Yara took half an hour to pack.

her bags.

She had been there three years, yet everything she had could fit into a tiny suitcase.

She left behind the unworn designer outfits and untouched jewelry hanging in the closet. She only felt a pang of regret for the wall of professional books.

It was no big deal, though. She had all that knowledge locked in her head; the books were not so important.

Her eyes swept over the vanity, and Yara pulled open a drawer.

Inside, there was a check for 50 million dollars.

Beneath the check lay a document- the transfer Contract for Plot 3-5

of No. 72 East Suburb.

Even though it was just the suburbs, the place was worth 20 million.

Yale had scrawled his signature on both items during one of their messy, unsuccessful splits, and they had been gathering dust in the

drawer ever since.

He was pretty sure Yara would not take them. To take them would mean the end of everything between them.

Six years for 70 million bucks?

Suddenly, Yara did not feel so shortchanged.

How many could say their youth netted them that kind of cash?

She tossed both items into her purse.

Since he was offering, why would she not accept it?

Their romance was history, but the money was real.

She was not some doe–eyed damsel from those cheesy billionaire. romances who treated cash like trash.

“Hey, is this the cleaning crew? You guys do rush jobs?”

“Yeah, a full–scale cleaning, and I’ll tip extra.”

Yara dropped the keys in the foyer, hopped into a cab, and zoomed off to her best friend’s place.

En route, the cleaner called back to double–check.

“Miss, you sure you’re ditching all this stuff?”

“Yes, it’s all yours to handle.”

She hung up.

Yale stumbled home way past midnight, the cleaners long gone.

The stench of his cologne gave him a headache. He loosened his tie, plopped on the couch, and conked out.

When it was morning, the clatter of dishes from the kitchen stirred

him awake.

He sat up, groggy, reaching for his water glass–nothing but air. His

hand hovered over the coffee table.

A smirk played on his lips. She had returned and tucked him in, but no tea to kill the hangover?

That half–hearted rebellion of hers–still not tired of playing that game after all those years? Please…

Yale stood up. “Today, you’d better-

“Young master, you’re up?”

“Mary?”

“Go freshen up. Breakfast in two, okay? Oh, and were you warm

”

Chapter

enough? I cranked the heat, but I thi

case.”

“Okay.”