He Deleted My Name From Every Design. I Deleted Him From My Life. Chapter 05
In a bar in Grand Harbor City, Adrian put down his glass and glanced at his phone.
Then he placed it back on the table.
Sophie was still talking.
“Mr. Whitmore, I think I want to make a few more improvements to the structure of this
competition proposal…”
“Hmm,” he replied.
But the next second, an unexpected emptiness settled in his chest.
The day he left with Sophie, he had looked back once.
Claire had been standing at the end of the hallway.
She hadn’t moved.
At the time, he hadn’t cared.
But now, sitting beneath the dim lights of the bar, he suddenly remembered the way she had looked
at him.
There was no anger in her eyes.
Only the calm of someone who had already let go.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
“Hmm? Keep going.”
“I’m finished.”
“Okay.”
He picked up his phone and sent Claire a message.
Failed to send.
He frowned and tried again.
Still failed.
She had already blocked his number.
Three seconds later, his assistant called.
“Mr. Whitmore, I pulled up the security footage you asked for.”
“The footage from the break room that day showed Sophie’s fingers clearly loosened right before she handed Claire the coffee.”
“After reviewing it in slow motion, we confirmed she did it on purpose.”
“And regarding the drawings, the system records show Sophie logged into her account at 1 a.m. and
altered the structural data.”
Adrian ended the call.
Then he stood up.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
Sophie looked up at him.
“Sophie, you’re fired.”
The smile on her face froze.
“W-What?”
“You know exactly what you did.”
“You have two days to leave the architecture firm.”
After saying that, he turned around and walked away.
Sophie hurried after him.
“Mr. Whitmore! I-”
But he didn’t stop.
As the car drove toward the airport, Adrian called Claire again.
The call couldn’t be connected.
He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.
All he could see was Claire crouched on the floor, her forehead pressed against her knees.
“Seven years…”
“What was I even trying to prove?”
When he pushed open the doors of the architecture firm, the receptionist froze.
“Mr. Whitmore? I thought you were–
“Where’s Claire?”
“Ms. Bennett resigned.”
“She finished the handover three days ago and left.”
He stood there for two seconds.
Then he turned around and went home.
He pushed open the door.
His clothes were still hanging in the closet.
But everything that belonged to Claire was gone.
The bathroom sink was spotless, as if no one had ever lived there.
On the coffee table sat a set of keys.
Underneath them was a note.
He walked out onto the balcony.
In the corner was a small pile of ashes.
He crouched down and pushed through them.
A small piece of paper remained unburned.
His handwriting was still visible on it.
“This design deserves to be seen.”
He gripped the burnt piece of paper tightly.
His knuckles turned white.
“Claire.”
There was no answer.
