Chapter 2

I let out a cold laugh.

I thought back to the time when I drank so much at a business dinner that I ended up vomiting blood into the toilet. Veronica had barely glanced at me, casually suggesting I take some antacids and get over it.

Now, Ethan was clearly faking an illness, but the ever-composed Veronica—the same woman who could negotiate multi-million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat—was panicking like a street brawler ready to defend her precious assistant.

I sighed and reluctantly called for an ambulance.

When the doctor finally confirmed that Ethan was fine, Veronica practically sagged with relief, her eyes filled with gratitude.

I couldn’t stand to watch their little performance, so I turned and headed for the exit.

But just as I reached the hallway, Veronica rushed after me and grabbed my arm.

I frowned, fully expecting her to yell at me, to blame me for “stressing Ethan out” and causing his so-called episode. Instinctively, I tried to pull away.

To my surprise, she didn’t lash out.

Instead, she slipped the project manager’s badge back around my neck and lightly touched the arm she’d slapped earlier. Her voice softened, almost coaxing:

“Jackson, you know how Ethan is—he loves to joke around. You shouldn’t take him so seriously. There’ll be plenty of chances to make an announcement later. Just wait a little longer, okay?”

She paused, her tone turning slightly stern.

“This project is too important for you to mess around with. Let’s not be impulsive. I’m willing to let this slide for now.”

I gave a noncommittal hum, not bothering to argue.

Veronica studied me for a moment, as if trying to gauge my reaction. Then, almost as if she were offering an olive branch, she held out a crumpled gift box.

“By the way, I saw the roses you sent me earlier. They’re beautiful—I appreciate it. When you get home, why don’t you put them in a vase? Oh, and I have something for you too.”

I couldn’t help but smirk internally. This was classic Veronica—her usual “carrot and stick” routine.

The gift box looked oddly familiar, though. Then I remembered: about two weeks ago, Ethan had posted on social media about accidentally staining a tie Veronica had given him. He’d thrown the whole thing—box and all—into the trash, lamenting the loss in a way that was more brag than complaint. Veronica had commented under the post, promising to buy him ten more.

I opened the box.

Inside was a cheap knockoff tie. Just running my finger along the edge made the dye rub off. The receipt was still tucked inside, confirming its bargain-bin status.

She hadn’t blinked when buying Ethan a luxury-brand tie, but for me? A counterfeit piece of junk.

I didn’t say anything, though. I simply nodded and replied, “Got it. If there’s nothing else, I’ll head out.”

As I rounded the corner and passed by a trash can, I didn’t hesitate. I tossed the box inside without a second thought.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed the number of a tech company that had been trying to recruit me for years.

“About your offer,” I said. “I’ve decided to accept.”

This was no ordinary company—it was a Fortune 500 giant, one of the best in the industry. They’d been relentless in courting me, but I’d turned them down every time.

Why?

Because I’d wanted to stay by Veronica’s side, to help her build the company we’d dreamed of together.

On the other end of the line, the HR representative enthusiastically listed off the company’s benefits and competitive salary package. As they spoke, I realized I’d driven all the way home without noticing.

I tightened my grip on the phone as I stared out the windshield.

Years ago, I’d given up a promising executive role to support Veronica. Together, we’d built her company from the ground up.

I’d sacrificed my health, working myself to exhaustion. Every ounce of my energy had gone into helping us succeed.

Now that we’d finally “made it,” Veronica’s heart was no longer with me.

Maybe it never had been.

From now on, I’d live for myself.

I sent a message to our project partners, informing them that I was stepping down as project manager. Since they’d invested based on my reputation and work, they deserved to know.

Afterward, I booked a flight for the next day and started packing my things.

As I pulled a coat from the back of the closet, an old photo album slipped out and fell open on the floor.

The picture staring back at me was from eight years ago, back when Veronica and I had first started dating. We were both so young, leaning into each other shyly.

I picked up the album and flipped through the pages.

Veronica had insisted on taking these photos, saying they were a way to document our struggles so we could look back and appreciate how far we’d come.

We’d gone through so much together—sharing a tiny apartment, watching pirated movies on an old laptop, splitting a single piece of meat on New Year’s Eve.

Those moments had been hard, but they’d also been filled with happiness. They were what had driven me to work harder, to build a better life for us.

But as I flipped further, I noticed a pattern.

The people in the photos grew more polished, the backgrounds more luxurious. But the photos themselves became fewer and farther between.

From one every few days to one a month.

Then one a year.

And after Ethan showed up?

Nothing.

Veronica and I no longer had a relationship outside of work. She didn’t care if I skipped meals, if I worked myself sick, or if I injured myself in the lab.

But she doted on Ethan. She canceled business dinners to take him out to eat, claiming his mild stomach issues needed attention. She indulged him, excused his behavior, and protected him like he was some precious treasure.

Once, I’d asked her why.

Her response had been cold and dismissive: “We’ve been through tough times. I didn’t expect you to be so whiny at your age. Ethan’s different—he’s pure and kind. I don’t want him to suffer like we did.”

I closed the album, suddenly disgusted by the memories it held. Without hesitation, I dropped it into the trash.

As I continued packing, my phone rang. It was the movie theater.

“Ethan, your private screening is about to begin. If you don’t arrive within ten minutes, we’ll have to release the tickets to other customers.”

Back when Veronica and I were struggling, she’d always dreamed of watching a movie in an actual theater. She said it was her idea of luxury.

I’d proposed to her in a theater, promising to give her the life she deserved.

Tonight, I’d planned to recreate that moment—to finally announce our relationship publicly. I’d rented out the largest theater in the city, thinking it would be a romantic gesture.

But she hadn’t shown up.

I hung up and told the manager, “Give it to someone else.”

A moment later, Veronica sent me a text:

“I have a business dinner tonight. Can’t make it to the movie.”

For once, I wasn’t angry. Just tired.

Then Ethan posted on social media.

The photo showed Veronica feeding him popcorn and holding a soda for him to drink. His caption read:

“I like quiet nights. The boss rented out a whole theater just for us. The soda she fed me tasted so sweet.”

So this was her “business dinner.”

I didn’t confront her. I didn’t care anymore.

That night, I slept better than I had in years.

In the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by the sudden glare of the bedroom light.

Blinking against the brightness, I saw Veronica standing by the bed, her face pale and filled with disbelief.

“Jackson,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re… actually sleeping?”