At my birthday gala, I wanted to invite my fiancé Julian to open the first dance. Instead, I overheard him talking to his best friend. “You obviously want to ride Sarah’s family name to the top. So why have you humiliated her at her own birthday party five years running? Watching those socialites mock her as a lovesick fool—doesn’t that bother you at all?” “It does.” Julian swirled his whiskey on the rocks. “But what can I do? I lost a bet to Cynthia.” “I promised to let Sarah be embarrassed at her birthday gala six years in a row. Besides, Sarah’s a Claire—even if she loses face, no one would dare laugh to hers. Tonight marks the end of year six. Next year, I’m proposing to her at her party. I swear it.” With that, he loosened the tie I’d hand-embroidered for him, ran his fingers over the hidden monogram, and smiled. “This tie—I’ll give it to Peter as a little welcome gift later.” His friend froze. “Peter? Isn’t that Cynthia’s dog?” “If I don’t knock Sarah down a peg now and then, Cynthia starts feeling inferior.” Julian’s voice dripped with indulgence. Standing outside the door, I had no interest in hearing another word. I turned and walked away. When Grandpa entrusted me with executive control of the consortium, he’d given me one warning: “As the head of the Claire family, you are permitted no more than five acts of foolishness for love in your entire lifetime.” Since in this sixth year, the tie I’d stayed up all night embroidering was only good enough to serve as a leash for his childhood sweetheart’s dog— This wedding was off. … Ten minutes later, my twenty-fourth birthday gala commenced at the Hampton beachfront estate. A jazz band played as I stood at the top of the double helix staircase, a Chanel gown sculpting my waist. Julian sat at the head table. Beside him was Cynthia in a red dress. A golden retriever circled excitedly at their feet. “Peter, come here.” Julian snapped his fingers. The golden bounded over, tail wagging furiously. Under the gaze of every notable in the room, Julian removed the tie from his neck. He looped it around the golden retriever’s collar and knotted it. Nearly everyone at the gala recognized that tie. It was the token I’d presented to him at our engagement party—the family crest woven into its hidden pattern, stitched by my own hand. “How handsome,” Cynthia cooed, pressing her body against Julian’s side. “Sarah wouldn’t have agreed to give the tie to Peter, would she?” “She won’t mind.” Julian withdrew his hand from petting Peter. When he looked up, his gaze cut through the champagne tower and the crowd, landing precisely on me. Before—when I didn’t know the truth—I would have stormed over and confronted Cynthia on the spot. And Julian would have publicly berated me for behaving beneath a lady of my station, and it would have ended with my apology. Now that I knew the truth, I couldn’t even summon a flicker of anger. I looked at that tie, drew a deep breath, gathered my skirt, and descended. My heels struck the floor with sharp, clear clicks. The crowd parted to either side, opening a path for me. I walked straight to Julian. Cynthia flinched, shrinking behind him. Julian frowned, stepped forward, and shielded Cynthia with his body. “Sarah, as the hostess of this party, you should show some grace.” He spoke first—a warning. I didn’t look at him. My gaze settled calmly on the golden retriever. “Nice color on the tie. Matches the dog’s coat beautifully.” My voice was perfectly level. Julian’s smile froze. Cynthia’s practiced grin solidified in an instant. “What did you just say?” Julian’s voice dropped low. “I said they’re a good match.” I casually plucked a champagne flute from a servant’s silver tray, raised it slightly toward him. “Since you’re into that sort of thing, consider the tie my gift to him. A proper introduction present.” I turned and walked toward the dance floor. Behind me, Julian shot to his feet. His high-backed chair scraped against the floor with a piercing shriek. “Sarah, stop!” I didn’t break stride. For Julian’s sake, I had already exhausted every ounce of Grandpa’s patience. The token of our engagement—he’d given it away to a dog with his own hands. Six years of betrothal. It ended here.
After the gala, I returned to the townhouse in Midtown. This property was the wedding residence Grandpa had prepared for me. For the past few years, Julian had been the one living in it. I gathered the business documents from the marble coffee table, preparing to move out for good. The private elevator chimed open. Julian stumbled in, reeking of alcohol and Cynthia’s signature Jo Malone perfume. He yanked his collar open roughly and threw his suit jacket onto the leather sofa with a heavy thud. “What exactly was that about tonight?” He walked up to me, his frame completely blocking the overhead light. I placed the last document into my briefcase. “Nothing in particular. I just told the truth.” “Told the truth?” He let out a cold laugh, voice thick with derision. “Cynthia just thought the dog was cute! Did you have to embarrass her in front of all those socialites?” Julian lit a cigar. “Do you have any idea how long she cried tonight? She keeps blaming herself! She says it’s her fault you were unhappy at your own birthday party!” I looked him dead in the eye. “Julian, it was *my* birthday gala.” “So what?” He exhaled a plume of blue-gray smoke. “You’re the Claire heiress—you have everything! Cynthia only has me! I was just trying to make her happy. Do you really have to be this petty about it?” At that moment, the door swung open. Cynthia walked in wearing Julian’s shirt from earlier that day. Her eyes were rimmed red. “Julian, please don’t fight with Sarah because of me.” She tugged at his sleeve, voice choked with tears. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have said the tie was pretty. I’ve just never seen haute couture embroidery before…” Julian immediately took her hand, interlacing their fingers, and fixed me with an icy stare. “Did you hear that, Sarah? Even now, she’s still thinking of *you*!” Looking at their tightly clasped hands, I was suddenly struck by how absurd my six years of devotion had been. “There’s a whole stack of ties in the walk-in closet—all gifts I gave you over the years. Feel free to take every last one and put them on her dog. And this townhouse—consider it yours. Both of you can have it.” Julian stiffened for a moment, then scoffed. “Sarah, you’re pulling the running-away-from-home stunt again to threaten me? Let me remind you—last time, you came back *crying* and *begging* me to let you stay.” Cynthia lowered her head, the corner of her mouth curling into a smug little smile where she thought I couldn’t see. “Sarah, please don’t be angry. I’ll leave right now…” She made a show of rushing toward the door, but as she passed the coffee table, she “accidentally” caught its edge. “Ah!” She let herself tumble forward, falling neatly into Julian’s arms. Julian caught her, then wheeled on me with a snarl. “Why is this coffee table sticking out so far? You did that on purpose!” That Italian marble table weighed several hundred pounds. It hadn’t moved an inch since the day it was delivered. I couldn’t even be bothered to explain. Julian lowered Cynthia tenderly onto the sofa, half-kneeling to examine her knee. There was barely a faint red mark. “I’ll get an ice pack.” Julian stood. As he passed me, he slammed his shoulder hard into mine. I was wearing heels. The impact knocked me off balance, and I fell uncontrollably toward the wooden cabinet beside me. The corner of my forehead smashed against the cabinet’s hard, sharp edge. Warm liquid ran swiftly down my brow bone, blurring my vision. Julian paused, glanced back. “Quit the act.” He frowned, nothing in his eyes but irritation. “I barely touched you. Is that really enough to draw blood? Go get Cynthia an ice pack—her knee matters a hell of a lot more than you.” I pressed my hand to my forehead as blood kept flowing, seeping through the gaps between my fingers. On the sofa, Cynthia watched me. Her eyes glittered with triumph and spite. I braced myself against the cabinet and slowly straightened. Without sparing them another glance, I picked up my briefcase and walked into the private elevator. The late-night wind cut across my forehead, a cold so sharp it burned. He would never know that moment had severed the last thread between us.
The next morning. The top-floor boardroom of Claire Consortium. I sat in the CEO’s chair, gauze taped across my forehead. Julian pushed through the door, trailed by Cynthia clutching a folder—his personal assistant. He was the general manager of the consortium’s New York subsidiary. Cynthia was his secretary. When Julian noticed the gauze on my forehead, his stride faltered briefly. “What happened?” he said with a frown, his tone more annoyed than concerned. I opened the terminal data report in front of me. “Let’s begin your presentation, Julian. The board members’ time is valuable.” Julian’s expression darkened. He took the seat across from me. Halfway through the report, Cynthia’s hand trembled as she handed Julian his coffee. The entire cup of black coffee spilled across the original financial statement on the table. “I’m so sorry, Julian! I didn’t mean to…” She scrambled for napkins, tears falling on cue. Julian pressed her hand still. “It’s fine. It’s just a document. As long as it didn’t burn you.” He turned to me and ordered: “Sarah, have your secretary print a new copy and bring it in.” I capped my pen with a crisp *click*. “That document was reviewed and stamped by Swiss Trust and the SEC. It is the sole legally binding original.” Julian waved impatiently. “Then have your legal team redo the entire process! Cynthia was up until dawn helping me compile the data last night—she just slipped up. As a senior executive, you need to show some understanding toward your employees.” The entire boardroom sat in dead silence. Not a single director dared speak. I raised my head, fixing him with an ice-cold stare. “Julian, this is a workplace. Discuss business. Not personal affairs.” “You’re just targeting Cynthia!” Julian slammed the coffee-soaked document on the table. “It’s just a spreadsheet! As my fiancée, can’t you show an ounce of generosity?” Cynthia stepped forward, eyes red. “It’s all my fault. Please don’t blame Julian… I’ll go prepare a new set right now…” She spoke while bending to pick up fragments from the floor. Julian immediately stood to steady her, then roared at me: “Enough! Sarah! Look at yourself—this pettiness! Where is the dignity of a consortium heiress? Cynthia is sensitive by nature. If you give her some kind of psychological breakdown, can you bear that responsibility?!” I pressed the intercom button on the desk, my expression unchanged. “Send the corporate security team up.” Julian stared at me in disbelief. “What are you doing?” “Cynthia has committed gross negligence and destroyed a core legal document of this consortium, exposing us to incalculable compliance risk. She is terminated effective immediately.” Then I turned my gaze to Julian. “As for you—mixing personal matters with professional duties, severely disrupting board proceedings. Effective today, all your management responsibilities are suspended pending an internal review.” Julian laughed in fury, jabbing his finger at my face. “Sarah, to force me to grovel, you’d actually stoop to weaponizing your authority for personal vengeance?” “Fine—I’ll leave! Let’s see who can push this acquisition forward without me!” He grabbed Cynthia’s hand. “Cynthia, we’re leaving!” At the conference room door, Julian stopped and turned. “When you figure out how to be a proper fiancée, you can come beg me to come back.” The door slammed so hard the glass walls of the conference room shuddered. The wound on my forehead throbbed dully. I fed the ruined document into the shredder and opened the next file. “Let’s continue the meeting.” — Two days later. The corridor outside the VIP ward on the top floor of the medical center. Grandpa’s attending physician looked grave. “Mr. Claire’s heart is nearing complete failure. He needs bypass surgery performed immediately by Professor Ian from Switzerland. But the professor is currently at a classified research facility attending a symposium—all public communications have been severed. We’ve determined that the Gulfstream G650 registered under Julian’s name has special flight-path clearance. It is currently the only means of transport that can bring Professor Ian back in time.” I took out my phone. My fingertips trembled. I dialed Julian’s private number. The first attempt—rejected. The second—no answer. The third finally connected. Party music and cheering crowds blared through the speaker. “What?” Julian’s voice was laced with displeasure. “Julian, Grandpa’s had a cardiac emergency—he’s in critical care! We need your private jet to bring Professor Ian here!” I forced my voice to stay steady. “I’m begging you. Authorize the flight immediately!” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then Cynthia’s coy, syrupy voice floated through: “Julian, who is it? We’re supposed to watch the meteor shower tonight. If the plane gets sent away, we won’t be able to go… I’ve never seen a meteor shower from forty thousand feet…” Julian murmured tenderly: “Don’t worry, baby. A promise is a promise.” His voice turned cold again as he addressed me: “Sarah—to get me to come back, you’d actually lie about your own family’s health?” “I’m not lying! Grandpa is in the emergency room right now!” My voice shot up involuntarily. “Emergency room? Last month you said Grandpa had high blood pressure. Last week you said you cut your hand slicing an apple.” “Sarah, the same trick stops working after the third time.” Julian let out a cold laugh. “I already promised to take Cynthia on the jet tonight for the meteor shower.” “So—even if your Grandpa really is dying, there is absolutely no way I’m going back on my word!”
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