For seven years, I’ve been two people to my boss: during the day, his meticulous assistant, Ms. White; and at night, his obedient, mysterious girlfriend. Until just now, when my boss calmly said, “I won’t be coming back tomorrow.” “Don’t try to stop me. This house is yours now—as compensation for the past seven years…” Me: “Okay.” “…Scarlett, after I leave, I won’t be returning.” Me: “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Boss: “???” 0The night before we broke up, Holden bought me a sexy nightgown. As I looked at his deep, composed gaze and the restrained, almost puritanical expression on his face, I couldn’t help but laugh. I never thought a man as serious and uptight as him would pull out something like this on our last night together. Excited, I slipped into the nightgown. But as things heated up, I heard him murmur a name: “Scarlett.” Not “Ms. White,” but Scarlett. I met Holden the year I graduated college. By day, I was Ms. White, his ever-dedicated assistant who handled every little detail of his life. By night, I was his secret, obedient girlfriend. No one except Holden’s senior assistant, Zoe, even suspected that I was anything more than just his employee. Seven years. From 22 to 29, I stayed by his side. Even Zoe once told me, “If I were you, I would’ve made a move ages ago to secure my place. You’re the only woman around him—beautiful, smart, and hardworking. You’re perfect together!” Her words, filled with envy, almost made me believe I had a chance to become the future Mrs. Holden. But then tonight happened. After seven years of loyalty, Holden looked at me and said calmly, “Ms. White, I won’t be coming back tomorrow.” There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—perhaps even reluctance? Reluctance? Ha! If there was even a shred of truth in that, he wouldn’t have spent the past seven years calling me nothing but Ms. White, both in public and in private. I lowered my gaze, feigning sadness, waiting for his explanation. Sure enough, he continued. “I’m meeting the heiress of the Lee Group tomorrow. It’s a blind date and dinner.” He paused briefly. “This apartment is yours now. Consider it my thanks for the past seven years.” Then, with a hint of condescension, he added, “Ms. White, I hope you won’t waste time trying to change my mind.” This apartment was worth a fortune—located in the heart of the most expensive city in the country. “Okay,” I said. Holden blinked, caught off guard. Maybe my response was a little too enthusiastic? I quickly lowered my head, forcing out a few tears before looking up again, ready to deliver the same heart-wrenching performance I’d perfected over the years. But Holden simply placed a luxury shopping bag on the table in front of me. The next second, I pulled out the skimpiest, sexiest nightgown I’d ever seen—so revealing that even I, a woman, was taken aback. I looked up in shock. Holden’s expression was as serious as ever, but when he noticed my stunned gaze, a faint blush crept up his chiseled face. Then, just barely visible in the dim light, I saw his earlobes turn red—so red they looked like they were bleeding. 0
Me: “…” What the hell? This stoic, “old-school” man could blush? And damn, it was sexy. Unfortunately for me, I’ve always been weak when it comes to good looks. I studied his handsome, restrained expression—the way he sat perfectly upright, his white shirt buttoned all the way to his neck—and felt my lips curl into a mischievous smile. In seven years of dating, Holden had always been so rigid. Even in our most intimate moments, he was precise and methodical. Same time, same place, same positions, every single time. I never expected that on our last night together, he would make such an audacious request. Excitement bubbled up inside me. Smiling, I slipped into the nightgown right in front of him, then straddled his lap. Holden’s entire body went rigid, his eyes darkening as he struggled to remain composed. “Relax,” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear. “Don’t panic.” I didn’t want him to suddenly bolt and ruin my fun, so I whispered soothing words to keep him grounded. Everything unfolded naturally, just like the past seven years—except this time, Holden seemed determined to shed his uptight image. He tried things he’d never done before, as if letting go of his usual restraint. Then, caught up in the moment, he murmured softly, “Scarlett.” Not “Ms. White.” Scarlett. But so what? At the end of the day, men like him always pull up their pants and leave. So, I’ve always believed in beating them to the punch. I opened my eyes the next morning, sunlight streaming through the windows. With a sigh, I turned over and kicked Holden off the bed. The thud was satisfying. For a man who’d spent his life as a powerful CEO, this was probably the first time he’d been literally kicked out of bed by a woman. Holden sat on the floor, stunned. I stretched lazily, then spread my arms with a smile. “Sorry, Mr. Holden. As of today, this apartment—and everything in it—is mine. That includes this bed.” I gestured toward the door. Holden’s jaw tightened, his expression growing colder. For the first time, I didn’t back down. I met his icy glare head-on, refusing to budge. Finally, he stood up, straightened his clothes, and regained his usual aura of cold authority. But as he reached the door, he suddenly turned back. Looking down at me with an unreadable expression, he said, “Ms. White, once I leave, I won’t be coming back.” He paused, his tone softer but still distant. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else to say to me?” 0
Me: “… Don’t let the door hit you on the way out?” Holden’s face darkened, colder than I’d ever seen it. I reached out, shoved him out of the apartment, and slammed the door shut. As Holden’s ever-dedicated assistant, I usually started work at 7 a.m. sharp, preparing his schedule for the day. Today was no different. On the carefully planned schedule I’d drafted yesterday, I added one more item with a blank expression: • 8:00 PM: Dinner with Lee Group heiress. I booked the reservation at one of Holden’s favorite upscale restaurants, in the exclusive VVIP private dining room reserved only for him. I even gave the restaurant manager specific instructions: the evening should be romantic, elegant, and intimate—perfect for a first date. The manager, a longtime collaborator of ours, couldn’t contain her excitement. After all, in all the years she’d worked with us, this was the first time Holden had ever booked a romantic dinner with a woman. “And he’s 35 now,” she gushed. “It’s about time he settled down. This Lee heiress might just be the future Mrs. Holden!” She gave me a knowing look, to which I responded with an equally enthusiastic grin. I even hinted that if everything went smoothly, she could expect a nice reward. The manager’s enthusiasm doubled, and she promised to make the evening absolutely perfect. Meanwhile, I focused on my work as usual, as if nothing had happened the night before. The only small difference was the pink roses that reappeared on my desk that morning. For the past year, I’d been throwing them straight into the trash without a second thought. But today, I paused. Instead of tossing them, I carefully unwrapped the bouquet, grabbed a large red mug I usually used for water, and filled it halfway. I trimmed the stems with scissors during my lunch break, arranged the bouquet in the mug, and placed it on my desk. At 29, I was in my prime—a confident, mature woman. Over the past seven years, I’d worked tirelessly to become the perfect assistant for Holden. I’d pushed myself to meet his every standard, both professionally and personally. During work hours, I was diligent and meticulous. Outside of work, I honed my appearance and skills. I learned foreign languages, perfected my makeup and wardrobe, and even studied the inner workings of Holden Enterprises. I memorized the structure of each department, the preferences of key clients, and the secrets behind the company’s success. I wanted to be indispensable. And I succeeded. Even now, at 29, I was often the subject of admiration during business trips. It wasn’t uncommon for partners to send me flowers as a token of interest. But the person who sent these pink roses was different. Despite my repeated insistence that I didn’t want flowers from strangers, this mysterious sender had been sending them every single day for an entire year—rain or shine. It was… intriguing. At 6 p.m., Holden finished his last meeting of the day. As his thoughtful assistant, I was ready to remind him of his upcoming dinner with the Lee heiress. I’d even gone the extra mile and prepared an expensive diamond necklace as a gift for her. But just as I was about to walk into his office, Zoe stepped out. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Scarlett, Mr. Holden said he already has a gift prepared for Miss Lee. You don’t need to worry about it.” She paused, then added, “Oh, and… he said you don’t need to accompany him tonight. You’re free to go home early.” … So this is what freedom feels like? For a moment, I was overwhelmed with joy. Zoe, however, looked at me with a pained expression. She sighed heavily, her voice filled with sympathy. “Scarlett, don’t take it too hard, okay?” Me: “…” “Thanks for your concern, Zoe,” I replied calmly. “But I’m fine. Really.” Zoe didn’t believe me. She frowned, her eyes filled with even more pity. “Scarlett, there’s no need to pretend to be strong,” she said gently. Me: “…” Before I could respond, Zoe’s expression suddenly brightened. She glanced around, lowered her voice, and pulled me aside. “Scarlett,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I know things didn’t work out with Mr. Holden, but when one door closes, another one opens…” I blinked at her, confused. “I know a great guy,” she continued, her tone filled with excitement. “He’s successful, handsome, and every bit as impressive as Mr. Holden. Do you want me to introduce you?” Wait, what? Zoe’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Her usually serious demeanor had completely disappeared, replaced by an almost giddy excitement. My instincts told me that this “great guy” must be someone truly exceptional. I hesitated, trying to resist. But then Zoe pulled out her phone and enlarged a photo of the man she was talking about. The man in the photo was breathtaking. He had sharp, masculine features, fair skin that was somehow even paler than mine, and naturally rosy lips. But his eyes… They were those charming, almond-shaped eyes I couldn’t resist. How was I supposed to say no to that? I bit my lip, trying to summon the willpower to decline. “Zoe,” I began hesitantly, “I just broke up with someone—less than 19 hours ago. Isn’t it a little too soon to meet someone new?” Zoe’s expression turned even more sympathetic. “Scarlett, you’re clearly still heartbroken,” she said softly. “But listen to me—this guy is perfect. He’s the CEO of the company next door. He’s in amazing shape—unlike Mr. Holden, he works out for two hours every day.” “… Okay, but—” “He has an eight-pack.” “!” “And he’s only 26. That’s practically a whole decade younger than Holden.” “!!!” I stared at Zoe, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Zoe,” I said seriously, bowing deeply, “thank you for your kindness!” It wasn’t my fault—I swear! Blame Zoe for offering too much!
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