Jesse went to the most famous spiritual temple in the mountains to burn incense. When he returned, his face was weighed down by a dark, heavy gloom. Only after I pressed him again and again did he finally break down and tell me what happened. He said a high monk at the temple had read his fortune. On his way down the mountain, he was destined to meet a girl wearing a white dress with braided hair. That girl was his soulmate—his absolute, heaven-decreed destiny. And if he didn’t end up with her, he wouldn’t live to see twenty-four. He wept crocodile tears as he spoke, his voice trembling with tragic devotion. “Tori, I don’t want to break up with you…” he sobbed, clutching my hand. “But if I die, you’re the one who will be left heartbroken. I can’t do that to you.” Jesse was lying. Last night, while he was in the shower, I happened to catch a glance at his phone notifications. He complained to his friends that I was five years older than him, that my desire for control was suffocating. But most importantly, he had fallen in love with his younger, prettier childhood sweetheart. Honestly, he didn’t need to put on this tragic drama. I had never envisioned a future with him anyway. A guy like Jesse was fun to keep around, fine for a few years of light amusement. When it came to marriage, I had entirely different standards. 1 With red-rimmed eyes, Jesse packed his luggage. “Tori, I’m moving out today.” I was sitting at my desk, listening to one of my vice presidents present a quarterly project update through my Bluetooth earpiece. It took Jesse repeating himself four times before I finally removed the earpiece and looked up at him. “Did you find a place?” “Not yet,” Jesse murmured, his head hanging low. “Tori… before I find a place I actually like, could I stay in your luxury downtown penthouse for a bit? Don’t worry, I won’t stay for free. I’ll pay you market rent.” His head bowed lower as he spoke. From my angle, I could see his dark eyelashes fluttering softly, casting gentle shadows over his cheekbones. In the past, whenever he put on this pathetic, vulnerable act, I would have already walked over to pull him into my arms. Today, my heart didn’t soften by a fraction. “Jesse, I put that penthouse on the market with my real estate agent last week. I signed the closing papers with the buyer this morning. I had my staff pack up whatever belonged to you and leave it with the building concierge. Don’t forget to pick it up.” Jesse snapped his head up, his eyes wide with utter disbelief. “Tori! You said that apartment held so many of our beautiful memories! How could you just sell it?” My expression remained utterly cool, indifferent as still water. “You broke up with me, Jesse. That apartment holds zero meaning to me now. Naturally, I saw no reason to keep it.” The red around his eyes deepened. For a split second, I thought Jesse might change his mind and beg to stay. He had started following me around during his freshman year at Columbia. Today marked exactly five years he had been by my side. The first time I met him was at a high-end private club. A recently widowed socialite had set her sights on him, bribing the manager to spike his drink. Jesse had resisted with everything he had, stumbling blindly into my private suite by accident. I had my assistant send him straight to the hospital. The next morning, somehow, he managed to dig up my identity—that I was the Chief Executive Officer of Winslow Enterprises. He brought a thermos of homemade chicken noodle soup and waited outside my corporate headquarters for over three hours in the cold. I didn’t take the thermos. It was merely a hand’s turn to help him that night. Had it been anyone else, I would have done the same. After that day, coincidences multiplied exponentially. When I dined with friends at an exclusive restaurant, Jesse happened to be the waiter bringing our plates. When I attended a black-tie charity gala, Jesse was a student volunteer. When I went indoor rock climbing, Jesse was the certified instructor. The frequency of these “accidental” encounters was far too high to be chance. My closest friends warned me that Jesse wasn’t as sweet and simple as his youthful face suggested. The fact that a college kid could track my private schedule proved he was calculating and ambitious. I merely smiled whenever they brought it up. I was hardly an innocent, naive girl. I had outmaneuvered my conniving uncles and older brothers to secure the throne as second-in-command of a multi-billion-dollar corporate empire; I didn’t get here through innocence or luck. Ever since my eldest brother was paralyzed in a suspicious car accident abroad, rumors in our high-society circles claimed I was ruthless, a woman who used any means necessary. Jesse’s little tricks were child’s play in my eyes. I never exposed him. He was striking, a top student at an Ivy League school. Keeping him as a pretty toy wasn’t a bad arrangement. I never considered myself a woman capable of long-term devotion, yet Jesse had indeed stayed beside me for five years. It reached a point where my friends dropped subtle hints, asking if I had actually fallen for the boy. 2 The moment Jesse walked out the door with his bags, I issued two sharp commands to my staff: first, terminate all the secondary credit cards I had issued under Jesse’s name; second, starting immediately, Winslow Enterprises would no longer funnel any corporate resources, connections, or sponsorships toward his projects. That afternoon, I went to meet my arranged marriage partner. His name was Conrad Winthrop, the second son of Vanguard Holdings. His reputation in our circles was no cleaner than mine. People called him a ruthless operator, cursed and lethal. Three years ago, his older brother teamed up with several veteran board members to set a trap for him, plunging his reputation into the gutter and nearly costing him his life. He was forced into exile overseas. Earlier this year, Conrad returned to the country bringing several massive international technology acquisitions. At the time, Vanguard Holdings was facing a catastrophic internal liquidity crisis; without those overseas projects, Vanguard wouldn’t have survived the quarter. At the emergency board meeting, Conrad commanded the highest votes and the sharpest authority. His methods today were vastly different from three years ago—milder on the surface, but far more lethal underneath. Bloodless. Impenetrable. Winslow Enterprises had suffered a few major losses at his hands in recent deals. Fearing that the legacy built over generations might be dismantled by Conrad, my father devised a solution: a strategic marriage alliance between myself and Conrad Winthrop. Conrad had been exiled for three years, meaning his domestic political and corporate roots were still stabilizing. He needed Winslow’s deep-seated industry leverage. Naturally, he and my father hit it off instantly. Of course, my father couldn’t dictate my life choices. He knew very well that after he passed, I was the only one among his children capable of holding the company together—because I was the only one who was truly ruthless. He asked for my opinion. At first, I refused. Then Conrad came to see me in person. He offered an undeniable gesture of sincerity: fifty percent of his personal shares in Vanguard, along with the immediate return of the multi-million-dollar energy contracts he had snatched from Winslow. I deliberated for exactly one second before accepting. Right now, Conrad and I sat across from each other in a quiet corner of an upscale café near the financial district. I stirred my black coffee, looking straight into his sharp, dark eyes. “Conrad, I don’t particularly enjoy this style of dating.” The café Conrad chose was too sterile, too deserted. Perhaps influenced by my years with Jesse, I had grown to prefer lively, vibrant places filled with the hum of real life. Conrad asked, with perfect, refined chivalry, “What kind of dates do you prefer, Tori?” I paused, thinking it over. “Browsing local markets together, catching a late-night movie, buying fresh groceries at a bustling street market, or finding a tiny, noisy local diner to chat over dinner—and then holding hands while walking home together in the evening air.” Conrad unlocked his phone, typing my exact words into his notes app with practiced composure. I stood up, extending my hand toward him across the small table. “Conrad, you aren’t busy for the rest of the day, are you?” Conrad rose as well. His tall frame cast an imposing, elegant shadow. He gently enveloped my hand in his. “Not busy at all. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, I’m yours for the afternoon.” A faint smile touched my lips. “Then let me take you to a diner that serves incredible food.” Conrad’s palm was broad, warm, and completely wrapped around my fingers. Being with him felt unexpectedly effortless. He wasn’t like Jesse, who felt the need to debate or subtly push back against every statement I made. Jesse had been patient with me in the beginning. Eventually, his patience wore thin. So when he staged that dramatic breakup performance, I hadn’t hesitated for a single second before letting him go. Even if he hadn’t brought it up, I would have ended things myself soon enough. He simply beat me to the punch. I felt no regret. Nor did I feel that the five years spent with Jesse were something to hide or be ashamed of. Only occasionally, in the quiet depth of midnight, would I recall Jesse’s eyes. They used to be so bright, looking at me with an intense, focused warmth. Half an hour later, Conrad and I arrived at Rita’s Diner. The wooden sign hanging over the entrance was faded and weathered, but the place was bursting with customers. Inside, every booth was packed, so the owner, Mama Rita, had set up several round tables outside along the sidewalk. Not a single seat was empty. A customer at a nearby table called out loudly for extra side dishes. Rita emerged from the kitchen with an order pad, jogging over with practiced agility. After writing down the order, she spotted Conrad and me standing by the curb. Her face lit up with her signature warmth. “Tori! You haven’t been by in weeks! I just developed a few new seasonal dishes, you have to try them out for me today.” “I’d love to, Rita,” I smiled. Rita’s eyes drifted down, landing on our intertwined hands. She flashed me a subtle, knowing wink. “Tori, who’s this handsome gentleman?” I introduced him openly, without a trace of hesitation. “My boyfriend, Conrad.” Rita gave me a solid thumbs-up. “A power couple! You look dynamic together!” 3 Just then, a table near the entrance finished paying, so I quickly pulled Conrad over to sit down. Rita was swamped with orders, so she motioned for a young waitress to handle our table. I ordered several of the diner’s signature home-style dishes. The waitress looked at the pad with obvious impatience. “There’s only two of you. Can you even finish all this?” I frowned slightly. “If we can’t finish, I’ll have it packed up.” The waitress let out a cold, sharp huff. Without asking, she drew several aggressive X’s across the items I had requested on her notepad. “We’re out of these. Either pick something else or go eat somewhere else.” I lifted my eyes, taking a cold, thorough look at the girl standing before me. She had a baby face, light makeup, and an air that suggested she was young and inexperienced. But I was a paying customer; I had zero obligation to cater to her attitude. My voice dropped, turning sharp as ice. “If you don’t know how to take a customer’s order, go find someone who does.” Rita happened to be carrying a bucket of cold beers to the adjacent table and caught my words. She threw a furious glare at the young waitress. The girl looked enraged but didn’t dare speak back, glaring venomously at me before spinning around and stomping into the kitchen. Rita walked over, her expression a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “Business has been insane lately, so I posted a hiring flyer outside. Jesse recommended her—her name is Kallie. She only started two days ago and has already managed to piss off half my regular patrons.” Hearing Jesse’s name made the skin above my eye twitch faintly. Without a doubt, this Kallie was the “destined soulmate” Jesse had spun his grand temple prophecy about. Rita grew more annoyed as she spoke. “On her very first night, I told her explicitly that she didn’t need to come back for a second shift. I don’t know what kind of sob story she ran back and told Jesse, but Jesse actually called me on the phone, begging me on his knees to give her another chance.” In my memory, Jesse had never begged anyone for anything. He came from an impoverished background—a paralyzed father and a blind mother—but his pride was insanely fierce. He refused financial aid from university foundations, working five part-time jobs a day, gritting his teeth to pull through on his own merit. Six years ago, when he intentionally engineered his way into my sphere, it was because his father had suffered a sudden, massive brain hemorrhage and desperately needed a fortune for surgery. Even under those crushing circumstances, he hadn’t lowered his head to ask me for money. It was me who had woken up thirsty in the middle of the night, realizing the space beside me in bed was cold. I searched the apartment, finally finding him huddled on the balcony in the freezing wind, clutching a bottle of cheap liquor, sobbing silently into his phone. “Mom, I’ll raise Dad’s medical funds as fast as I can… The hospital has nurses, just focus on taking care of yourself at home. Lock the doors tight at night…” I hadn’t made a sound to disturb him. After finishing my water, I returned to the bedroom and made a single call to my executive assistant. By the next afternoon, Jesse’s father was transferred to the top private hospital in the city, attended to by an elite team of surgical specialists. I also had my staff arrange for his mother to be moved into a quiet brownstone in the city, fully equipped with a house manager, a full-time nurse, and a personal chef. When Jesse found out, tears of overwhelming gratitude filled his eyes. “Tori… thank you.” After graduation, he passed through rounds of intense interviews and officially joined Winslow Enterprises. He was hardworking and driven, quickly securing a solid footing in the financial division. I never publicly disclosed my personal relationship with him inside the company. At work, we were strictly superior and subordinate. Behind closed doors, we were intimate lovers. Once, a difficult client made things intentionally hard for him during a business dinner, forcing him to down an entire bottle of hard whiskey. By the time I rushed to the venue, Jesse’s face was deathly pale, hunched over a trash can in the alleyway, throwing up violently. My heart had ached for him so deeply that night that I considered going public with our relationship right then to protect him from corporate politics. He stopped me. He told me I was too brilliant, too high above him; his goal was to work tirelessly to climb up on his own merit so he could eventually stand beside me as an equal, rather than leaning on my status like a parasite. I respected his choice. At the same time, I understood perfectly well that this was part of his calculated charm. He was using this fierce independence to prove to me that he was with me for “me”, not my fortune. In the adult world, everyone takes what they need. He got the career elevation and medical security he sought; I got a handsome, devoted young lover. Neither of us was losing. I simply hadn’t expected that he would lower his precious, unyielding pride to beg a diner owner… all for Kallie. It seemed he truly, desperately loved her. 4 Before I could ponder it further, a sharp commotion broke out near the kitchen door. Rita and Kallie were in a heated shouting match. A family at a nearby round table had brought a young child who had a severe, life-threatening cilantro allergy. The young mother had emphasized this to Kallie multiple times when ordering. Kallie had nodded dismissively, promising it was taken care of. Yet when she walked into the kitchen, she explicitly instructed the chef that the customer wanted fresh cilantro finely pureed and blended into the soup base. A bowl of Italian wedding soup infused with concentrated cilantro juice was brought out. The little boy ate a single meatball and drank half a bowl of broth. Within minutes, his skin broke out in terrifying red hives, his lips turned dark purple, and he began gasping violently for air. While the frantic mother called 911, the father pointed at Kallie, demanding an explanation. Kallie stood there, craning her neck with arrogant defiance. “Kids nowadays are so soft! An allergy? I don’t believe a little herb can actually kill anyone! If he really dies, fine—a life for a life!” Enraged by her cold indifference, the child’s father slapped Kallie hard across the face. Kallie clutched her swollen cheek, screaming at the top of her lungs. “How dare you hit me?! You think you’re hot shit just because you’re a customer?! I’m calling the police! I’m suing you!” Rita rushed out at the sound of screaming, only to find Kallie lifting a heavy wooden chair, swinging it frantically toward the terrified dining customers. “You’re all in on this together!” Kallie shrieked, her face contorted with rage. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Why is everyone blaming me?!” Rita sprinted forward, wrestling the chair out of Kallie’s hands. Kallie bit her lower lip stubbornly, glaring around. “Rita, I quit! Pay me my two days of wages right now! I’ll explain things to Jesse myself!” After getting the full story from the frantic parents, Rita tore into Kallie with a furious tirade. But Kallie refused to back down, screaming right back at Rita, loudly insisting that the entire world was conspiring to bully her. The sheer stress caused Rita to clutch her chest in sudden pain, fumbling desperately in her apron for her emergency heart medication. The paramedics arrived with terrifying speed. The poor child was loaded onto a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his face, as his panicked family scrambled into the ambulance. Before getting in, the child’s father turned to Rita, his voice shaking with rage. “Rita, we’re regular customers, we know what kind of person you are. But this waitress you hired—I will make sure she pays for this legally!” Kallie spat viciously onto the pavement. “Pray for your brat’s soul then! Hope he doesn’t actually kick the bucket!” “Shut your damn mouth!” Rita shoved Kallie back in utter outrage. Kallie tried to strike back, but the two kitchen chefs stepped in, seizing her arms and pinning her against the wall. Rita took several deep, ragged breaths, addressing the shocked crowd outside. “I am so deeply sorry, everyone. Today’s incident completely ruined your meal. Everything today is on the house.” Most of the diner’s patrons were neighborhood regulars. Rather than taking advantage, people quietly tucked cash under their plates before leaving. Rita called the police. However, the person who arrived “before” the police… was Jesse. When Jesse sprinted up to the diner, his tie was crooked, his expensive hair styled into complete disarray, his forehead slick with sweat. I recalled he had a crucial multimillion-dollar corporate partnership meeting scheduled for this afternoon. Clearly, the moment he received Kallie’s crying phone call, he had abandoned his clients and walked out. The second Kallie saw Jesse, she burst into dramatic tears, throwing herself pitifully into his arms. “Jesse! They’re all bullying me!” Jesse stroked her back, his voice dripping with an absurdly gentle tenderness. “Shh, I’m here now, sweetie. It’s okay.” Kallie’s eyes darted around, suddenly spotting me standing by the side table. She pointed a sharp, accusing finger straight at my face. “Jesse! It was that woman! She set me up!” Jesse turned his head, his eyes landing on me. In an instant, his expression twisted into a dark, terrifying scowl. He released Kallie and took long, aggressive strides toward me. “Vivien Winslow!” he barked, his voice filled with righteous fury. “If you want revenge on me for breaking up with you, come at me directly! Kallie is young and innocent—how could you use your filthy, underhanded tricks to ruin her?! You disappoint me!” I was so infuriated that a cold laugh escaped my throat. “Jesse, did a dog eat your brain? Something happens and you don’t even bother using logic before barking accusations at me? Before today, I didn’t even know who the hell Kallie was! Do you think I’m so bored that I’d waste my time setting up a nobody?” Jesse slammed his fist onto the wooden table beside me with a deafening crash. “Vivien! Kallie is pure, kind, and honest—unlike you! If I don’t believe her, am I supposed to believe a calculating woman like “you”?!” Before I could step forward, Conrad moved with swift, quiet authority, placing his tall frame directly in front of me, shielding me completely from Jesse’s aggression. “Mr. Dalton,” Conrad’s voice was low, icy, carrying an overwhelming, dangerous pressure that caused the air to chill instantly. “What the truth is, the police will determine shortly. Until then… I strongly advise you to refrain from yelling at my fiancée.” The sheer dominance radiating off Conrad made Jesse shudder involuntarily. It took Jesse several seconds to register the words. He didn’t look at Conrad; instead, his bloodshot eyes locked onto me behind Conrad’s shoulder, desperately seeking denial. “Vivien… what did he just say?” Jesse’s voice cracked, laced with manic confusion. “You were with me for six years! Since when did you have a fiancé?! Or did my breaking up with you break your mind so badly that you hired a cheap actor to play pretend?!”
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