I broke off our engagement without hesitation the day my fiancée’s family went bankrupt. Later, she rebuilt her fortune with the help of a mysterious benefactor, while I struggled to save my family’s failing business. After she snatched away my 88th life-saving contract, I silently used the last of my money to pay my employees’ final wages, then vanished without a trace. Three years later, my secretary accidentally found an old phone. Inside were my late-stage cancer diagnosis reports and a receipt for an anonymous billion-dollar donation. The recipient’s name on the form was my ex-fiancée’s. When the red wine splashed across my face, my first thought was—I won’t be getting the deposit back on this rented shirt. “Ethan, have you no shame?” Olivia’s voice cut into my eardrums like a knife. “How dare you show your face at this high-class event?” The cold liquid dripped from my chin onto the floor. I could hear the muffled snickers around me without even looking. I knew exactly what expressions those former business associates who once fawned over me were wearing now. Three years ago, I was the heir to the Thompson Group. Now I couldn’t even afford my own shirt. “I’m just here to discuss business,” I said, wiping my face. Even the expensive wine stung my eyes. Olivia let out a cold laugh. She was wearing a Dior haute couture dress I’d seen in a magazine last year. Her earrings must be new—I hadn’t seen her wear them the last time we met. Good for her. It seemed Olivia had been taking very good care of herself these past few years. “Discuss business?” Olivia raised her voice, making sure everyone could hear. “You mean beg me for scraps, just like that divorce settlement you so generously handed my family three years ago?” A sudden stabbing pain gripped my stomach, the familiar burning sensation crawling up my esophagus. The doctor had warned me last month that the cancer cells had spread to my digestive system, but how could I afford chemotherapy? It was already a miracle the company had survived this long. “Ms. Foster, you must be joking,” I said, bending down to pick up the broken wine glass. The sharp edge cut my finger. “I apologize for the disturbance. I’ll leave now.” As I turned to go, I heard Olivia’s assistant whisper: “Ms. Foster, Mr. Wang is waiting to discuss the East City project…” My heart clenched painfully. That was my last hope—next month’s wages for the company’s remaining 20 employees depended on that project. “Olivia!” I instinctively called out her first name, turning back. “The East City project—” “Has already been signed over to me,” Olivia cut me off, waving her phone to show the contract photo she’d just received. “Three minutes before you walked in, actually.” “By the way, this is the 88th contract I’ve snatched from you. What an auspicious number.” you. What I stood frozen, letting the blade twist in my heart. Looking at Olivia now, I found her face both familiar and foreign.
Olivia and I had been betrothed since childhood—childhood sweethearts, two peas in a pod. From a young age, my parents told me Olivia would be my future wife and that I should treat her well. Of course, that’s exactly what I did. Before high school, I saw Olivia as a little sister. Until one ordinary day, when Olivia came running towards me in her plain school uniform, ponytail swinging. She stood in the sunlight, and crashed right into my heart. Back then, Olivia’s skin glowed so brightly. As she ran towards me, she also ran straight into my heart. Olivia had always been clingy with me, sharing all her girlish secrets. As she put it: “Whether we end up as husband and wife or just friends, we’ll always be soulmates. You understand me, and I understand you.” At the time, I knew we didn’t have some grand, sweeping romance. Even if I liked her, I couldn’t say it out loud. My father had taught me from a young age that a man’s duty was to build his career. I had to keep my emotions in check—even if I liked someone, I couldn’t show it too much. My main task was to expand the family business. In our social circles, everyone talked about how the Thompson and Foster families would make a powerful alliance. Three years ago, the Foster family suddenly went bankrupt without any warning. My father told me to cancel the engagement. He said the Thompson family couldn’t be dragged down by anyone. It was the first time I’d ever defied my father. I rushed out in the pouring rain to find Olivia, but got into a car accident on the way. The good news was, I wasn’t seriously injured. The bad news was, I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. Terminal. I cried for a long, long time that day. I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t control the fate of Olivia’s family, or because I was facing my own imminent death. Perhaps it was both. I followed my father’s orders and went to break off the engagement with Olivia. As luck would have it, the Foster family was in the middle of liquidating assets for auction, with many people waiting to watch the spectacle. I knew that even if I had to end the engagement, I shouldn’t humiliate Olivia and her family in front of so many people. Even if I couldn’t offer help in their time of need, I shouldn’t be throwing stones. Unfortunately, my father kept pressuring me, telling me this was the perfect opportunity. I gritted my teeth, unable to look Olivia in the eye. There was a watery sheen in Olivia’s eyes—helplessness, despair. She looked at me like I was her last lifeline. My voice shook as I spoke. Each word was agony. Sadly, there was no turning back for me, or for the Foster family. Olivia was wrong—she didn’t understand me at all. Otherwise, how could she not see my struggle at that moment? That’s when I knew for certain that I loved Olivia. It wasn’t habit or childhood indoctrination. It was that gut-wrenching pain of loss. Once news of the broken engagement got out, Olivia became a laughingstock. I agonized and wrestled with myself, wanting to tell Olivia the truth. But I couldn’t be that selfish—at the very least, I couldn’t make things even worse for her. Later, rumors spread in our social circles that Olivia had found a rich benefactor. This mysterious person had invested in her, allowing her to rebuild her fortune. Seeing her today, the dark clouds that had hung over Olivia had dispersed. She still shone brightly, standing in the spotlight.
It was raining when I left the hotel. I stood under the awning, counting the cash in my wallet: $327. Not enough to pay for the shirt. My phone buzzed with a notification from the hospital. “Mr. Thompson, your test results are ready. Please come in for a follow-up as soon as possible.” I didn’t reply, shoving the phone back in my pocket. The screen had a crack in it, just like my heart. It was late when I got back to the office. The entire floor was dark except for the light still on in the finance room. When I pushed open the door, Emma the secretary was hunched over her computer reviewing accounts. She jerked her head up at the sound, eyes bloodshot behind her glasses. “Mr. Thompson… the East City project…?” I shook my head, tossing my suit jacket onto the couch. The wine-stained shirt had dried, clinging to my body in wrinkles like a layer of skin I couldn’t shed. Emma’s pen clattered onto the desk. She opened her mouth, but in the end just silently took out some stomach medicine from her drawer, pouring a glass of warm water and pushing it towards me. “Pay out the wages tomorrow and then let everyone go,” I said. The pill stuck in my throat, its bitterness spreading. “How much is left in the accounts?” “Including the transfer from your personal account, just enough for three months’ severance pay,” Emma said, her voice shaking slightly. “But sir, R&D’s new product launch is next month…” I held up a hand to cut Emma off. I believe there’s karma in this world. My father died in an accident shortly after my diagnosis. The Thompson family’s former glory left with him. Outside the window, neon lights flickered. The LED screen on the opposite building was playing Foster Group’s latest advertisement, Olivia’s delicate profile especially eye-catching in the night. Three years ago on that rainy night, I had stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hospital, looking at the last message Olivia had sent me on my phone. “Ethan, the biggest regret of my life is ever loving you.” I had just received my stomach cancer diagnosis. The doctor’s words still echoed in my ears. “Late stage. Three years at most.” My phone suddenly vibrated—a notification from the auction house that the payment had gone through. I stared at that string of numbers for a long time before finally opening my banking app and transferring the entire amount to a long-dormant account. The memo field was blank. The cursor blinked on and off, as if mocking my cowardice.
The farewell dinner for the employees was set at our usual hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Over 20 people crammed into the greasy plastic tent. The young guys from R&D brought two cases of beer, while the marketing girls strung up kebabs with teary eyes. No one mentioned the company’s closure—it was as if this was just a regular team dinner. “Try this, sir,” Emma said, putting a grilled chicken wing on my plate. “You’re too thin.” I forced myself to take a bite, but my stomach immediately revolted. As I rushed to the restroom, I heard someone whisper behind me: “The boss has been throwing up more and more frequently these past six months…” The man in the mirror was deathly pale, with traces of blood at the corners of his mouth. I splashed cold water on my face, suddenly remembering my 20th birthday. Olivia had snuck into my office to make longevity noodles, but ended up setting off the smoke alarm. Her face had been smeared with flour as she frantically tried to turn off the stove—so much more adorable than the polished business executive on the LED screen now. When I returned to the table, everyone was already drunk. The HR director, Old Wang, swayed to his feet, raising his glass. “When Thompson Group went bankrupt, it was the boss who shouldered all the debts alone, not letting us end up on the streets… This toast is to Mr. Thompson!” The clinking of glasses rose in waves. Someone started crying. I tilted my head back and downed my beer. The icy liquid burned my ulcerated esophagus, making my fingertips tremble with pain. Emma was the last to leave. She insisted on helping me clean out my office, but I knew she was just worried about me. “This is for you,” she said, handing me a manila envelope. “Your medical report from the hospital last month… I took the liberty of picking it up.” The envelope was light, but it felt like it was crushing my chest. The shadows on the CT scan had spread much further than six months ago, like a net slowly tightening. “Thank you,” I said, feeding the documents into the shredder. “Starting tomorrow, report to Foster Group.” Emma’s head snapped up. “What did you say?” “I recommended you as Olivia’s new assistant,” I said. The shredder’s noise covered my coughing. “She needs someone reliable by her side.” “I won’t go!” Emma’s usually gentle voice suddenly rose. “You know how she’s been targeting you all these years! Those projects, those clients… 88 times now! She’s trying to drive you to your death!” The shredder stopped with a click. The office fell deathly silent. I gazed out at the night sky and said softly: “88 is a good number.”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “296890”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance
Leave a Reply