At twenty-five that Christmas, I, Jasmin Bennet, kept an intern named John Murphy. As long as he maintained a relationship with me, I ensured his smooth transition to a full-time position and paid off his parents’ gambling debts. So this handsome young man was forced to stay by my side for three Christmases. Later, the company went bankrupt, and I had both my legs broken by enemies. When John and his first love Riley Watson gazed at each other from afar, tears filling their eyes, I quietly left, and he never came looking for me. Later still, I huddled on busy streets selling snacks while he had already taken his place as CEO of a publicly traded company, still deeply in love with Riley. His gaze toward me was cold as ice. I smiled bitterly and asked, “Do you think I’m a joke?” He responded with tears streaming down his face: “I’ve always thought you were a joke.” ***** After the company went bankrupt, my enemies broke both my legs. With nowhere else to turn, I had to swallow my former pride and set up a street stall selling snacks to make ends meet. That day, I was working my usual spot when I spotted John in the bustling crowd. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, and the luxury watch on his wrist gleamed coldly in the sunlight. Riley, his first love, stood beside him. I gazed hungrily at his face, knowing in my heart that this might be the last time I’d see him in person in this lifetime. Soon, he and Riley would be going abroad together to develop their careers. If I wanted to see him again, it would only be through a TV screen. And the place where I lived didn’t even have a television. “What are you spacing out for? Where’s my hot dog!” An impatient voice snapped me back to reality. I quickly came to my senses and carefully placed the hot dog in a paper bag, handing it to the customer. The customer asked in confusion, “I want to pay by card. Where’s your POS machine?” I pressed my lips together and said embarrassedly, “I don’t have a POS machine. Could you pay with cash?” The customer rummaged through their bag for a moment, tossed down two crumpled bills, and muttered, “What era are we in? How can you still only accept cash?” I carefully picked up those two bills. Today’s hot dog sales, after costs, would leave me with about a hundred dollars—enough to buy some medicine for the next few days. But I couldn’t buy too much, or I wouldn’t have money left for food. While lost in thought, John had quietly appeared in front of my stall. He stared at me. I quickly lowered my head, cold sweat breaking out in my palms, my heartbeat quickening. I wondered, “Has he recognized me?” At the thought of this possibility, I felt like I was standing on a knife’s edge, filled with anxiety. Under John’s sharp gaze, I even felt the urge to run away. Because in this world, John was the last person I wanted to encounter. I didn’t want him to recognize me, didn’t want him to see me in such a sorry state. Just then, Riley walked up to John’s side, breaking the silence: “What’s wrong, John?” John’s cold expression softened the moment he looked at Riley: “This hot dog smells so good. We used to love eating these in school. Back then, you’d always say you were full and then give me the rest.” His eyes were filled with tender affection. Riley smiled too: “Things are different now from before. We’re going to get better and better.” I didn’t dare speak, just handed John the freshly made hot dog. He took the hot dog and pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet, tossing it into my bucket. Only after they turned and walked away did I dare lift my head. Watching that intern I once kept, who had now transformed into someone far beyond my reach. I looked down at my worn, shabby clothes and smiled bitterly, thinking, “I was being too presumptuous.” Wearing a mask, covered in grease and smoke, with disheveled hair, I was no longer the glamorous female CEO I had been back then. How could John possibly recognize me? Though I didn’t want John to recognize me, I still watched his retreating figure until he disappeared into the crowd, surrounded by people. I suddenly remembered the first time I met John. Back then, he wore a cheap work uniform, his face covered in sweat, clutching a stack of documents while carrying several cups of coffee, stumbling into the company. My gaze was involuntarily drawn to him. From that day on, my secretary Colton Walsh and I spent weeks sitting in the break room, watching John efficiently handle various tasks. He worked from nine in the morning until ten at night, constantly called around by colleagues. Sometimes he didn’t even have time to eat, only managing to wolf down a few bites of spaghetti to fill his stomach. From his file, I learned he was a new intern at the branch office, with a seriously ill mother and a gambling-addicted father at home. He’d learned to save money from a young age, was ostracized by classmates in school, and received cold treatment from colleagues at work. Yet he always wore a smile on his face, revealing two dimples when he laughed, as if even the sunlight became brighter because of it. I gradually became interested in him, even deliberately concealing my identity and appearing before him as a company client representative. Watching him stay up all night preparing materials and earnestly explaining products to win me as a client, my heart stirred. I even had Colton shield him from those difficult colleagues. He smiled and said to me, “Ms. Bennet, I’m so lucky. Ever since I met you, everything has been going much smoother.” Looking at his clean, sincere smile, I couldn’t help but smile too. In the scheming world of the Bennet family, my gradually cooling heart was warmed again by his smile. I never told him I was actually the president of Bennet Group. I was afraid he would treat me like everyone else, putting me on a pedestal and showing me that familiar, flattering smile. Through our daily interactions, I cared about him more and more. Until one day, I realized that whenever I received a message from him, I would unconsciously break into a brilliant smile. That’s when I knew I had fallen in love with him. So on a bright, sunny weekend, I asked him out, planning to confess my feelings. However, when I arrived at his rented house, I saw him embracing a girl wearing an equally cheap cotton dress. They were sharing an ice cream, their faces glowing with happy, satisfied smiles. Actually, during that time, I had investigated everything about him thoroughly. That girl was his first love, Riley. He worked desperately hard not only to pay off his family’s gambling debts and his mother’s medical bills, but also to help her afford graduate school. I smiled bitterly, quietly left, and endured the heartache while deciding to let John go. Until one night, passing through a small alley, I heard his desperate voice.
Hearing John’s voice, I followed the path into the alley. The scene before me nearly suffocated me—several thugs were dragging John around, beating him with their fists and feet. John struggled beneath them, his clothes disheveled, his legs dragging helplessly on the ground, his eyes filled with helplessness and despair. Seeing this, my blood boiled. I grabbed a brick and charged forward. When the thugs saw I was a woman, their faces twisted into vicious grins. They rubbed their hands together as they closed in on me, their eyes full of contempt and greed. John cried out to me: “Ms. Bennet, this has nothing to do with you! Please leave!” I looked at him—he hadn’t shed a tear while being beaten, yet he was crying now that I was in danger. In that moment, I suddenly realized I had completely fallen in love with this pure, kind-hearted boy. Even knowing that once I left, he would be beaten to a pulp or even killed, he still wanted me to go. When Colton arrived with backup, John had been beaten nearly to death, yet he still held me tightly in his arms. When he woke up, I sat by his hospital bed with red-rimmed eyes. Seeing me, a flash of relief crossed his eyes: “I’m glad you’re okay.” Then he looked at me seriously and scolded: “You’re a girl—don’t go sticking your neck out like that again. What if something had happened to you? I’m tough, I can handle it.” Looking at him, I suddenly spoke up: “John, I’m not some client representative. I’m the CEO of Bennet Group. If you’re willing to be with me, I can help you get promoted, take care of your parents’ gambling debts, and cure your mother’s illness.” The Bennet family held a prestigious position, and I’d lived a wealthy life since childhood. No one had ever taught me how to confess to someone I loved. So I had no idea what those words meant to him. I only saw John’s face turn deathly pale in an instant, the light in his eyes extinguished. After a long while, he gritted his teeth and nodded. I was overjoyed, shoving several bank cards into his hands and having Colton arrange new housing for him, getting him out of that run-down rental. But I didn’t realize that John’s gaze had quietly taken on a tinge of disappointment. After we got together, he became even more obedient and considerate. But his spending became extravagant—he could withdraw millions of dollars from my account every day. Colton looked at the bills with obvious hesitation. I knew what he wanted to say, but I didn’t care. The Bennet family wasn’t short on money, and neither was I. To me, as long as he stayed by my side, no amount of money mattered. Perhaps fate wouldn’t let me live too peacefully. Bennet Group’s confidential information was leaked, and our stock plummeted overnight. While my father was running around trying to save the family business, he was killed in a car accident. My mother couldn’t bear the blow and slit her wrists one night, taking her own life. The company collapsed. After Bennet Group went bankrupt, my enemies locked me in a run-down factory and broke both my legs. I was lucky—I still had a breath left in me. With that breath, I crawled to John’s place, only to see Riley excitedly gripping his hands, saying something to him. Watching him and Riley smile at each other with tears in their eyes, I looked down at my crippled legs and smiled silently. Bennet Group went completely bankrupt. After liquidating all assets, I paid off every debt and severed all ties. With my last bit of money, I bought a train ticket to another city, living like a wounded rat, barely surviving in the shadows. That Christmas, my leg didn’t receive proper treatment, leaving me with serious complications. The daily pain nearly drove me to the breaking point. But over time, even that agony became numb. I kept my eyes downcast, unconsciously touching the pocket over my chest. Hidden inside was a hundred-dollar bill—the same one John had once placed in that plastic bucket. I couldn’t bring myself to spend it, even though that hundred dollars could buy a week’s worth of pain relief ointment. Because it was the last connection I had to John. From the moment I first met John, I knew he was an exceptional person. Over these four years, even without a TV or phone, I could learn about John’s life through passersby’s conversations and public screens. After leaving me, he thrived. In just four years, he became the CEO of a publicly traded company, flaunting his romance with Riley, and their wedding was approaching. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life only glimpsing John through TV screens and magazines. Until a few days ago, when I encountered him again. That moment of reunion after four years felt like stepping into a dream. The instant I saw him, four years of suppressed longing came flooding out. I missed him so much. But then I looked down at my legs, then at the hot dog in front of me, and shook my head with a bitter smile. I skillfully wrapped the hot dog in a bag and handed it to the customer. The man took the bag, and his expression immediately darkened. He said angrily, “Look at what you’ve made! It’s completely burnt! How am I supposed to eat this!” Before I could apologize, he threw the hot dog at my face and stormed off. The scalding hot dog hit my face, burning painfully. I felt the curious stares of passersby, but I just quietly looked down at the scattered hot dog on the ground, my heart aching. I carefully bent down and struggled to pick up the hot dog from the ground, gently blowing away the dust. Just as I was about to put it in my mouth, a hand suddenly knocked it to the ground. I looked up to see John with tears in his eyes. I don’t know what I looked like that night when I appeared before John. But I know that at this moment, sitting before him, he was like an angel illuminating my dark life. And in his gaze, I saw my own wretched state—sitting in a dirty wheelchair, wearing tattered clothes, hair disheveled like a bird’s nest, reeking of cooking oil, utterly pathetic. I instinctively wanted to turn and flee, forgetting that I was now disabled. I fell heavily to the ground, the rough gravel cutting my palms, my legs trapped in the wheelchair, unable to move. John wiped the tears from his eyes and helped me up. I sat back in the wheelchair, keeping my head down, not daring to look at him. His gaze felt tangible, pressing down on me, making me restless. After a long silence, John sighed softly and said, “It’s been four years. Come have coffee with me.”
I sat in a clean, bright café, where passing waitstaff cast subtle yet disdainful glances my way. Over these past few years, I’d grown accustomed to such scrutiny. But now, sitting across from John, I felt a wave of shame wash over me. I clasped my hands nervously, their surfaces covered in calluses and scars. John pushed a cup of coffee toward me, but I quickly waved it away. “No, thanks. I don’t drink coffee.” He looked surprised. “I remember this used to be your favorite blend. Have your tastes changed? I can ask the server to bring you something else.” His words hit me like a punch to the chest, pulling my thoughts back four years. Back then, before Bennet Group went bankrupt, John would grind coffee beans for me every morning, the rich aroma gently waking me from sleep. Sometimes, I’d take him to upscale coffee shops. Now, our roles had completely reversed. I smiled bitterly. “I don’t drink coffee anymore. Just lemon water would be fine.” Looking at John, my voice carried a hint of unease. “If lemon water’s too much trouble, plain water works too.” John’s expression grew complicated. I knew what he was thinking. Once upon a time, I’d lived without a care in the world, pursuing perfection in every aspect of life—even my drinking water had to be imported. Now, I could casually say “whatever’s fine.” Back then, “whatever” simply wasn’t in my vocabulary. John didn’t say much, just signaled the server to bring me a bottle of water. I quietly thanked him, only to catch the server rolling her eyes. I smiled awkwardly. After the server left, we fell into silence. After a long while, John finally spoke. “You’ve changed so much.” I smiled helplessly. How could I not have changed? When I first arrived in this city, I was penniless and dizzy with hunger. An old beggar shared his scavenged bread with me, and I forced it down while fighting back waves of nausea. I’d tried to find work, but my disabled legs made it impossible—I couldn’t even handle the simplest manual labor. Left with no choice, I joined the old beggar in panhandling, seeking warmth under bridge overpasses. At least I had his company. But one night, he developed a high fever. Frantic, I wanted to take him to the hospital, but every taxi on the street refused to pick us up after seeing our appearance. Watching his flushed face, I cursed my useless legs for the first time. I carried him on my back, dragging my weak legs step by agonizing step toward the hospital, but he died before we made it halfway. Before passing away, he pressed all his saved money into my hands, urging me to find work that could at least put food on the table—even selling hot dogs would be better than begging. He said, “You’re a young woman. How can you be a beggar? What if you run into danger?” Seeing that I really couldn’t drink the coffee, John took me to a nearby restaurant. I didn’t refuse. First, I was genuinely hungry, and second, I had once helped John get promoted and handled his personal affairs, spending quite a bit of money on him. It was only right that he treat me to a meal. When the food was served, I couldn’t help but swallow hard. I hadn’t eaten such delicious food in four years. Usually, I could only eat a slice or two of bread with cold water. Later, I bought a small electric kettle because I didn’t dare drink tap water—my current condition couldn’t afford illness. If I fell sick, I’d end up like that old beggar. Sometimes I wondered if living like this was worse than death. But whenever I stood on the edge of life and death, I’d always think of John’s smile. In this world, John was the only person I still cared about. Even if I could only see him on the big screens in shopping malls, it was enough to give me the will to live. Watching me wolf down the food, John’s eyes reddened slightly. He poured me a glass of water and said coldly, “Eat slowly. No one’s competing with you.” I froze and looked up at John. His gaze was cold and distant, making my heart ache. I lowered my head and continued shoveling the food into my mouth. The once-delicious meal now tasted like wax, completely flavorless. But I still forced myself to swallow it, knowing that such a meal might not come again for a very long time. Eating your fill was a survival lesson the old beggar had taught me. Just then, John’s phone rang. He answered: “Riley, what’s wrong?” It was Riley calling. John glanced at me, then got up and walked to the bar to take the call. Only after he left did I dare to lift my head. Looking at his retreating figure, I fought back the bitterness in my heart. I ate while stealing glances at John. I probably wouldn’t have another chance to see him after this. Such is life. By the time I finished eating, there was still plenty of food left on the table, and John was still on the phone at the bar. I found a plastic bag and packed up the leftover food. With the cold weather, it would keep for a long time and save me meal money. After packing, I wanted to say goodbye to John. But looking at his back, I hesitated. After a long pause, I said quietly, “John, goodbye.” With a touch of reluctance, I took one last look at him, then turned my wheelchair toward the exit. Just as I reached the door, I heard John’s urgent voice: “Jasmin, are you going to leave without saying goodbye again?” He pulled me back, and my bag caught on the door, tearing open and spilling food all over the floor. The greasy smell filled the air. I felt deeply embarrassed. John stared at the food on the floor in silence. I smiled bitterly and said, “Do you think I’m a joke?” He didn’t answer. I sighed, looking regretfully at the scattered leftovers on the floor, then turned to leave. But John called out again: “Jasmin, I’ve always thought you were a joke.” I turned back to see tears streaming down John’s face. He knelt down and, ignoring the grease stains on my clothes, buried his face against my knees and sobbed. After a long while, he finally stopped crying. He gently touched my legs, his eyes flashing with pain. After a long silence, he finally spoke: “Jasmin, can we get back together?” I stared at him—the same face, but now bearing the authority of someone in power, familiar yet strange. I laughed softly: “John, when you and Riley sold company secrets to my competitors, did you ever think about me?”
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