At the company holiday gala, my boss insisted on setting me up on a blind date. Drunk and emotional, I red-eyed confessed that I still wasn't over my ex. My colleagues, hungry for gossip, pressed for details. The CEO, sitting at the head of the table, watched me with an increasingly strange expression. "This ex of yours... his last name wouldn't happen to be Sterling, would it?" 1. The other executives instantly sobered up, exchanging nervous glances. I, however, had face-planted onto the table, achieving the deep, peaceful sleep of an infant. I completely missed the boss's question. My colleagues, desperate for the tea, shook me vigorously. "Don't fall asleep, Summer! Keep going!" I lifted my head with great effort. "Say what?" "Is your ex's family rich?" "Filthy. Obscenely rich," I mumbled, spreading my arms wide. "His kitchen... had a row of fridges just for imported seafood people gifted them." "How did you meet?" "High school classmates." I mumbled a few more incoherent things and sat there trying to buffer. My body found the camera lens before my brain did. I immediately tried to fix my facial expression. Only to realize it was the big boss, secretly filming me with his phone. "Mr. Vanderbilt, why are you filming me?" Chase Vanderbilt was handsome, rich, and constantly in the tabloids. Among the group executives, he was the one everyone gossiped about. They called him the "Spare Heir." He had an older brother, the Crown Prince. But a year ago, the brother was transferred abroad, and Chase took over the company. Rank-wise, I wasn't important enough to sit at his table. But today was the annual gala. And I was the top-grossing livestreamer across all sectors last year. I went wherever the company pointed me. To show their appreciation, the leadership allowed top-performing employees to sit at the VIP table. Chase pursed his lips, gesturing for me to continue. "Don't stop on my account. I want to hear this." "Let's not talk about dating..." I slurred. "It's embarrassing." I absentmindedly dropped a cherry tomato into my wine glass. Realizing I wasn't out with clients, I fished it out and ate it. Sour. Chase hissed in sympathy. "Embarrassing?" He seemed like he wanted to laugh but held it back. "Is dating your ex that embarrassing?" I shook my head. "He's not embarrassing. I was just... a failure back then." "That doesn't track," he led the conversation. "If you were a failure, why was he with you?" I didn't answer. He shot a look at the people around him. Several half-drunk executives immediately stood up, claiming they needed to toast other tables. Seeing this, my colleagues also slipped away one by one. Confused, I decided to follow the herd. Chase looked up quickly, clearing his throat. "Where are you going? Your performance last year was stellar. Let's talk about a raise." I jolted awake and shimmied back into my seat. I refilled my glass, muscle memory taking over to offer a toast. "Thank you for the recognition, Mr. Vanderbilt. Bottoms up." "Sit, sit. Stop drinking." He held my glass down. "Tell me more. Ethan... I mean, your ex. How did his mother convince you to break up? Did she curse at you? Threaten you?" No. She was very kind. It was my senior year of college. Since confirming our relationship sophomore year, I would stay at Ethan Sterling's place during winter and summer breaks. His mother appeared suddenly one afternoon. I was napping on the couch and was startled awake by a knock. I thought Ethan had forgotten his keys. I ran to open the door, only to find a strange woman. She looked about thirty percent like Ethan. She wasn't surprised to see me. And she didn't seem to be looking for Ethan. I greeted her slowly, "Hello, ma'am." "Summer, hello." She smiled. "Can we go inside and chat?" I guessed her purpose immediately. She introduced herself as Mrs. Sterling. Her family controlled shipping lanes on the East Coast. Her marriage to Mr. Sterling was a business alliance. The two families' industries complemented each other perfectly. They had been married for years in relative harmony, and Ethan was the only son. Maybe Mr. Sterling had illegitimate children. But Ethan’s position was secure. Assuming he didn't do anything stupid. Like letting an outsider find a weak point to exploit. "I trust Ethan's abilities; he doesn't necessarily need a marriage to secure his position," Mrs. Sterling said, adjusting her designer clutch. Then came the pivot. "However, marriage is a way to gather support." "If he doesn't do it, someone else will." "If others realize his wife's family is weak, they might use marriage alliances to challenge him. That wouldn't be good." With every sentence, my back stiffened. I was sitting on pins and needles. Let's get this over with. I kept my head down. "Mrs. Sterling, what... what do you want me to do?" She looked at me picking at my fingers, her gaze almost pitying. "Summer, I've known about you since high school." "Back then, Ethan would always 'accidentally' mention your name at home." "I looked into you. I know your parents are traditional and strict, that you relied on financial aid to leave your rural town, and that you got into the prep school on grades alone." "You've had a hard life." "You're smart, and you're pretty." "But to be our daughter-in-law... you don't have to be perfect, but you can't have such glaring deficits." "I didn't want to break you two up so quickly." "But Ethan is graduating. If you stay in the country, he won't want to go abroad to manage the overseas branches." "So, Summer, for his sake, and for yours... consider this." She opened her clutch. She slid a thin check across the coffee table. I wiped my face quickly, afraid to look up. "Okay. Okay, I understand. Is it alright if I don't walk you out?" Her soft cashmere shawl brushed against my flannel pajamas. The scent was faint, like old money and sandalwood. The scent faded. She closed the door, as if she had never been there. I went to the bedroom to pack. Only then did I realize how much stuff I had. Clothes and socks filled a corner of the walk-in closet. Jewelry, hair ties, and skincare products Ethan had bought me on a whim. The plants I raised, the plushies I bought, the half-used toiletries. It was way more than the single suitcase I arrived with. I packed, then unpacked. I left all the expensive jewelry. I took the skincare products. I wouldn't bear to buy such expensive brands on my own. I took extra pajamas. And the cashmere shawl—it was a celebrity style, very long. When I bought it, Ethan laughed, saying I was trying to look cool despite being short, that I looked like a manta ray in it. I had to take that. The sound system was a brand I picked out. It was supposed to be amazing. Though, once we got it, I realized the internet hype was exaggerated. But I still loved it. Too bad I couldn't carry it. What about the flowers on the balcony I'd tended for two years? Would I have to spend another two years growing new ones somewhere else? I sat next to the messy suitcase and suddenly broke down. The front door opened and closed. Footsteps, the rustle of bags being placed on the table. "Summer," Ethan called from the living room. "I'll make dinner, okay?" I didn't answer. He muttered to himself in confusion. He must have seen the check on the coffee table because his footsteps suddenly became frantic. The bedroom door flew open. "Who came here..." Ethan’s face was pale as he held the thin piece of paper. I turned to look at him, quickly wiping my face with my sleeve. "Hey, don't cry. Don't cry." He half-knelt, pulling me into his arms. "Who came to see you? Tell me." His fingertips were cold; his coat was freezing. I rubbed my face against his coat, burying myself in his warm sweater. But his sweater smelled of sandalwood too. They were family. Could I really drag him down, forcing him to choose sides? Gasping for air, I tried to pull away, but he yanked me back. His fingers tangled in my hair, forcing my head against his chest. "Speak. Was it a man or a woman? How old?" He lowered his head, his nose pressing against my temple, his breath ragged with anger. I shook my head. "We... we need to talk." "Talk about what? Summer, what are you doing? Breaking up?" His gaze was severe. "When we got together, didn't you promise me you wouldn't give up easily?" I wanted to say sorry, but I couldn't. He had told me he thought everything through before asking me out. So he hoped I would consider the obstacles we'd face before giving him an answer. I promised him I would stay by his side. But I was too young. I underestimated the weight of the world. Facing it now, I realized a single sentence from his mother was enough to negate everything. I was retreating. Would he retreat too, at some point? "Maybe we should... just separate?" I met his eyes, my voice getting smaller. "I'm afraid... afraid you'll regret it later. That you'll feel I'm... a burden..." "Enough!" Ethan cut me off, swallowing hard. For three years in high school, I rarely spoke. At first, when classmates asked me questions, I wouldn't answer. I’d just write down the solution. They thought I was arrogant. They called me the "Silent Ice Queen of Exams." Later, teachers called on me to answer questions. It happened enough times that they realized I had a speech impediment. A severe stutter. So, I gained immunity from answering questions. No one forced me to speak. They just occasionally advised me to practice more. Classes during the day, dorms at night... time was tight. I couldn't find space to practice, nor did I want to. Only after getting together with Ethan did I occasionally open my mouth. He would always wait for me to finish. Even if describing a simple event took me ten minutes. He never interrupted me like this. I clamped my mouth shut. "Summer," he took a deep breath, cupping my face in his hands. "Do you still love me?" I looked at him and nodded. "Then don't mention breaking up. Do it for me—practice speaking. I'll practice with you at home." He applied a little pressure. "Do you hear me?" I nodded again. He pulled me into his arms, tightening his grip. "Good girl." After that day, neither of us mentioned the two-million-dollar check. He hired a housekeeper, and he spent all day dragging me into conversations. Sometimes I woke up late at night to hear him on the balcony, taking calls. The person on the other end didn't sound happy. He would listen in silence for a long time, giving low responses. Usually, the next day, he’d apologize, saying he had to attend board meetings and would be gone for a few days. I saw the documents on his desk. Meeting minutes, industry reports, financial statements. Confidentiality level: Unknown. I didn't dare look closely. I just knew I was probably dragging him down. When he was gone, I practiced speaking to my phone. I started a voice chat livestream. Regardless of whether anyone was listening, I forced myself to talk. Some viewers were scared off. College classmates who bumped into me on campus thought I was having a mental breakdown. For a while, my weird livestream was even discussed on the university forum. I replied to comments one by one, explaining the reason. To my surprise, the internet was kind. People came just to chat with me. But it was so painful. The livestream got more popular. Some encouraged me; others mocked me. Some tricked me into reading inappropriate comments. I still stuttered. After accidentally reading a phonetic pun for a slur, my channel was banned again. I couldn't take it anymore. Why torture myself like this, and drag Ethan down with me? A lifelong condition isn't something that can be fixed in a short time. I wanted to give up. But this time, I didn't have the courage to face Ethan. I left everything behind, taking only the clothes on my back. I broke up with him via text from a hotel room. He flew back from the West Coast that very night. He insisted on seeing me. I opened the door to see a travel-worn Ethan. Eyes bloodshot, standing stiffly. Neither of us spoke. I couldn't stop the tears. I cried and cried. Finally, I spoke the most fluent sentence of my life. "Ethan, the pressure is too much. I really can't keep going." He pursed his lips tight. "You really can't keep going? Can't we try again?" I said, "I'm so tired." He placed a gift bag on the floor, lowering his eyes. "If it's really that painful... then forget it." I squatted on the ground, watching him turn his back. "Ethan!" He stopped and looked sideways. Only then did I realize his eyes were red too. I said, "Can we still be friends?" Will we ever see each other again? He laughed lightly. "Yeah. If you need anything, find me." But I understood. He meant he wouldn't find me. And indeed, we never contacted each other again. It's been over three years. If he knew my speech is crystal clear now— I wonder if he’d be happy for me. Alcohol brings up old memories. Illusory emotions rushed to my head, making me forget reality. I was slumped on the table, completely forgetting I was at the group gala. Sitting opposite me was my boss's boss's boss. Chase frowned and patted me. "Summer? Summer, wake up... Holy crap, does she have alcohol poisoning? I'm dead. Ethan Sterling is going to chop me up." I was shaken awake, tilting my face out from my arms. I opened one eye to look at him. "Hmm? Mr. Vanderbilt?" Chase let out a sigh of relief. He handed me a napkin, lifting his chin. "Wipe your face. Crying like that." "Sorry, drank too much. Got emotional. This wine is strong." I forced a smile, realizing something. "Hey, Mr. Vanderbilt, weren't we talking about a raise?" He waved his hand expansively. "Raise. 50%. But tomorrow... no, the day after tomorrow, you have to come with me to... uh, a cross-company exchange meeting." "Is my rank high enough to attend with you?" "Oh, it's just a simple dinner." "Oh. Wait, the day after tomorrow is the start of the holiday break." "Triple overtime pay. The meeting is full of big-shot connections. I'm taking you because you're ambitious." Chase sounded very convincing. I didn't suspect a thing and made an 'OK' sign. He let out a breath, smiling like a triumphant fox. "I'll have the driver take you home. Rest up. I'll pick you up the day after tomorrow." 2. I slept until 2 PM the next day, thanks to the alcohol. I woke up and sat on the edge of the bed thinking for thirty minutes. I couldn't remember exactly what I said at the gala last night. But I definitely remembered Chase's mischievous expression at the end. His reputation with women wasn't great. One day sending a starlet to a magazine cover. The next dining with a debutante. Though I hadn't heard of him messing with female employees. Still, it gave me goosebumps. Before I could think of an excuse to bail, a corporate message popped up. [Tomorrow's dinner is a birthday celebration for a buddy of mine. You'd better bring a gift.] [Take this seriously. Maybe if they like you, you can make a few hundred thousand more in commission this year.] [5:30 PM. My secretary, Leo, will pick you up.] Your private party? I shouldn't go. I drank too much yesterday and ran my mouth, please forgive me, Mr. Vanderbilt. There are people with better sales numbers than me, maybe give the chance to them? I deleted all my refusal drafts. Cowardly, I typed: [Received.] After washing up, I realized I forgot to ask key information. Is this buddy old or young? Does he like western stuff or traditional? What's his orientation? I knew nothing. I searched "gifts for male leaders" on my phone. The history showed shops I used to buy from. Scarves, belts, briefcases. The prices were low, ranges I wouldn't choose now. But back then, Ethan was always happy to receive them. I suddenly felt dazed. Ethan's birthday was coming up soon, too. He was born right around the holidays. Every year, he'd celebrate with me, then rush home to celebrate with his family. He’d return the next day with bags of stuff. Gifts from relatives and the Sterling family's business partners. Some knew he was dating, so they gifted trendy luxury items suitable for women. He'd pick through them and bring me everything I could use. He’d tease me, refusing to hand them over easily. Making me circle him, anxious and stuttering. Only then would he lift his chin and slowly hand over the suitcase. I’d sit on the floor opening boxes. Ethan would lean against the wall, sipping water, watching me. "Like any of them?" I’d show him my favorite. He’d nod, smiling. "Got it. I'll discuss more projects with that family next year." I’d say, "You... you're abusing your power." My birthday is in the fall. Exact date? Unclear. With his gifts piled up, it felt like I had a great birthday too. Since breaking up, I hadn't picked a gift for anyone. Filtering through millions of items to match someone's temperament, preferences, and status was exhausting. I summoned the courage to message Chase. "Mr. Vanderbilt, what does your friend like? I'll prepare accordingly." He said, "Anything is fine." ... Anything it is. I asked a contact to buy a brick of aged tea. I just said I wanted expensive. Gifting tea is never wrong. The shop owner said the tea I wanted was high grade, and the only one in stock was reserved. He had to transfer stock from another store. Luckily, it arrived before the dinner. I picked a semi-formal business casual outfit and left with the gift box.
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