I had been keeping a high-minded, poor "puppy dog" boyfriend for three years. One day, he looked at me with red eyes and said: "I will no longer allow you to trample on my dignity." I nodded. "Okay, then this ends here." The next day, I walked into an advertising agency to select models. Abs, long legs, and suits lined up in a row. My assistant asked me, "How many do you want?" I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth— "No need for handsome guys to fight. One for the company, and one for me." As for his dignity? Sorry, from now on, I only treat one person well. Love you, myself. See you tomorrow. 1 "Serena, I will no longer allow you to trample on my dignity." He stood in the center of the living room, wearing the white shirt I bought him, sleeves rolled up casually to his elbows, revealing a nice forearm. Those were the arm lines I fell for at first glance—clean, youthful, with a bit of a boyish leanness. At this moment, those hands were clenched into fists, veins bulging, trembling violently. Liam, twenty-three years old, a college senior. A high-minded puppy dog I had kept for three years. Now, he wanted to talk to me about dignity. I sat on the sofa, lazily closing my laptop, and looked up at him. "Oh? Say that again." He took a deep breath, his voice strained. "I said, I will no longer allow you to trample on my dignity." His eyes were red, his emotions clearly agitated. But that agitation wasn't about having a fight with me; it was about—mustering up the courage to reason with me. I hate it when people try to reason with me. "Fine," I nodded, my tone incredibly flat. "Then let's end this here." He froze for a moment. "...What?" I stood up, picking up my briefcase casually. "We're done, Student Liam. You want dignity, I give you freedom. Fair trade." Liam looked like someone was choking him. "You just... just like that—break up?" "What, you want a formal procedure?" I smiled. "The agreement period is up. You're graduating soon. I was planning to find a time to tell you anyway. Since you brought it up, perfect. Saves me the trouble." His face turned pale instantly. "You wanted to dump me a long time ago?" "Don't make it sound so ugly." I picked up the car keys from the console table. "Contract expired, we go our separate ways. Isn't that nice?" "But we—it's not just a contract!" He panicked, rushing a few steps to block the door in front of me. "Serena, we've been together for three years! Have you never treated me as a boyfriend?" "Liam." I looked up at him, my tone very serious. "The first time we met, your mother was critically ill, and you urgently needed money for surgery. You said yourself, 'anything goes,' and asked me to name my conditions." His face flushed red. "I paid for your mother's surgery and let you continue school. I bought you a condo, clothes, a computer, gave you living expenses." I listed them one by one. "I didn't check your phone, didn't interfere with your friends, didn't interfere with your classes. You wanted to play ball, wanted to stay up all night gaming, I didn't say a word." "Did I force you to call me baby?" "Did I force you to say good morning and good night, to report your whereabouts?" "Did I force you to admit to your friends that you were kept by me?" I looked at him slowly, my eyes not gentle at all. "Student Liam, the freedom I gave you is more than your parents ever gave you." The air sank for a moment. He was rendered speechless by me, breathing rapidly several times before forcing a rebuttal. "So you can just throw money at me? Treat me as—as a pet, a toy? You have dignity, don't I need it?" "So you're standing up now." I nodded. "Great. Then stand firm, don't wobble." I pulled his hand away and opened the door. "I wish you intact dignity and a bright future." One sentence, crisp and clean. He stared for two seconds before reacting. "You're just leaving like this? You're not sad at all?" I laughed. "Sad? You overestimate yourself." I pulled the door shut from the outside. Snap. Clean and decisive, like tearing up a paper contract completely. The moment I walked into the elevator, I slowly let out a breath. Three years. I've managed many projects. Few lost money, none wasted time. Liam was probably the first person who made me feel—time was wasted for nothing. It was strange. I looked seriously at my face reflected in the elevator mirror—no red eyes, no trembling, no distraught look. I only saw a twenty-eight-year-old woman with exquisite makeup and a relaxed expression. As the elevator slowly descended, I suddenly wanted to laugh. Dignity? Student Liam's dignity was something he threw on the ground himself, yet now he blames me for stepping on it. Fine. Starting tonight—your dignity belongs to you, my wallet belongs to me. We owe each other nothing. 2 The next morning, I woke up at 6:30 as usual. No man lying next to me, no one complaining my hands and feet were cold, no one asking me to sleep five more minutes. When the phone alarm rang, I got up briskly, washed, did makeup, changed clothes. Half an hour to get everything done. My name is Serena Lin, founder of Serendipity Communications and creative director. Graduated from one of the top media colleges in the country. In the first few years of my career, I worked like a dog in a 4A agency, getting stomach problems and dark circles, then gritted my teeth to start my own business, struggling to make the company somewhat famous in the industry. "Morning, President Lin!" Entering the company, the receptionist waved at me. I nodded and pushed open the office door. My assistant Lulu followed me with a folder, like a hyperactive squirrel. "President Lin looks so handsome today!" I glanced at her. "Such a sweet mouth, did you stay up late watching handsome guy livestreams again?" "Oops, you caught me." She giggled. "But seriously, your complexion is especially good today. Is it..." She deliberately lowered her voice and leaned in. "Love life going well?" I smiled. "Breakup going well." "Huh?" She froze. "What?" "A non-national standard slag has finally been deleted from my life resume." I took a bite of the bread she bought me, in a great mood. "This is a good thing." She blinked confusedly. "You... you aren't really saying you broke up, are you?" "Do I look like I'm heartbroken?" I raised an eyebrow. She looked me up and down seriously. "No. You look like you just landed a few big projects." That's right then. "Stop gossiping." I took the schedule from her hand. "This morning is the Blue Ocean proposal review, afternoon—" Her eyes lit up. "Afternoon is the main event! New beverage ad model selection! I've already screened their profiles in advance. President Lin, you really have to take a good look, top-tier quality legs." I rolled my eyes. "Choosing models based on face results in momentary pleasure; choosing models based on tone results in constant pleasure." "That's true," she nodded like pounding garlic, "but it doesn't hinder me from appreciating the view along the way." She couldn't help gossiping again. "By the way, did you really break up with someone yesterday?" "Mm." I responded faintly. "Then do we need to go for a drink tonight?" "No need." She was surprised. "No need to drown sorrows in alcohol? No need for sisters to curse the ex together?" "The kind of breakup that needs drowning sorrows is called heartbreak." I closed the schedule. "My kind is called taking out the trash." She stared for two seconds, giving a thumbs up. "Cool. Too cool." 2 PM, photo studio. A dozen male models lined up. From number one to twelve, the shortest was 5'11", the tallest almost 6'5". Long legs, thin waists, broad shoulders, abs visible or hidden, all decorations of youthful hormones. Lulu stood next to me, practically glowing. "Oh my god, this scene is too eye-candy..." I said seriously, "Wipe your drool, this is work." "But... work is so happy." I laughed out loud. "Hello, President Lin." "Hello, President Lin." "Hard work, President Lin." The boys greeted one by one, eyes carrying awe and a bit of expectation. Some were already slightly famous, some just entered the industry, some still in college. But in this studio, they all had the same identity—"ad faces" waiting to be chosen. I picked up the list, checked one by one, put the file aside, sat on the high stool next to the camera, and nodded to them: "Don't be nervous, everyone. Today is just a normal audition. Just relax and show your state." The audition began, group by group. Running, jumping, drinking beverages, smiling, playing basketball. Everyone had their own flavor. Some looked obedient and soft, like the class monitor next door. Some looked ruffian-like, like they would pull you to the back door for a secret kiss. And some had charming eyes, discharging electricity at the camera. I watched and scored in my heart. —Have to say, being young is great. The muscle lines on the calves could be directly used for sports drink posters. After two rounds of shooting, everyone took a break. Lulu whispered in my ear: "President Lin, seriously asking, how many are you choosing?" "One main male lead for the ad, one backup," I said. Her eyes lit up slightly. "I mean, besides work." I looked at her for two seconds, corners of my mouth curling up. "You want the truth?" "Yes." I put the pen in my hand on the table, stood up, and walked in front of the row of boys drinking water and resting. Seeing me, they instinctively stood a bit straighter. Like the habit of lining up when the morning exercise bell rings since seventeen. "Good work," I smiled. Originally, I could have just said "Rest for ten minutes, we'll do a dynamic set later," which is what a qualified creative director should say. But. Last night I was just lectured by a parasite living off me about "not trampling on his dignity." Just dumped a high-minded puppy dog who I raised with money but who disliked me for not respecting him. That blocked unhappiness in my heart suddenly wanted an outlet. So— I looked at this row of male models and said slowly: "Handsome guys, don't fight—" The row of people: "?" I hooked my lips. "One for the company, and one for me." The air was silent for a full two seconds. Then, Lulu at the other end of the studio burst into laughter, clapping wildly while laughing: "President Lin is awesome!!!" Several photographers held back until their faces were red, eyes full of "those who know, know" laughter. Those boys were stunned for a moment, a bit startled, then all a bit amused. A few quick-witted ones laughed along directly, teasing along with my words: "President Lin, are you planning to work overtime to shoot two ads?" "We are all here, take your pick." I smiled, hiding that bit of bad intentions. "Just kidding, don't take it seriously. The ad only needs one male lead, the others—" I pointed to my heart: "Just stay in my heart." Yes, from now on, anyone can stay in my heart. Beauty, abs, smiles, voices, all can. Except— I will never put my whole wallet, a whole period of life, on a man again. I turned back to the monitor, that bit of secretly held sullenness in my heart dissipated. 3 Returning to the company that day, my phone screen lit up seven or eight times. All from the same person's name: Liam. Called once, I hung up once. Hung up three times, he finally stopped calling. I thought he gave up, but ten minutes later, WeChat started dinging. [Liam]: Sorry, I was impulsive last night. [Liam]: I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. [Liam]: Can you listen to my explanation? [Liam]: I didn't mean to break up with you. [Liam]: The words I said last night weren't what I really wanted to say. I read through it once, clicked on his avatar. Hesitated for a second whether to block or delete. I finally chose— Move to "Restricted List" (Muted/Archived). Not blocking, not deleting, not giving him any illusion of "you still occupy a place in my heart." Like handling a client file whose cooperation has terminated: don't throw in the trash can, in case need to check records for rights defense later; But absolutely will not take out to look again. I put away WeChat and continued writing the script. At 10:30 PM, finished revising the draft, I stretched, ready to shower and sleep. Halfway through the shower, the phone rang again. I wiped my hand and picked it up: "Hello?" Silence for a second on that end, then a somewhat cautious and young male voice: "President Lin, this is Tony." Quite unexpected. "Mm, what's up?" I turned on speakerphone, continuing to apply skincare products to my face. "That... sorry to disturb you so late." His voice was a bit nervous. "I just wanted to thank you for your guidance during the shoot today." "Thanking for just this?" I laughed. "Then my phone would be blowing up every day." "No, I—" He was anxious. "I'm really grateful to you. I shot one or two small ads before, directors were very fierce, never taught me, only scolded NG. Today you told me 'natural is good,' and I suddenly wasn't nervous anymore." His tone was sincere to the point of silliness. I suddenly remembered the day I started keeping Liam three years ago— Liam holding the contract, standing in the corner of the coffee shop, eyes just as bright. The difference was that his eyes then only had money, while Tony's eyes now only had opportunity. "Just work hard." I said lightly. "If you really want to do this line of work, remember not just to look at the lens, but look at the contract." "Huh?" He didn't understand. "It's okay, you'll understand later." I laughed. "Sleep early, you have early class tomorrow." He paused: "How did you know I have early class tomorrow?" "Your profile says you haven't graduated yet." "Oh..." He was a little pleasantly surprised. "Right, I'm a senior." Hanging up the phone, I looked in the mirror, applying the last layer of eye cream. In the mirror, I looked at my own eyes and said softly: "Serena, from now on, we only love one person." She looked at me in the mirror and curved her lips with me. 4 Liam was actually quiet for a few days. Quiet enough that I almost thought he had rarely respected my decision. Until the weekend, after I finished dinner with the Blue Ocean marketing director, coming out of the restaurant ready to get in the car, I heard someone shouting from afar: "Serena!" My heart thumped. —This tone of calling my name, sounded like trouble. Turning to look, he stood across the street. Black T-shirt, jeans, carrying an old backpack, looking almost exactly like the first time I saw him. The only difference was, the first look was clean poor, this look was fragile poor. He ran over, panting: "I, I've been looking for you for many days." "You are?" The Blue Ocean director looked at him politely. "A friend." I said coldly. "Student Liam, if you have something, call later. I'm busy now." I was about to get in the car, his sentence blocked the retreat: "My phone service is cut off." I mentally applauded him. Excellent, truly excellent. From character to financial status, hanging on me like a chain. "Then go back and pay the bill." I pulled the car door. "Serena!" He grabbed my wrist abruptly, eyes red and sore. "Can't you just listen to me for a second?" The Blue Ocean director was extremely sensible: "President Lin, we'll go ahead. We'll chat about the draft in detail next week." Said and left with the team naturally, leaving space for us. Passersby looked over. I didn't want a scene, so I pulled my hand back: "Speak." He couldn't say it. After a long while, he squeezed out a sentence: "I was wrong." "Mm." I nodded. "You were indeed wrong." He thought I would follow with "but I forgive you" or something similar. I didn't. I just stood there, looking at him quietly. "I said those words that day because I felt too terrible." His voice trembled. "I just wanted you to see my feelings. I'm not a dog you raise, coming when called, leaving when chased." "Then what are you doing now?" I raised an eyebrow. "Running back voluntarily to wag your tail?" He choked. I continued: "Liam, when you were high-minded, you treated me as a secret not to be spoken of in front of others; when you were aggrieved, you treated me as a trash can to vent on anytime; when you needed money, you treated me as an ATM." "Now you tell me you're not a dog—" I tilted my head to look at him. "Do you think you deserve the word dog?" His face flushed red: "Don't talk like that, I—" "You what?" I blinked. "Want to educate me on how to be a person, or kneel down to apologize? Have you thought about which face to use first, and what to say to me?" His breathing was chaotic: "How can you be so cruel?" "Your rent, electricity bills, medical bills, pocket money for three years." I counted lightly. "I have records one by one." "If you think my money that 'trampled your dignity' is too dirty, list a card number for me. I'll have finance send you a 'dignity compensation' bill. You pretend I never appeared from now on, okay?" He opened his mouth, looking like a fish thrown on shore. "I..." He finally broke defense a bit. "I didn't stay for the money." "Then what did you stay for?" I was really curious. "For loving me?" He looked up at me: "Yes." This "Yes" was said with abnormal firmness. "So you love me, but dare not admit our relationship in front of anyone?" I asked. "Because you weren't willing." He blurted out. "You never let me post our photos, never let me mention you anywhere. I was afraid you'd be annoyed, afraid you'd think I wanted to borrow your resources—" "Student Liam, you still haven't figured one thing out until now." I laughed. "Do you think you hid me because you were afraid I'd think you were borrowing resources?" I stepped forward, lowering my voice. "Or, from beginning to end, you felt that being with a woman who kept you with money was a shameful thing?" His lips trembled, unable to pick up a single sentence. I felt quite tired. When we signed that agreement, him twenty-two, me twenty-five, it was written clearly: "Non-interference in private lives, non-interference in social circles, limited to this relationship only." It was you who wanted to enshrine this relationship first, then disliked it for not being decent. You ate my money while judging in your heart: "Is she too domineering?" "Is she not gentle enough?" "Is she not respecting me enough?" Then why didn't you get out earlier? "Liam, your dignity was trampled not because I gave you money." I reminded him kindly one last time. "It's because you knelt asking for money while thinking about standing up to be a saint." "Being a saint is hard. Your waist is too soft, can't stand straight." I raised my hand to hail a car: "Don't come looking for me anymore. We have nothing to say." Before closing the door, I saw him standing there, eyes lost and broken. At that moment I suddenly realized— His world collapsed. Not because I left. But because for the first time he realized: There are people who can listen to "I love you" and say without changing expression: "Oh, so what?"
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