For five years, our secret affair as boss and employee unfolded, every morning I'd rise at six, concocting his favorite dishes with an almost obsessive dedication. Curry had to shed a touch of its fieriness, greens needed to retain their perfect crispness, and beef, always, had to be stewed to melt-in-your-mouth tenderness. I even bought a kitchen timer, just to nail the cooking times with pinpoint accuracy. My boyfriend claimed the company strictly forbade office romances, demanding discretion, so each day I'd ask the cafeteria lady to pass him his lunchbox. Yet, he never once said, "It's good." Sometimes, when he was swamped with tasks, the lunchbox would return untouched; other times, he'd take a couple of bites, then set it aside, merely remarking, "Too salty," or "Too greasy." I always comforted myself, at least he still accepted it. Until that day— Chloe Davis, the new intern, posted on social media: "Love-filled lunch from my senior! So delicious!" The accompanying picture was the tomato beef brisket I’d made. Even the tiny cherry tomato I’d carefully placed that morning was highlighted in her close-up shot, poked with a chopstick. Turns out my handiwork wasn't bad; it was just the person eating it who didn't care. When colleagues whispered about his special attention to the intern, it hit me: his "discretion" was only for me. That night, I handed in my resignation and bought a one-way ticket home. But he drove like a madman, blowing through a dozen red lights, chasing me across five train stations, begging me to come back. 1 The station announcement crackled to life, signaling boarding. I stood in the waiting area, gazing one last time at Southville, the city where I'd spent five years. All because Ethan Blackwood was still here. The thought of leaving had been brewing since late last year. It was during the year-end financial review when bonuses were distributed by project. The major project, which I had personally spearheaded from start to finish, only had a new intern, Chloe, assist with the final wrap-up. Yet, when the final assessment came, ninety percent of the bonus was allocated to her. That was two months of my blood, sweat, and tears. Dave Miller, my colleague, looked at me awkwardly. "Director Hayes, this was Mr. Blackwood's decision…" Chloe, the intern, was someone I had personally vouched for, brought onto the project team as an exception. I'd wanted to mentor a junior, give her an opportunity to shine, but I never imagined two months of my hard work would become her stepping stone. Dave helplessly added, "Mr. Blackwood emphasized that 'outstanding newcomers like Chloe Davis' needed to be rewarded significantly." Chloe Davis, indeed. And Mr. Ethan Blackwood, the man I’d been secretly dating for five years. 2 A chill wind cut through the platform. I stood by the designated car, systematically deleting our photos from my phone. Ethan always stressed that office romances violated company policy, so our five-year relationship had always been hidden, never seeing the light of day. These few photos were only kept after much nagging, let alone being shared on social media. He deliberately maintained a distance, letting everyone assume he disliked me. Even when he arbitrarily reassigned my project bonus, my colleagues thought it was perfectly normal. As I deleted the photos, the scene from that bonus allocation day flashed back. I suppressed my rage and dialed his number in the hallway, only for it to be, predictably, hung up. For five years, he almost never took my work calls. Then a text popped up: "Busy." But this time, it wasn't a personal matter. I headed straight for the top-floor office. Through the glass partition, I saw him leaning over, explaining a proposal to Chloe. As the girl leaned in, the flowing ends of her scarf softly brushed his neck. He was young, yet he commanded the Capitol City branch, quickly gaining recognition from New York HQ in just a few years. His abilities truly were outstanding. Once upon a time, I too longed for his guidance, but I was always met with impatient rejections: "Learn the basics yourself, I'm busy." When I made a mistake at work and faced disciplinary action, he never bothered to inquire: "You learn from your mistakes." Yet now, he was patiently explaining basic concepts to Chloe, who didn't even know how to use a pivot table. On his desk sat the "loving" lunchbox I prepared daily — to avoid suspicion, I could only entrust it to the cafeteria lady. "Mr. Blackwood, I didn't have breakfast, I'm starving. Can I have your lunchbox? I'll treat you to lunch later." Chloe pointed at the container. "Take it." He said, not even looking up from his emails. The girl happily opened the box, tasting the beef brisket and praising it profusely. In that moment, it suddenly struck me that confronting him about the bonus allocation was utterly pointless. As I turned to leave, the entire building suddenly lost power. A torrential downpour had led to an emergency company announcement for remote work. Fumbling my way down the stairs in the dark, I caught sight of two figures walking side-by-side in the rain — Ethan holding an umbrella, carefully shielding Chloe as they headed to his car. I arrived home, soaked and miserable, just as Ethan’s call came through. "Abby," he said, his voice distant. "Figured you had an umbrella. Made it home, right?" In the background, Chloe was asking if he wanted ginger slices in his ginger tea. "Today I made tomato beef brisket," I gripped my phone tightly. "Did you like it?" "Hmm… it was alright." He answered distractedly. After hanging up, I saw Chloe’s new social media post: Inside a warm, softly lit room, two hands clinked glasses: "The taste of being cherished, it's truly wonderful." 3 The train slowly pulled into the platform. I pulled my suitcase and boarded the car, faintly hearing a call from behind. Perhaps it was for me, perhaps not. But I wouldn't look back. This journey home from Southville, its first stop was Riverbend. And the story of Ethan and me, it also began in Riverbend. That was the first time I was solely responsible for a bidding project in Riverbend. The subway was down, the taxi queue had over four hundred people, and the deadline was fast approaching. In desperation, I contacted Dave, who grumbled and then begrudgingly gave me Ethan’s number, telling me to ask him for help. On the phone, Ethan listened to my trembling plea, then sighed softly. "Don't panic, wait for me where you are." In the pouring rain, he sped through the streets, simultaneously calming my panic and reminding me to allow ample time in the future. Finally, I submitted the bid just in time, drenched in cold sweat. He leaned against his car, offering me a steaming cup of coffee. That night, I posted an update visible only to him: "In this rainy weather, I met my saving grace." He silently liked it. Now, I too had liked Chloe’s post, and a minute later, that post disappeared. Ethan quickly called, testing the waters. "I'm on my way back." My voice was calm; I simply told him to drive safely. He seemed to relax. "You too, be careful not to catch a cold." "Ethan," I suddenly said. "This Christmas, can we tell my parents about us?" He had always refused to go public, always saying the time wasn't right. "Forget it." His voice was low. "They're pushing for marriage so hard, let's not stir up trouble." "Okay." I smiled and hung up. The fever from the rain came on suddenly. For the first time ever, I took a cab to the office. Staring blankly out the window, Ethan's car flashed by. My apartment was actually very close to his house. But picking me up meant driving down the perpetually congested Victoria Avenue, a half-hour crawl. So I never hoped he'd give me a ride, and he was happy to avoid suspicion. Only today did I realize that road had been rebuilt months ago, now a mere ten-minute drive. For half a year, he had driven past my door daily, yet never offered me a ride. And today, he was coming from the direction of Cedar Creek Apartments, where Chloe lived. Not on his way, but expressly for her. At the office, I put on a fever patch and buried myself in organizing handover documents, until a familiar yet rare figure appeared. Ethan frowned. "You're sick? Why didn't you say anything?" I didn't lift my head. "What's the point? You wouldn't care for me like other boyfriends do." Glancing at colleagues slowly arriving, I lowered my voice. "Go on, aren't you afraid of being seen?" He was silent for a moment, then turned and left. 4 The train's second stop was Sterling Heights. My connection with Ethan also had roots in Sterling Heights. I had just been promoted and went with Dave and Ethan to Sterling Heights to finalize a project contract. The night before the signing, after reviewing the bidding proposal, we went out for a late dinner. Suddenly, several masked figures rushed out of the darkness, making a beeline for Ethan, their moves vicious. Dave called the police and shouted for help. If anything happened to Ethan, the next day's signing would definitely be off. Without thinking, I grabbed a brick from the roadside and charged. Both of us ended up getting beaten. As a knife swung toward Ethan's head, I threw myself forward, blocking it with my arm. He held me as we tumbled to the ground. As I drifted into unconsciousness, the only sound left was the shrill wail of police sirens. When I woke again, only he was in the hospital room. "Was it worth it?" He stared at me. "You almost died?" "I couldn't… just watch you get hurt." My voice was weak. "You helped me last time, now it's my turn." Looking down, I found he was holding my hand. This scene felt eerily familiar. I froze. "Mr. Blackwood…" "Call me Ethan," he whispered. The day I was discharged, the company should have sent a car, but he came to pick me up himself. He took me to Riverbend Lake. His gaze was as gentle as the shimmering water. "I thought about it for a long time. That girl who shielded me from the knife, if she's willing to walk towards me, I'll cherish her completely." The sunset painted the lake red. I reached out and hugged him. He lowered his head and kissed my forehead. Back then, he looked at my wounds with such heartache. Later, seeing me with a fever patch, he only frowned. After I finished organizing the handover documents, a colleague nudged me to check the work group chat. In the new project chat, Dave had added Ethan. Ethan only posted one comment: "Project is nearing completion. Full handover to Chloe Davis for final responsibility." Colleagues secretly eyed me, waiting for my reaction. Everyone knew Ethan was annoyed with me, but this arrangement was downright humiliating. I simply replied, "Understood." Good. The handover would be easier. I transferred all the materials to Chloe, then submitted a leave request for sick leave. It was approved instantly. I also left my resignation letter on the desk. 5 The third stop was Edenwood. Edenwood was the last place Ethan and I traveled together. At that time, his appointment announcement was about to be published, and I was so happy for him. We bathed in Edenwood's renowned hot springs. The owner said couples who took photos and checked in on social media, gathering thirty likes, would receive complimentary passes to the Ferris wheel next door. You could skip the line and go straight to the top. Legend had it that if a couple kissed at the very top of the Ferris wheel, they would be happy forever, never separating. I wanted to post a private update for a selected group, but Ethan wouldn't let me. "Company strictly prohibits office romances, you know that." "I know, I set it to a private group. Colleagues won't see it." "Haven't you heard of the six degrees of separation theory? Every six people are connected. No, too risky." Later, we bought tickets and went to the amusement park. But the lines were too long, and we never got to ride the Ferris wheel. Seeing my dejected expression, he comforted me: "Abby, it's precisely because I love you that I want to protect you, protect our love, even more." "Are you willing to protect our love with me?" I naively agreed, and thus began five years of struggling to keep it secret, all on my own. Compared to all the heartache of those five years, that day's fever was nothing. After submitting my resignation, I went home, packed my bags, and waited to catch my night train. Suddenly, the door opened. Ethan, having changed into slippers, walked in. "Why is so much stuff missing from the house?" He held a bag filled with porridge and soup, scanning the room. "New year, decided to do a big clean-up." I coughed slightly. He set his bag down on the coffee table in front of me, and as he unzipped it, he visibly froze. "Where are our photos?" I had placed polaroid photos of us in various spots around the house: on the coffee table, the dining table, the bookshelf, every corner. I closed my eyes. "A few colleagues came over the other day, so I put them away." He helped me sit up, offering me chopsticks. I looked at the table full of light porridge and fresh soup, but I had no appetite. "Don't you want to eat?" He sat beside me, reaching out to hug me. "How about some hot water first?" I subtly shifted away, and his phone rang. Chloe's voice was filled with panic: "Mr. Blackwood, what do I do?! I can't find the engineering acceptance sign-off sheet for the Tech Park project!" He stood up. "Wait, I'll be right there." His gaze returned to me, now strictly business-like. "Is this how you hand things over?" He didn't even wait for me to explain, just grabbed his jacket and walked out the door. Just like countless times before, he had left me for work. Except this time, it just made me look even more foolish. The folder for the sign-off sheet and the cabinet number were clearly written on the last page of the handover documents. Chloe had even worked on the PPT for this project; she knew better than anyone. Sure enough, soon after, a message from Ethan arrived. "Found it. You wrote it very clearly." Followed by a bank transfer — exactly the amount of the missing bonus. I clicked "return." He sent a helpless emoji. "You rest. I'm going to a meeting." Every Friday at this time, he had a video conference with New York HQ; he wouldn't check his phone for three or four hours. I sent him one last message. "We're done." I blocked his number, then called my landlady to terminate my lease. 6 The fourth stop was Willow Creek. I was transferring here; two more stops and I’d be home. But the train was delayed, expected to be at least an hour late. I wasn't in a hurry. I found a small coffee shop to pass the time. Willow Creek also had a branch office for the company. Ethan and I often came here for meetings. Usually, it was two cars with six or seven people, and no one ever suspected our secret. I slowly began to make a name for myself under Dave, but because Ethan was so demanding, everyone advised me to schmooze him. I took the advice, proactively buying him a Yuenyeung milk tea, handing it to him with a serious expression. "Is this a Yuenyeung milk tea?" he asked, taking it. "Yes," I smiled. "Mr. Blackwood only drinks coffee, right?" Dave laughed. "Changing your taste just for Willow Creek?" Ethan didn't say anything, his index finger gently tracing the characters for "Yuenyeung" on the cup, then he nodded at me. "Thank you." I light-heartedly returned to my seat, picked up my own cup, and slowly sipped it, hiding a smile. This was our private little secret, a subtle intimacy beneath outwardly formal interactions. That's why, later, when I saw him accept a Yuenyeung milk tea from Chloe, I froze. I ordered and sat down, then pulled out my phone. Dave's messages instantly bombarded me. "You're resigning?! Because of the project bonus? You're a senior, you should be more understanding…" "Mr. Blackwood saw it too! He ripped it up! He was furious!" I was annoyed and promptly blocked him too. Right after, my landlady called. "Sweetie, your boyfriend went to the apartment about three or four hours ago. My daughter-in-law was there, so I found out, and I thought I should tell you." Ethan must have seen my message after his meeting and learned I was resigning. "He renewed the lease," the landlady continued. "Said you'd be coming back." "My daughter-in-law said he rummaged through the cabinets, grabbed his car keys, and left in a huff. Sweetie, it's the holidays, don't fight too much." I laughed humorlessly. Fight? How could we fight? I no longer had the energy for it. My phone alerted me to 99+ blocked calls. I didn't even bother to open it to see who. I sipped my milk tea, watched a movie, and when I figured it was time, I stood up to head for my train. Just then, the cashier called out to a new customer: "What can I get you, sir?" "Yuenyeung milk tea." A familiar voice echoed through the bustling shop. I looked up. Ethan Blackwood stood there, his face ashen, shoulders dusted with melted snow, his teeth practically grinding as he answered her.
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