The year I turned twenty-seven, my family started pressuring me to get married. I abruptly ended things with the boyfriend I’d been practically worshipping for three years and started going on blind dates back in my hometown. My friend asked me, "You were so into Nick. Can you really just let him go?" I scoffed. "I'm not an idiot. He’s the kind of guy who’s fun to mess around with, but marrying him? That would be a lifetime of misery." Just then, an icy, familiar voice drifted from behind me. "Oh? Is that the reason you dumped me?" 1 I was dragging my suitcase home when I nearly collided with a girl walking out of his apartment. She wore an oversized black sweater that slid off one shoulder, revealing a delicate collarbone. It was the "no-pants" look, paired with a pair of sky-high YSL stilettos. I recognized her as the bassist from Nick’s band. Amber, I think her name was. A stunning girl in her early twenties. I instinctively ducked back behind the hallway door, out of sight. A moment later, Nick emerged behind her, clad only in a pair of low-slung jeans. He leaned languidly against the wall and lit a cigarette. His upper body was bare, and water was still dripping down the chiseled lines of his abs. He casually tossed a Chanel handbag in her direction. "Take it." Amber’s eyes lit up. She spun around and threw herself at him with a squeal. "Oh my god, I've wanted this bag forever! Where did you get it?" "Picked it up in Hong Kong a while back." "I love it so much! Thank you, baby!" She tried to linger, but Nick was already growing impatient, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Alright, that's enough. Get going." The girl slid off him, her tone a mix of pouty and playful. "So cruel. One minute you’re calling me 'baby,' the next you’re kicking me out." She wasn’t truly angry, though. She slung the bag over her shoulder with a delighted grin and blew him a kiss. "See you tomorrow!" After she left, I stepped out from behind the door. Nick clearly wasn't expecting me. He froze for a second before his expression relaxed into its usual nonchalance. "Didn't know you were coming back. Why didn't you call?" I just looked at him for a moment. "It was late. I didn't want to wake you." The faint, reddish marks on his neck were still fresh, but he showed no trace of guilt. He simply wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me inside. "I'm starving. Make something to eat," he said, flopping onto the couch and turning on the TV, as if nothing had happened. When I didn't move, he frowned. "What's wrong?" Then, as if realizing, a lazy smile spread across his face. "Miss me?" He got up and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His warm breath ghosted across my neck as his hands snaked under the hem of my shirt. "Then I'll eat you first, and we can eat later—" Years of playing the guitar had left his fingertips calloused and rough. They scraped against my skin, a familiar mix of pleasure and pain. I closed my eyes and, with a weary sigh, gently pushed him away. I did like Nick's body. In fact, his good looks were the main reason I’d pursued him in the first place. But maybe it was the long flight, or maybe it was the woman from moments ago, but right now, all I felt was a bone-deep weariness. I wasn't in the mood. Nick wasn't used to being rejected by me. His expression darkened. "What's wrong?" My eyes fell to a black heap on the carpet. It was a pair of pantyhose, shredded beyond recognition. Nick followed my gaze. He let out a soft "tsk," his face hardening. The air in the living room grew thick with unspoken tension. He pulled a cigarette from its pack and lit it. The pop of the mint-flavored capsule was a sharp crack in the silence. "Her lease was up. She had nowhere to go, so I let her crash here for a night," he said, the excuse sounding lame even to his own ears. "Nothing happened." I looked at him, our eyes meeting through the veil of white smoke. We couldn't read each other's expressions, but we both knew he was lying. This wasn't the first time Nick had cheated. He was a natural-born player. He'd been that way when I first met him. My best friend had dragged me to see a popular rock band, raving about how insanely hot the lead singer was. I wasn't interested in rock music and had been bored out of my mind. Until Nick walked on stage. He stood with his head bowed, fingers dancing over his guitar. His dark hair was unstyled, loose strands falling across his forehead, occasionally revealing a hint of his eyelids. He was the most plainly dressed person on stage—just a black t-shirt and jeans—but he was instantly the center of attention. That face was a luxury item all on its own. When he looked up, the stage lights caught in his amber eyes, a faint, teasing smile playing on his lips. It was my first rock show, and while my friend and the other girls screamed themselves hoarse, I was completely silent. His gaze swept over the roaring crowd, and for a fleeting second, our eyes met. Then he looked away. The music was probably great that night, but I didn't hear a single note. In that moment, the world went quiet, and the only sound was the thunder of my own heart. After the show, a swarm of girls rushed backstage for his number. I was one of them. Single for all twenty-three years of my life, it was probably the bravest thing I'd ever done. Nick didn't turn anyone down. Every girl who asked for his contact info got to scan his QR code, including me. A year later, all the other girls had given up. I was the only one still trying. I don't know if it was out of pity, or because he was moved, or something else entirely, but Nick finally accepted our "relationship." I became his girlfriend, and that's how it had been until now. But I knew, even after all these years, that he had never really loved me. Or maybe he did—he loved how agreeable I was, how I never made a fuss, how I never held his indiscretions against him. I'd caught him cheating multiple times, but as long as he gave me a half-decent excuse, I would forgive him. He'd told me many times that I wasn't his type, that he was only with me because I was good to him. He'd even joked that he'd dump me the second he found his "true love." Our relationship had survived this long only because of my willingness to bend, to compromise, to swallow my pride. "You promised me you wouldn't cheat again," I said softly, my eyes fixed on the tattered designer pantyhose on the floor. A flicker of mockery crossed his face. He made no effort to placate me. "You actually believed that crap?" He leaned in, blowing a cloud of mint-scented smoke in my face, his eyes full of a familiar cruelty. "Can't handle it?" "Can't handle it? Then leave." He'd said those words to me countless times before. Each time, it ended with me clinging to him, begging him not to go. Over time, he’d learned exactly how to control me. He knew that when he said those words, I was powerless. I turned away. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Nick grabbed my wrist. His brow was prominent, giving him an intimidating look when his face was blank. "Natalie, don't push it." I pulled my hand free and went into the bedroom. Not long after, the front door slammed shut with a deafening crash. Nick was gone. He was angry. I knew it. In our dynamic, I was always the one placating him, fawning over him. I had never given him the cold shoulder like this before. I rolled over and opened my phone. In the family group chat, my mom had tagged me in a message. "I've never rushed you before, but you're 27 now. It's time to start thinking about marriage. Your mother's colleague has a son who's a great catch, and he's handsome too. Why don't you come home for the holidays and meet him?" Then I opened a message from my boss. "Natalie, the new branch is short-staffed right now. With your talent, staying on as an assistant department head is a waste. Are you interested in a manager position at the new branch? It'll be tough getting things off the ground, but it's a great opportunity." My mom wanted me to come home for blind dates. The company had just opened a new branch in my hometown. The timing, the place, the people—it all seemed to align. There was no reason for me to stay here anymore. I sighed. The truth was, I really did like Nick. He was handsome, great in bed, and we were incredibly compatible physically. Most importantly, he was a total player. Being with him was easy because I never had to think about responsibility or a future. When I first started working, I was constantly stressed out. I needed a release, but I was picky—a die-hard sucker for a pretty face, even though I was just average-looking myself. I couldn't find anyone who met my standards until I found Nick. He spent his prime years with me, and his body was a great stress reliever while I was building my career. And even though he was promiscuous, he was surprisingly careful. I’d heard before we got together that he required a clean health check from any woman he was with. I was always careful, too, so I wasn't worried. Finding another man that perfect for my needs would be difficult. But it couldn't be helped. Dating was one thing; settling down and getting married was another. I really liked Nick. But I also knew, with absolute certainty, that he was not the one. Now, it was time to make a choice. 2 Nick didn’t come back that night. He was gone for days. He didn't answer my texts or calls. Soon, my messages were met with that single, damning red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. The silent treatment, his specialty. It had happened a few times before. Nick was a master of the cold war, and I always had to grovel and plead for days before he'd even look at me again. This time, however, I was too busy with work handovers to have time to coddle him. That evening, as I was booking my flight home, my phone rang. It was one of Nick's friends. The background was a cacophony of laughter and loud music that blared even through the phone. "Nat, Nick's wasted. Can you come get him?" Nick loved to party. He came from a wealthy family; the band was just a hobby. He didn't need the money. I once asked him why he didn't join the family business. He'd scoffed, saying his father's illegitimate children were already at each other's throats for a piece of the pie, and he had no interest in fighting over scraps. His grandfather's and mother's fortunes would all go to him eventually. He didn't need to work. He just wanted to do what he loved. Nick had zero career ambition. It was one area where we had nothing in common. Whenever I told him about a project I'd landed or a promotion I'd gotten, he'd look bored. He once said disdainfully that it was pathetic to work yourself to death for a monthly salary that wasn't even enough to cover his bar tab for one night. I knew we were fundamentally different people. Outside of physical chemistry, we had nothing to talk about. I didn't care about his soul; I just loved his body. He ignored my inner world, content with my compliance. It was fine. It would make the breakup easier for both of us. I agreed to go and hung up, looking out the window. The city at night seemed even more brilliant than during the day, a river of light from countless windows and cars, so bright it eclipsed the stars. I glanced at my ticket. 8 a.m., the day after tomorrow. I sighed. To be honest, I wasn’t ready to break up just yet. Nick and I were really good in bed, and the stress of changing jobs was getting to me. I was kind of hoping for one last "breakup fuck." It was a shame, but since the opportunity had presented itself, I had to take it. ... When I got to the bar, Nick was surrounded by a flock of women. They were all different types, but they had one thing in common: they were all gorgeous and young, their faces glowing with collagen beneath their heavy makeup. I couldn't blame them for flocking to him. Nick was rich, generous, and handsome. On him, even being a player seemed to be a charming trait. I touched my own face, remembering something he'd once said to me. "You're 27. You should be getting facials, taking care of yourself. Can't you at least try?" No wonder he thought I was old. He was surrounded by girls in their early twenties. I said nothing, just stood at the edge of the crowd. Our eyes met. He looked right through me and then turned away. Amber was flushed, her body pressed against his, her voice syrupy. "Nick, have another drink." Nick smiled. Under the colored lights, his eyes were devastatingly beautiful, but completely devoid of warmth. "Just drinking is boring. Why don't you feed it to me?" "How?" Nick didn't answer, just lowered his gaze to her lips. A half-second later, understanding dawned in Amber's eyes. A look of thrilled surprise flashed across her face as she tilted her head back and downed the caramel-colored whiskey in her glass. Then Nick grabbed her chin and kissed her, hard. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was raw and angry, a release of emotion. Amber tilted her head back to meet him, her eyes watering from lack of air. Liquor trickled from the corner of their mouths, catching the light as a long, silvery strand of saliva connected them when they finally pulled apart. The crowd erupted in cheers and catcalls. I knew he was doing it on purpose. He was punishing me for giving him the cold shoulder the other day and for not immediately trying to make up with him. It wasn't until I walked right up to him that the crowd noticed me and slowly fell silent. Nick looked up, his expression blank. "What are you doing here?" I stared at that face, a ghost of our intimate moments flashing through my mind. In the heat of passion, we had even whispered words of love. Did it hurt? A little. But how much? Not enough to break me. I had always known this was who he was. A flirt, constantly seeking new thrills, incapable of saying no. Selfish, probably because he'd been spoiled his whole life, always putting himself first, never considering anyone else's feelings. My voice trembled. "Nick, you've gone too far." He looked up at me. He was sitting, and I was standing, but I felt like he was the one looking down on me. His expression was still blank, but a contemptuous smile played on his lips. "Too far? You can always break up with me. No one's stopping you." I said nothing, just stared at him. I had lost count of how many times he had threatened me with a breakup. Fifty? A hundred? One of his friends, who probably thought he was going too far, whispered to him, "Nick, man, don't be like that. Look, Nat's about to cry." And I was crying. Acting requires commitment. As a single tear fell, I saw his expression shift. The hand holding his cigarette twitched, but he still said nothing, just watched me with cold eyes. In the next second, I said softly, "Fine, Nick." "Let's break up." His face instantly turned ugly. For a moment, I thought he was going to explode. But instead, he laughed, a cruel, tight sound that seemed to come through gritted teeth. "Wow, Natalie. Bold move. Fine. But just so you know, I never go back for seconds. Don't come crying back to me like a pathetic dog." "Okay," I nodded, wiping the tear from my eye. Then I turned and walked away without a single glance back. Nick didn’t come home that night. I spent the night deleting his contact information and everything related to him from my life. I packed my bags. The next morning, I was on the earliest flight back to my hometown. As the plane climbed above the clouds, I pulled out my SIM card and dropped it into the trash bag. 3 I never contacted Nick again. I posted a few emo, late-night thoughts on my social media to cultivate the image of a heartbroken woman, and then I promptly forgot all about him. Life back home fell into a routine. I quickly adapted to my new role at the company and went on the blind date my parents had arranged. The guy, a programmer who was already showing signs of balding at twenty-eight, droned on and on. "I think a woman's place is in the home after marriage. What I mean is, you should quit your job. Don't be so career-oriented. Take care of the family. Behind every successful man is a woman..." He prattled on, and I just smiled at my coffee cup, trying my hardest not to dump it over his piggish head. When he finally finished, he looked at me expectantly. "Did you get all that? Anything you'd like to add?" I maintained my smile. "No, but Mr. Wang, I don't think we're a good match. Maybe we should just leave it at that." I walked away to the sound of him muttering about how "women over 25 are worthless" and "old maids can't be choosers." I'd been on several dates since I'd been back, and some of the guys were decent catches. But after being with someone like Nick, an absolute top-tier specimen, I just couldn't bring myself to settle for an average Joe. That feeling lasted until a company meeting one morning. Everyone was already there, sitting in tense silence around the conference table. I whispered to the VP next to me, "What's going on? Is the company in trouble?" He leaned in. "The old chairman's son is being parachuted in. Rumor is he's starting with our branch as a trial run before he takes over the whole group. This Mr. Grey is supposedly a Harvard grad, worked at Goldman Sachs, then started his own finance firm and made a billion overnight. The old man had to practically drag him back. He's a real shark, so be careful what you say to him." A few moments later, a young man in a black suit walked in. A black wool coat was draped over his shoulders, which an assistant respectfully took as he entered the room. His footsteps stopped. I looked up. In that instant, every eye in the room was drawn to him. The first thing that struck you was his presence. It was the aura of someone who was used to being in charge, of holding power. He wasn't overtly arrogant, but everyone in the room, including me, felt an instinctive urge to lower their gaze. The second thing you noticed were his piercingly clear eyes. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a strong brow. I'd heard the chairman's wife was French, and you could see the perfect fusion of elegant, blonde-and-blue-eyed European bone structure and Eastern aesthetics in him. He had the sharp planes of a Western face softened by Eastern features. He was incredibly handsome, on par with Nick, but his powerful presence was so overwhelming that you barely noticed his looks at first. "Apologies. My flight was delayed. I'm late." He acknowledged his tardiness first, then took his seat at the head of the table and got straight to the point. "My name is Julian Grey. I'm the new general manager of this company. I've reviewed the company's financials and basic information. Now, starting with the VP, I want a brief report from each of you on your work over the past year and your current projects." One by one, the department heads gave their reports, their voices trembling. Julian was just as sharp as the rumors claimed. He called out every attempt to fudge the numbers or gloss over problems. "I don't like vague language, and I don't like being played for a fool. I prefer to communicate openly, but if that doesn't work, I'm not opposed to exploring other methods." He didn't raise his voice or curse, but a cold sweat broke out on everyone's back. Even my palms were damp when I stood up. Thankfully, I was well-prepared, and my performance over the past year had been excellent. The more I spoke, the more confident I became. My career and education were my pride. They were the most important things in my life, and I never slacked off. Julian didn't interrupt me. I could see a flicker of admiration in his eyes. When I finished, I paused. He nodded. "Natalie, right? Well done. From now on, all reports will be held to this standard." ... Since Julian's arrival, everyone's workload had increased. He cut out a lot of redundant processes and bad assets and brought in a slew of high-quality projects. We were all working longer hours, but our salaries had gone up accordingly. My colleagues, especially the younger women, were all fascinated by him. A couple of new hires, who must have gotten their ideas from romance novels, tried the whole "boss falls for the plucky heroine" routine. One publicly argued with him during a meeting. Another "accidentally" spilled coffee on his three-thousand-dollar shirt and then tried to wipe it off with her hands. The first one was fired the next day. The second one was fired on the spot. After that, the women in the office learned their lesson, but they still gathered in the breakroom to gossip about him. "I heard he's never had a girlfriend. Do you think he's still a virgin?" "No way. You watch too many dramas. A guy like that has women throwing themselves at him. He's definitely not a virgin." "I'd give up my entire year's bonus to spend one night with him. He's an absolute god. Did you see him in those trousers the other day? Oh my god, he is packing!" ... I listened from the sidelines, a new idea taking root. With Nick gone, Julian seemed like a much better option. This man, I thought. I want to try. 4 I started making a point of appearing in Julian's orbit. He always came in half an hour early. Three out of five days a week, I'd manage to catch the same elevator as him. At that hour, it was usually just the two of us. I kept it brief—a simple "good morning," I'd press his floor button, and then stand quietly to the side. Every day at noon, like clockwork, I'd go for a coffee. He usually took his coffee break around the same time. I made sure never to be in the breakroom when he was, but I always timed it so he would see me leaving as he arrived. Occasionally, I'd work late, and he would pass my desk on his way out. In short, I made sure he saw me as much as possible, without ever saying more than a few words to him. Finally, on the seventeenth time he saw me working late, he paused and walked over to my desk. "I've noticed you've been staying late a lot recently. Are you running into any problems?" I looked up, feigning surprise. After a moment's hesitation, I handed him the file I was working on. "It's a new project. I'm just not sure about the risk assessment for some of this company's assets, so I wanted to do some extra research." Julian sat down at the empty desk next to mine. "Let me see." He smelled of a subtle, woody cologne that mingled with my own light rose perfume, creating an intoxicating blend. "I think this project is viable. Look at their '23 reports. Their financial situation is solid, and..." He spoke with an easy authority, and I listened intently, nodding and interjecting with a series of highly technical questions. After he answered each one, I let my expression shift to one of dawning understanding. "Oh, I see. Thank you, Mr. Grey. I hadn't thought of it from that angle before." "You have a strong skill set, just a bit light on experience. Don't put too much pressure on yourself. You should head home," he said, a rare hint of a joke in his voice. "I don't want people thinking I'm some kind of sweatshop boss." I nodded, packed up my things, and we walked downstairs together. As we stepped outside, a gust of wind blew rain against me. I hesitated, taking a step back. Julian, who had been about to leave, noticed I wasn't moving and turned back. "What's wrong?" I waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, Mr. Grey. You go ahead. I just... remembered I have something else to do." He didn't press, just nodded and left. Five minutes later, his car pulled out of the underground garage. I was still standing by the entrance. Julian rolled down his window. "You didn't drive?" I looked embarrassed. "No. It's hard to get a cab in the rain. It's fine, Mr. Grey. I'm sure one will come by soon." He didn't hesitate. "Get in. I'll give you a ride." ... I talked a lot with Julian on the way home. He was surprised to find that we had a lot in common. Even one of my favorite niche films, The Holy Mountain, was his favorite as well. Julian, who had been reserved at first, gradually became more talkative. By the time we reached my street, he was so engrossed in our conversation that he drove right past my building without stopping. I bit my lip, about to point it out, but he noticed on his own. "Sorry, I wasn't watching the GPS." When the car stopped, I thanked him again for the ride. Julian just nodded. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed the words. "Is something wrong, Mr. Grey?" I asked, looking at him. "What's that perfume you're wearing? It's nice." The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to regret them. Saying anything else would only make it more awkward, so he just looked down, silent. I hid a smile. "Penhaligon's The Coveted Duchess Rose. Well, Mr. Grey, see you tomorrow."
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