Chapter 2

The spectacle was over, but the damage was serious enough to reach group headquarters almost immediately.

By that night, the board had issued a formal, red-stamped notice.

As the company’s head, Pei Yan was held responsible for poor management and judgment that had severely damaged its reputation. Headquarters stripped him of his entire annual bonus, disqualified him from the year’s performance awards, and circulated an official reprimand throughout the group.

I returned to my desk, opened my computer, and calmly typed my resignation.

I ignored the guilty, evasive looks around me—and the sudden attempts to flatter me.

Taking an empty cardboard box, I efficiently packed my few personal belongings.

Pei Yan caught up with me downstairs.

He’d seen the resignation submitted through the system. His eyes were full of panic and regret.

“Zhaozhao, I should have investigated properly. You’ve been treated unfairly. I’ll promote you directly to manager at the end of the year. You don’t have to leave. I’ll make it up to you…”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t even spare him another look.

Instead, I took out the spare key he’d pressed on me like a favor the day before and dropped it lightly at his feet.

The last link between us.

“Pei Yan, we’ve broken up. There’s nothing between us anymore. Don’t contact me again.”

Holding my box, I walked around his rigid figure.

Without looking back, I left his world behind.

**6**

The day I left the company, I changed the phone number I’d used for five years and blocked every one of Pei Yan’s social media accounts.

I bought a ticket for that evening’s high-speed train and moved back to my hometown overnight.

For those next two weeks, he probably still thought I was sulking. He must have expected the same ending as every cold war of the past five years: all he had to do was wait. I would swallow my hurt, calm myself down, and obediently return.

Then Mom, unable to bear watching me hide at home every day, forced me to go on a blind date.

I pushed open the door of the Western restaurant, intending only to put in an appearance.

The man across the table looked up and gave me a warm, brilliant smile.

“Jiang Zhaozhao. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me again.”

I stopped short.

The distinguished man in a well-cut suit was Jiang Yu, my next-door neighbor for ten years of my childhood.

We hadn’t seen each other for more than a decade, yet there was no awkwardness between us.

Knowing I was unhappy after leaving my job, he tried every way he could to cheer me up.

He took me walking by the river, queued for a popular snack I’d mentioned only in passing, and rode a Ferris wheel with me.

Everything Pei Yan had sternly refused to do for five years—because we had to avoid suspicion, because it would look bad—Jiang Yu did with me.

Beside him, I didn’t have to maintain a meter’s distance. We didn’t have to walk one ahead of the other.

He naturally held my hand in the street. He openly posted a photograph of us on WeChat Moments.

The caption read: *At last, the girl I’ve been waiting for.*

Our families knew each other well. Jiang Yu never hid his affection or his respect for me.

When he went down on one knee beneath a sky bright with fireworks and held out a ring, I looked into his sincere eyes, smiled through my tears, and said yes.

So this was what it felt like to be loved openly.

**7**

Pei Yan stared at the red exclamation mark on WeChat.

He kept sending messages, refusing to give up.

Every attempt met the same notice: the recipient required friend verification.

“It’s fine… She’s angry. She’s only blocked me. She’ll get over it.”

Muttering to himself, he tried to contain his panic and called Jiang Zhaozhao.

Once. Twice. Ten times.

The same cold, mechanical female voice answered.

“Sorry, the number you have dialed does not exist.”

Did not exist?

Now he truly panicked.

He grabbed his car keys and rushed from his office, desperate to bring her back.

But before he got any farther, he heard her name.

“Guess who I saw at that luxury bridal boutique downtown this weekend? Jiang Zhaozhao!”

He stopped dead, his head ringing.

“What? Didn’t she resign and go home? What was she doing in a bridal shop?”

The coworker delivering the news sounded theatrically excited.