Eliza's POV

I pushed the door open, feeling numb.

Sean froze mid-gesture, his hand still near Yvette’s face as he wiped her tears. His expression darkened the moment he saw me.

“I heard you’re unhappy about Miss Bellamy’s promotion.” His voice was cold. “Has no one ever told you that the workplace isn’t run on gossip? Is it really that hard to admit someone is more capable than you?”

I blinked, stunned. “I didn’t—”

But he cut me off sharply. “Write a one-thousand-word reflection. You’ll apologize publicly at the afternoon meeting.”

A baseless accusation against me, and he demanded an apology. Meanwhile, the rumors that had been hammered into his ears were treated like air.

Before, I used to convince myself he was simply keeping personal and professional matters separate.

But now that I knew I’d always been nothing more than cheap labor to him, I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself.

I swallowed the bitterness and lowered my gaze, forcing a small smile.

“You’re right,” I said quietly. “I admit I’m not as capable. I’ll apologize.”

Then I bowed slightly to Yvette and added, “Miss Bellamy, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have questioned your ability. I shouldn’t have even thought about filing for a review.”

Despite that, she didn’t respond.

I was about to lift my head, but Sean pressed a firm hand against my lower back, forcing me down.

He then leaned close to my ear, his voice soft and almost coaxing. “I promised her father I wouldn’t let her suffer. Just bear with it a little and put on a show.”

His hand pressed down harder, pushing directly on my injured lower back. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through me, stealing my breath.

Yes, Yvette’s father had helped him once, and he wanted to repay that favor. But what about me?

Years ago, during an inspection of a construction site, a machine malfunctioned. Without thinking, I rushed forward to shield him from the swinging control lever, and it smashed into the side of my lower back, leaving me with a serious injury.

Back then, he had red eyes as he asked if I had a death wish. He massaged my back every day during my recovery.

And now, he was pressing down on the very injury I got for him all to help the person who had humiliated me.

What a ridiculous way to repay kindness.

Those few seconds felt like an eternity. By the time I raised my head again, it felt like my waist had snapped in half.

Yvette let out a dramatic gasp, pretending to be concerned. “Oh my, I almost forgot. Eliza hurt her back saving you, didn’t she? Mr. Thompson, you really don’t know how to cherish a woman. How cold-hearted.”

His hand loosened instantly. A shadow crossed his face. “If… if there’s nothing else, you can go.”

I bit down on my lip, trembling, and forced myself upright despite the tearing pain. Then I walked out.

But it was Yvette’s words that cut the deepest.

There were so many ways he could’ve staged an apology. Yet he chose the one that caused me the most physical pain.

Back at my desk, it took a long time before I could even gather the strength to hand my resignation letter to my supervisor.

He had tried to fight for my promotion too, but once Sean said no, there was nothing he could change.

“You’ve contributed seven years to this company,” he said softly. “Mr. Thompson knows that. You’re still young. You’ll have more chances in the future. Are you sure you don’t want to wait a little longer?”

These past years, I’d heard "in the future," "next time," and "wait a little longer" so many times they felt tattooed onto my ears.

I heard him say, "In the future," after every night with Sean, when I asked when we could go public.

I heard him say, "Wait a little longer," after every failed promotion.

I heard him say, "Next time," every time my parents pressured me to get married.

I never doubted my determination. But I couldn’t change an ending he had already written for me.

I shook my head with a tired smile.

“I’m twenty-eight. I’m not that young anymore. People my age are getting married, having kids. I can’t afford to lose my health, my career, and my future family all at once, can I?”

Eliza's POV

My supervisor didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at my pale face, sighed with a hint of regret, and signed his name.

“You can leave after you finish your handover this week,” he said. “I won’t tell Mr. Thompson. No need for him to make things harder for you. Besides, your position isn’t high enough to report to him directly anyway.”

Relief washed over me. “Thank you, Supervisor.”

Right after submitting the form, my phone lit up with a message from Sean.

[How’s your waist? I bought some medicine. I’ll put it on for you tonight.]

This was how he always apologized—indirectly. Whenever he knew he’d gone too far but couldn’t bring himself to say sorry, he’d offer this kind of half-hearted gesture.

I used to think that was affection. I would even take the chance to tease him a little.

Now I realized, it was nothing but a way to keep me within reach—his little reward to keep me obedient.

So, I replied, [Don’t bother. I've already booked a masseuse.]

As usual, the team was hosting a celebratory dinner for the promotion, yet I used my massage appointment as a polite excuse.

But before I could leave, Yvette grabbed my arm, eyes full of wounded innocence.

“Eliza, do you look down on me for beating you out of the promotion? Is that why you’re refusing to come?” she asked softly. “Anyone else can skip it, but not you. I want your genuine blessing.”

I frowned and drew in a breath to respond.

But the same Sean, who had just agreed to let me go, suddenly spoke up on her behalf.

“Everyone else is going. It wouldn’t look good if you’re the only one skipping,” he said. “Don’t be so petty. As a senior, you should show some grace. Don’t let others laugh at you.” Then he also added, “You can get a massage any day.”

I froze, and bitterness rose in my throat.

I should have known long ago how cold he truly was, because whenever something, or someone, more convenient or more beneficial appeared, my feelings never mattered.

When I was twenty-three, in my second year living away from home, he promised to spend my birthday with me. I cooked and waited for him all night.

But when I finally called, I heard a girl crying beside him.

Yet, he didn’t apologize or explain. He only blamed me for caring too much about “just a birthday.”

Yvette’s mother had died giving birth to her. So, birthdays reminded her of that, making her sad.

So for the next five years, he never celebrated my birthday. He wouldn’t even let me celebrate it myself, either, not even on social media, because it might upset Yvette.

He always said it was all for appearances.

Yet when no one was watching, he still wasn’t willing to give me even the smallest bit of affection.

Now, seeing my supervisor subtly urging me with his eyes to let it go and not make trouble, I relented.

Fine. I would treat it like a farewell dinner.

At the restaurant, the two of them sat side by side. In her sleek business attire and his tailored suit, they looked perfect together.

Some people were simply out of reach, no matter how much you chased after them.

So when my colleagues joked about how good they looked together—“a perfect match, a natural pair”—I just smiled and nodded along.

“They do look good together,” I said. “Their age, looks, family backgrounds—everything fits.”

The moment the words left my mouth, both Sean and our VP, Henry Clarke, who’d been chatting with him earlier, froze.

In the past, whenever people joked about pairing him with Yvette, I couldn’t hide my discomfort. Sometimes I’d pretend I didn’t hear. Sometimes I’d just sit there stone-faced.

But today, I felt nothing, just like a bystander watching someone else’s story.

Basking in the compliment, Yvette lit up, casting me a triumphant glance.

Eventually, someone brought up the topic of marriage and settling down. Yvette quickly grabbed the chance and turned the spotlight on me.

“My dad’s been pushing me to get married. I’m going crazy,” she said dramatically. “I heard you have a boyfriend you’ve been with for years, but still haven’t married. You’re twenty-eight already. Doesn’t your family pressure you? Teach me your secrets. How do you deal with all that nagging?”

Eliza's POV

Everyone at the table turned to look at me, eager for gossip. Even Sean seemed tense.

Yet, I acted as if none of it bothered me.

“Of course, my family pressured me,” I said calmly. “But we already broke up, so I can’t really answer your question.”

The moment the words left my mouth, the air froze.

Several people gave me sympathetic looks while a few closer colleagues joked about introducing me to new guys.

Smiling, I pulled out my phone and agreed. “Sure. Send me their profiles.”

But suddenly, Sean’s glass hit the floor and shattered. Glass shards cut a few thin lines across his hand.

Even so, I only spared him a single glance, then looked away—no longer rushing to fuss over him like I used to.

After that, the mood at the table turned strange. The dinner that started cheerfully ended abruptly and awkwardly.

I also declined the conveniently arranged plan to ride back with Sean, shaking the phone showing my booked ride. Then I went home alone.

I had barely started to wind down when the front door suddenly swung open.

Sean then walked in, reeking of alcohol, and pinned me against the door. His kiss was rough and possessive, his hands urgent as if he couldn’t wait another second.

But my back slammed against the doorknob, and a sharp pain shot up my spine. I jolted in pain and instinctively slapped him across the face.

“Sean, what do you think I am?”

After a moment of daze, he slammed the door and stormed out.

In the five years we’d been together, we had never had this kind of silent war. Maybe that was why, now that I’d finally stopped playing along, he didn’t bother pretending to care anymore.

After everything that had happened, he had me reassigned to oversee a construction site on the north side of the city.

When the news spread, my coworkers were furious on my behalf, as it was a rework job that wasn’t properly done the first time and now had to be redone for free. As such, the workers there were full of resentment.

During the day, rocks rained down from higher floors and nails stuck out everywhere. At night, there were endless calls demanding someone come onsite, and those who went always encountered something eerie or unsettling.

Three male colleagues had already failed to last there. One ended up in the psychiatric ward, two in the hospital. Women didn’t even get considered for the assignment.

Back then, when the men constantly complained to him in the middle of the night, he was exhausted from handling the chaos.

I had once joked, “If you ever get mad at someone, just stick them at Northside. And if we ever have a fight, I’ll just go there myself. Out of sight, out of mind.”

He tapped my head and said it would never happen. “Even if we argue, I’d never send you somewhere that dangerous.”

But in the end, he sent me anyway.

I packed up my cubicle fast—clean, organized, like I wasn’t coming back.

Henry, as the project lead, personally drove me to the site.

On the way, he hesitated for a long time before finally speaking.

“Eliza, I know you and Mr. Thompson had some conflict about the promotion. I don’t know why he insisted on sending you to the site, but it really isn’t safe for a woman. Maybe… talk to him? Try to sort it out.”

Only after I got confirmation that my Friday night plane ticket was issued did I relax.

“It’s fine, Mr. Clarke,” I said lightly. “The promotion doesn’t matter to me. The location doesn’t matter either. It’s all the same.”

Those words of mine left him speechless. After looking at me puzzlingly, he could just look away.

Of course, I was scared. But I was only staying three days. After that, none of this would have anything to do with me.

Winter daylight faded quickly.

The previous staff had been allowed to leave before dark. But I had to clock in and out at normal hours.

I figured the workers wouldn’t pull anything outrageous on the first day. So, right on time, I checked out for the night.