Three days before the company's annual New Year's Gala, I reviewed the final seating chart myself.

My eyes narrowed.

My seat had been reassigned to another woman.

Anna Pruitt.

The investor's niece who had parachuted into the company three months ago.

A suffocating pressure expanded in my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. The seat beside Jonathan Gilbert wasn't just a chair—it was a symbol of status, a public declaration of our partnership. A promise he had once made to the entire company.

And now, he had given that place of honor to someone else.

Recent rumors whispered in the breakroom surfaced in my mind. Hushed tones about Jonathan and Anna. Loud. Ugly.

I summoned the gala coordinator immediately. "What is the meaning of this seating arrangement?"

He shifted his weight, unable to meet my gaze. "Mr. Gilbert... he made the adjustment personally."

Rage and disappointment twisted together in my gut. I crushed the paper in my fist and marched toward the CEO's office.

Some words needed to be said face-to-face.

Some decisions, perhaps, finally needed to be made.

——

The heavy oak doors swung open, and the scene before me halted my momentum.

Anna Pruitt was perched on the edge of Jonathan's mahogany desk, leaning in close. Their heads bowed over a document, an intimate warmth radiating between them that had nothing to do with business.

At the sound of the latch clicking, Jonathan looked up. The amusement in his eyes hadn't yet faded.

"Joanna? You're here?" Anna's voice was saccharine, dripping with a sweetness that made my teeth ache. "We were just discussing the gala's itinerary."

I ignored her. Walked straight to the desk. Slammed the crumpled seating chart down in front of him.

"My seat. Why is Anna Pruitt's name on it?"

Jonathan glanced at the paper, his expression unbothered. His fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on his leather armrest.

"Anna suggested that the seats flanking the founder should be reserved for key investors. It aligns better with business etiquette. Her uncle had a last-minute emergency, so she's attending as his proxy." He paused, as if explaining something obvious to a child. "You're the Administrative Director, Joanna. It's more appropriate for you to sit with the management team."

My gaze shifted to Anna.

She pressed her lips into a demure, innocent smile. "Joanna, please don't overthink it. It was just a suggestion. You and Jonathan have so much private time together—why worry about one night?"

"So." My voice came out dry, scratching my throat. "You took her suggestion?"

The air in the office grew heavy. Thick enough to choke on.

Jonathan frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Joanna, stop. We are handling business as business."

"*Handling business as business.*" I repeated the phrase, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my chest.

"Then last year, and the year before, when I sat at your left hand—was that mixing business with pleasure?"

"The company wasn't this size back then." His tone sharpened with impatience. "Now, countless eyes are watching us. I have to consider the optics."

"What optics?" I stared him down, refusing to blink. "If I sit next to you, does it damage the company image? Hurt financing? Or does it ruin the image you're trying to sell to investors—that you're a dazzlingly single bachelor?"

Jonathan's face darkened instantly.

He rounded the desk and gripped my shoulder.

Once, this touch would have grounded me. Now, it felt like a shackle.

"Stop making a fuss," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive rumble. "It's just a chair. Is this really necessary? Look, tonight, I'll cook your favorite seafood noodles. Just for us. Okay?"

Here it was again.

Every time we disagreed, he deployed the same tactic. *Don't make a fuss. You're being unreasonable. I'll make it up to you later.*

The old me would have melted, desperate for his approval.

But the woman standing here today was cold. Clear-headed.

"Fine." I forced the word out.

Jonathan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. "Good. I knew you'd be sensible."

I didn't say another word. Snatched the seating chart back and turned on my heel.

Just as the door began to close, Anna's soft, concerned voice drifted through the gap. "Jonathan... is Joanna angry with me?"

"She's just like that. She'll get over it."

I leaned against the corridor wall, the cold plaster seeping through my blouse, and inhaled a shaky breath.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

A message from my father.

*The five-year agreement is almost up. What is the result?*

My heart constricted painfully against my ribs.

The cursor blinked on my screen, mocking my hesitation. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, paralyzed.

Five years ago, Jonathan Gilbert was a nobody living in a damp basement, surviving on instant noodles. But his eyes—God, his eyes—had burned with such intensity.

"I'm going to make it, Joanna. I have to."

I had loved that fire. Believed in the future he painted for us.

But my father had shaken his head, unimpressed. "When he looks at you, daughter, he sees a stepping stone, not a soulmate. That is ambition, not love."

I refused to listen. Proud. Arrogant in my devotion. "You don't know him. I can judge a man's character on my own."

My father had remained silent for a long time before laying down the gauntlet.

"Then let's make a wager. You will hide your identity and stay by his side for five years as he builds his empire. If, after five years, he still treats you with sincerity and honor, I will not only bless the union but fully fund his global expansion."

"And if he changes?"

"Then you come home. You inherit the family business, and you never lose your head over a man again."

I had agreed instantly.

Five years seemed like plenty of time for passion to settle into deep, unshakeable trust.

I never expected that time wouldn't verify his sincerity—it would only prove that hearts are fickle things.

Finally, I typed a single line.

*After the gala tonight, I'll give you my answer.*

My father's reply was instantaneous.

*Whatever the answer, Dad is here.*

A sudden sting pricked my eyes. I rubbed them harshly, composing myself before heading toward the administrative wing.

There was still a mountain of details to finalize for the gala.

Jonathan wouldn't touch this grunt work. His role was to stand in the spotlight, deliver the visionary speech, and accept the adulation.

The chaotic reality behind the applause had always been my burden to bear.

Hushed voices drifted out as I passed the pantry.

"Did you hear? There's a massive special year-end bonus this time!"

"It has to be for Director Kaufman, right? She's worked herself to the bone for this company..."

"I wouldn't bet on it. Yesterday, I saw Mr. Gilbert escorting Anna Pruitt into a high-end jewelry store."

"What? But Anna's only been here three months!"

"Her uncle is the lead investor. Do the math..."

The gossip died the instant I pushed the door open.

Three junior assistants jumped, their faces draining of color. "Director Kaufman..."

"Is the inventory checklist complete?" My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as I walked to the machine and brewed a black coffee.

"Not... not yet."

"Then you have time to gossip?" I turned, pinning them with a cold stare.

"I want the confirmation email for all materials and the rehearsal sign-offs in my inbox before 7:00 PM. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Director!"

They scrambled out like frightened mice.

Clutching the warm mug, I stood by the window, watching the stream of traffic below.

Five years ago, this district was a wasteland.

Jonathan and I had huddled in that basement, sharing a single cup of noodles because we couldn't afford two.

I remembered the night he fashioned a ring out of a soda can pull-tab. He had slid it onto my finger with trembling hands.

"When we go public," he had whispered, the dim bulb reflecting in his fervent eyes, "I'll replace this with the real thing. A diamond. The biggest one money can buy."

I had smiled and nodded, but truthfully, I loved that jagged piece of aluminum.

Because back then, I was the only thing in his universe.

My phone buzzed, shattering the memory.

Jonathan: *Dinner with investors tonight. Go home without me. Don't wait up.*

I stared at the text until my coffee turned ice cold.

*Okay.*

The night of the gala, the banquet hall was a kaleidoscope of crystal and light.

I stood near the entrance, clipboard in hand, running the final security sweep.

Then the doors opened.

Anna Pruitt glided in wearing a custom silver haute couture gown that clung to her like liquid moonlight. She walked straight toward Jonathan, who was holding court in the center of the room.

"Jonathan." Her voice was a bell, clear and bright, drawing every eye in the room. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

Jonathan's face lit up—a genuine spark I hadn't seen in months. "Right on time."

He offered his arm.

Anna looped hers through it, and they stood there, shoulder to shoulder.

A perfect, golden couple.

I looked down at my own dress—a sensible champagne sheath.

Elegant. Professional. Appropriate for an Administrative Director.

The uniform of the support staff, not the star.

My assistant jogged over, looking distressed. "Director Kaufman... Mr. Gilbert is asking about the seating adjustment..."

"Execute the new chart." My voice was steady as granite.

"But..." She hesitated, biting her lip. "That seat in the second row... it's..."

"I said, execute the new chart."

She snapped her mouth shut, her eyes swimming with pity.

I didn't need pity.

I needed closure.

At seven sharp, the gala commenced.

Jonathan took the stage, radiating charisma and dominance.

The livestream cameras swept the audience, pausing on my face for a fraction of a second before moving on to more important people.

Jonathan's speech was masterful. He thanked the angel investors, the executive team, the strategic partners.

He even thanked the janitorial staff for their diligence.

But he never mentioned me.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. The weight of their gazes pricked my skin like needles.

Then came the awards ceremony. The atmosphere grew electric.

Names were called. Applause thundered.

I sat in the shadows of the second row, my thumb unconsciously tracing the plain silver band I still wore on my ring finger.

"Next," Jonathan's voice rose, tinged with excitement, "is tonight's most anticipated segment—the Special Year-End Bonus."

The hall fell into a hush so deep you could hear a pin drop.

The spotlight prowled across the audience, searching.

Ideally, it should have landed on me.

My heart skipped a beat, a traitorous flare of hope igniting in my chest.

But the light swung past me.

And locked onto Anna Pruitt.

She gasped, covering her mouth with delicate hands, eyes wide with feigned shock before a shy, victorious smile bloomed on her face.

Jonathan descended the stage stairs, step by deliberate step, walking toward her.

He stopped in front of Anna and produced a velvet box.

Flipped it open.

A three-carat diamond fractured the stage lights into a blinding prism.

"Anna," Jonathan's voice boomed through the speakers, "in just these few months, you have breathed new life into this company. You gave us direction when we were lost."

"I hope this ring symbolizes the solid, intimate partnership we are building."

He plucked the ring from the velvet.

Anna extended her hand, allowing him to slide the diamond onto her finger.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Anna threw herself into Jonathan's arms, burying her face in his neck.

The massive LED screen behind them displayed a cinematic close-up of the ring and their embrace.

Then, without warning, the director cut the feed.

The screen filled with my face.

Pale. Stiff. Shattered.

A collective gasp rippled through the room as the audience saw the raw devastation broadcast ten feet high.

Jonathan's eyes darted to the screen. Panic flickered in his gaze. He instinctively tried to pull back, to create distance.

But Anna clung tighter, her voice trembling into the microphone. "Jonathan... thank you..."

He froze. Trapped.

Finally, he awkwardly patted her back, refusing to look in my direction.

I stood up.

Under the weight of a thousand complicated stares—pity, mockery, curiosity—I turned and walked toward the exit.

The restroom door swung shut behind me.

My knees gave out.

Leaning over the marble sink, I splashed ice-cold water on my face, again and again, trying to numb the skin. Trying to numb the heart.

The woman in the mirror had bloodshot eyes, but no tears fell.

They refused to surface. Instead, they crystallized in my throat—jagged shards of ice stabbing me from the inside.

Voices drifted in from the corridor.

"...didn't expect Mr. Gilbert to have a thing for the innocent type like Anna."

"Director Kaufman is a cautionary tale. Five years of her life, and she ended up sewing the wedding dress for another woman."

"I heard that ring cost eighty grand! Was that company money?"

"Shh! Keep it down..."

The footsteps faded.

I stared at my reflection and let out a short, hollow laugh.

By the time the gala ended, it was 1:00 AM.

I sat alone in the empty banquet hall, watching the crew dismantle the stage where my heart had been publicly executed.

Jonathan's assistant approached, walking on eggshells.

"Director Kaufman... Mr. Gilbert wants to see you in his office."