My father is a business tycoon, owning numerous corporations and consistently ranking among the top twenty on Forbes' list.

I epitomize the concept of a trust fund child.

However, when I initially encountered Emily, I distinctly recall her recounting how her father had been fatally struck in a hit-and-run accident caused by a privileged young individual. The culprit, shielded by their family's affluence and connections, evaded significant consequences and was released from custody within days.

Since that incident, Emily has fostered an intense aversion towards the affluent.

To be with her, I concealed my background. I rejected every opportunity my family presented, relocated to a small town with her, and invested all my savings to help launch her business venture.

Until yesterday, I foolishly believed that Emily and I had finally achieved success, that our sacrifices had been worthwhile.

But now, I comprehend the extent of my loss.

After concluding a phone call, I returned to the modest apartment Emily and I shared. The space was exquisitely adorned—warm and intimate. Heart-shaped candles lined the floor, and at the center stood a bouquet of vivid blue roses.

Nestled among the flowers was an elegant diamond ring.

Beside it lay the deed to a luxurious residence—the one I had intended to surprise Emily with.

I had envisioned her reaction countless times, picturing the delight and affection in her eyes. But now, it all seemed meaningless.

Emily would never see it.

I gathered everything—the ring, the flowers, the deed—and discarded it all in the trash.

Then, I booked a flight for the following evening. I required one day to conclude my work and hand over my responsibilities.

"Ding."

My phone alerted me to a notification.

It was a video from Ryan.

The footage showed Ryan carrying Emily in his arms, her face flushed as she clung tightly to his neck, nestling her face against his chest. They appeared to be the perfect couple.

Around them, colleagues cheered and applauded, urging them to kiss.

The video vanished seconds later, deleted.

Then, a message appeared.

"Oops, sorry, sent that by mistake."

Naturally, I didn't believe him. Ryan had always been calculating, hadn't he? This was just another of his manipulations.

Over the past few years, he'd orchestrated similar stunts numerous times.

Typically, I'd lose my composure, confront Emily, and end up being reprimanded by her.

"Can't you stop being so insecure? Perhaps focus more on your work instead of this nonsense?"

Initially, I thought I was being paranoid. But once, when Emily was ill and semi-delirious, she called out Ryan's name.

That's when I realized her heart no longer belonged to me.

This time, I felt nothing. I simply blocked Ryan without hesitation and erased his contact.

Shortly after, my phone rang.

It was Emily.

"Jake, did you block Ryan?" she demanded immediately upon answering, her tone frigid and accusatory.

She was unconcerned about Ryan's actions—only that I had blocked him.

"I did," I replied tersely.

"What's the matter with you? He's your colleague! How is he supposed to perform his job now? He believes he must have done something wrong and has been blaming himself, crying incessantly. Add him back and apologize!"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Are you even aware of what he sent me?"

There was silence on the other end, likely as she consulted with Ryan. Moments later, she responded dismissively, "So what if he sent the wrong picture? It's not significant."

Of course. When it came to Ryan, nothing was ever significant.

I emitted a cold laugh. "You're right, it's insignificant. Just like when he 'accidentally' sent the incorrect pricing sheet to a client, and we lost millions as a result."

That incident had been disastrous. Ryan had sent our bottom-line pricing to a partner, leading to multiple contract cancellations and negotiations. A week's worth of diligent effort—and over a million dollars—was squandered.

Emily hadn't cared then, either.

The line went quiet momentarily. Clearly, she recollected the incident.

Then I heard Ryan's voice in the background, soft and hoarse. "Emily, Jake's probably just upset about the shares you gave me today. I should apologize to him."

Emily's tone immediately softened. "No need, Ryan. It wasn't your fault. Let him cool off on his own."

And with that, she ended the call.

It was always like this. Whenever we argued, Emily would use the excuse that I needed to "calm down" to spend more time with Ryan instead.

But this time, I didn't feel angry.

I calmly composed my resignation letter and sent it to HR.

As I pressed send on my resignation email, a sense of liberation washed over me, as if a massive burden had been removed from my shoulders.

In the early hours of the morning, my deep slumber was disrupted by Emily's incoming call.

"Come get me. I'm still at the venue from before," she stated.

I could hear the bustling atmosphere in the background—likely another work-related gathering.

In the past, I would have leapt out of bed, hastily dressed, and rushed to her aid. This time, however, I responded with a drowsy, uninterested tone.

"Use a ride-hailing service," I suggested. "There should be plenty available in that area."

Emily hesitated, her voice tinged with doubt. "Are you sleeping?"

"Yes," I replied, indifferently.

Previously, when Emily attended work or networking events, I'd remain awake, concerned for her well-being until she returned home. Tonight, however, I slept soundly. Her call felt like an unwelcome interruption to my rest.

She didn't press the issue further. Approximately thirty minutes later, she arrived home.

I had just exited the bathroom when our gazes met in the hallway.

"You're awake," she said quietly. "Please prepare some noodles for me. I'm famished."

Her voice was soft, almost pleading. I recognized this as her attempt to reconcile, to mend our disagreement. Typically, when we argued, she'd display vulnerability to reopen communication and bridge the gap between us.

But that approach only worked because I cared for her.

Now that affection had dissipated, leaving only frustration in its wake.

"Cook for yourself," I replied bluntly. "Or order something if you're unsure how."

As I turned towards the bedroom, Emily blocked my path.

That's when I detected the faint aroma of Ryan's cologne on her.

"Jake, are you really still upset?" she asked, her tone a mixture of frustration and incredulity.

"I've already clarified this for you—everything I'm doing is for the company's benefit. Just because we've gone public doesn't mean we can relax. If anything, it's time to redouble our efforts."

"Ryan might not be the most capable," she continued, "but he has connections, excels at networking, and his family owns businesses we could potentially collaborate with in the future. Giving him shares wasn't about favoritism—it was about what's best for the company."

I hadn't anticipated her justifying herself in this manner.

But it was irrelevant. Whether she believed her own explanations or not, I didn't.

"Mm-hmm," I responded dismissively and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Emily seemed stunned, pausing outside before angrily kicking the door. "Fine! Behave this way if you want, Jake! But don't come complaining to me later when you regret it!"

The following morning, I emerged from the bedroom to find Emily on the couch, meticulously pressing a new suit.

Upon seeing me, she immediately stood up, holding the suit towards me.

"Here, try this on," she said cheerfully, almost forcing it into my hands.

I recognized it immediately—it was a limited-edition Chanel suit. Not only was it incredibly expensive, but it was also notoriously difficult to acquire. Social media was filled with posts about how it was the ideal gift for a boyfriend.

I had once mentioned to Emily that I thought it looked impressive.

After changing into the suit, I stepped out of the bedroom, feeling an unexpected lump in my throat. I was about to speak, but Emily spoke first, her tone light and teasing.

"You and Ryan are about the same size. It fits you perfectly, so it should look just as good on him."

She smiled as she carefully removed the jacket from me.

"Be careful not to crease it," she added. "I spent a lot of time getting it just right."

Then, she folded the suit back into its gift box, looking satisfied, and left with it.

I knew she was doing this intentionally, retaliating for yesterday.

But instead of feeling angry, all I felt was a sense of detachment. It was immature, after all.

Later that morning, I received a call and went to the office to finalize my resignation.

As soon as I entered the building, I saw Ryan perched on my desk, surrounded by colleagues fawning over him as if he were the center of attention.

One of them approached me with a smug expression. "Jake, go fetch some coffee for everyone."

"Why?" I asked, checking my watch. I wasn't late.

The coworker's grin widened. "Emily said whoever arrives at the office last has to buy everyone coffee. And guess what? You're the last one here."

"Don't worry about it," Ryan interjected, standing up and adjusting the suit jacket he was wearing—the same one Emily had taken that morning.

"I wouldn't want Jake running errands for everyone," he said, his voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. "I'll go instead."

Of course, he made no move to leave.

Right on cue, Emily exited her office. Her eyes flicked to Ryan's suit, and for a brief moment, her expression faltered before she quickly regained composure.

She stepped forward, straightening his collar with a smile. "I knew it would look great on you," she said warmly.

The others erupted into cheers and laughter.

Emily's face reddened slightly as she glanced at me, clearly checking to see if I'd react with jealousy or anger.

But I didn't. My heart was like a still lake—calm, empty, and unaffected.

Emily didn't seem satisfied with my lack of response. Her tone turned cold as she said, "I already told everyone—whoever arrived last needs to buy coffee. If you're not going to cooperate, why are you even here?"

A coworker pointed at me. "Jake was the last one in."

Emily smirked. "Go on, then. And if you don't, I'll terminate your employment."

Apparently, she hadn't seen my resignation email yet.

I didn't bother concealing it anymore.

"I'm not here to work," I said calmly. "I'm here to resign."