Chapter 1

It was New Year’s Eve.

I let the entire company off three hours early today so I could get home before our celebratory dinner and decorate our little place with my fiancé.

As I was packing up my things, my assistant leaned over my desk with a bright grin.

“Wait, Ms. Ward is actually leaving early today?”

“I thought I’d be stuck in meetings with you all night and have to cancel my date.”

I slipped on my wool coat and teased back, “Got a special guy waiting for you?”

Her eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously.

“Yes! We haven’t been together long, but he feels like the one.”

She unlocked her phone and turned the screen toward me. “Look, that’s him.”

On the screen, two long shadows stretched across the fresh snow under the glow of a streetlamp.

A man leaned in with a tender smile, kissing the crown of her head.

The moment I saw that face, my fingers went ice cold.

Wasn’t that my fiancé?

1

Before I could say a word, Sierra’s phone buzzed.

She answered immediately, her voice dripping like warm honey.

“Babe, you’re already downstairs?”

“Okay, I’m coming right down!”

She hung up and gave me a cheerful wave, her face flushed with the sweet glow of a woman who was deeply cherished.

“Ms. Ward, my man is here to pick me up! Happy New Year’s Eve date with your fiancé!”

With that, she practically skipped toward the elevators like a carefree songbird.

My feet moved on their own.

By the time I came to my senses, I was already inside the descending elevator behind her.

My heart pounded violently against my ribs, each thud laced with creeping dread.

Even though I had tried to brace myself, the sight of that familiar silhouette still ripped through my chest.

It was Lance.

He stood beneath the streetlamp in front of the office building, standing tall and straight.

Snowflakes dusted his broad shoulders. He looked down at Sierra, his profile radiating pure, gentle warmth.

I had never seen him wear an expression so soft.

Lance opened his arms naturally and pulled Sierra into a warm embrace.

He ruffled her hair, a fond smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

Sierra said something that made him chuckle, and he playfully tapped the tip of her nose before shielding her into the passenger seat.

I didn’t chase after them. I didn’t shout. I just stood frozen in place.

A bone-chilling cold crept up from my feet, turning my entire body to stone.

My hands trembled so violently that my phone slipped from my grip and crashed onto the pavement.

The screen faced up, displaying my lock screen wallpaper.

It was a candid photo of Lance and me holding hands against a golden sunset.

I had taken it secretly back then, and his hand in the shot was visibly stiff.

A tear ripped through the fabric of my memories.

Three years ago on a stormy night, I worked late and cautiously called to ask if he could pick me up from the office.

His voice on the other end had been dripping with annoyance.

“I’m exhausted. Can’t you just take a cab? Stop being so damn needy.”

After that night, I never asked him to pick me up again.

He never asked where my office was, nor did he ever care if I was exhausted.

We didn’t act like a real couple at all.

In fact, I was the only one desperately keeping our relationship alive.

We met back in college.

He was the aloof, untouchable campus heartthrob.

I fell for him the very first second I laid eyes on him.

I chased him for two whole years before he finally agreed to give us a shot.

He had only one condition.

We could never make our relationship public.

Back then, I naively believed he was just introverted and private by nature.

I thought as long as I loved him enough, time would eventually melt his icy exterior.

I believed that one day, he would proudly take my hand in front of the entire world.

Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t because he was introverted; it was because I wasn’t the right girl.

Cold tears rolled down my cheeks without warning.

I crouched down to retrieve my phone, my trembling fingers touching the freezing glass where our blurry silhouettes still smiled.

Like an addict clinging to a dying hope, I opened our chat where his contact was still pinned to the top.

I typed out every word slowly, as if making one last pathetic attempt to prove myself wrong.

“I got off work early tonight. Let’s have our celebratory dinner together.”

After what felt like an eternity, the phone gave a faint vibration.

Lance: “Working overtime. Don’t wait up.”

Five cold words, devoid of warmth or hesitation.

Staring at that short text, I suddenly wanted to laugh.

I laughed at years of self-delusion, and I laughed at how pathetic I was for still hurting over him.

My legs were numb to the core.

Leaning against the freezing brick wall, I slowly forced myself to stand, the dark glass windows reflecting my solitary, broken shadow.