Working at the pharmacy wasn't particularly busy, but company policy was strict: no phone use during shifts, even when idle. As the manager put it, it was a matter of professionalism. Not that I had much time for my phone anyway. During the quiet moments between customers, I was busy studying for the licensed pharmacist exam. In our line of work, without that certification, I’d be stuck as a sales associate forever. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I was aiming higher, to earn more, and to move up to a management position. Without that license, those aspirations would remain out of reach.

All morning, whenever there weren't customers, I was buried in my books. So engrossed was I that I forgot about the pending friend request from Marco Griffin on WhatsApp. Meanwhile, Marco sat in his office chair, staring at his phone screen, where the pending friend request from me was a constant reminder.

It wasn't until lunchtime, when I called Joey Davis for a video chat, that I noticed Marco's request. After accepting it, I started my call with Joey. Our pharmacy operated on a two-shift system. There were just two of us clerks, overseen by one manager. But since our store was small—barely making a profit—the manager also had oversight of other locations.

Usually, I alternated shifts with another clerk: from 7 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., and then from 2:30 p.m. to 10 p.m. On morning shifts, I barely had time for lunch, often scarfing down a quick sandwich or a packed meal from home during quieter moments.

Across the screen, Joey was enjoying a hearty lunch, his plate full of meat and vegetables, while I was stuck with my sandwich. We chatted casually as I finished my meal. It wasn't until after I hung up that I noticed the flurry of messages from Marco on WhatsApp.

Marco: "So you finally decided to take me out of the waiting room, huh? Now let's talk about compensation."

Three minutes passed with no reply from me, and Marco sent another message.

Marco: "I'm not used to handling situations like this. What do you think would be fair compensation for last night's incident for you and your boyfriend?"

Another three minutes without a response, and Marco messaged again: "Am I interrupting your break?"

I quickly typed back: "No, I was just having lunch. As for compensation, I'll need to discuss it further with my boyfriend. But he's pretty happy with how you handled things last night, Mr. Griffin, so we won't ask for much."

In his office, Marco scrolled through the messages, each "boyfriend" seeming to provoke a sardonic smile. "Boyfriend? How charmingly you put it. Gwendolyn Morris, you're the one who's been getting under my skin."

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from a drawer, lit one, and took a slow drag. To be fair, Marco wasn't the type to indulge frequently. He wasn't interested in much of anything, really. Even his cigarette habit was sparse—one every few days, maybe. A pack could last him two months.

But ever since I came into his life, he'd been smoking more frequently. Like he needed the nicotine to calm some unfamiliar storm within. Realizing this, he stubbed out the cigarette and sent another message: "I'll wait for your response."

I stared at "I'll wait for your response," my brows knitting slightly. Out of context, there was nothing particularly alarming about those words, yet they left me feeling uneasy. Just then, a customer entered the pharmacy. I quickly turned off my phone screen, slipped it into my pocket, and approached with a welcoming smile. "Hello, can I help you find something today?"

...

After my shift, I headed home, stopping at the small grocery store outside my apartment complex to pick up some celery and fresh meat. I planned to make Joey some homemade pork and celery dumplings and bring them to the hospital. Joey loved dumplings, especially those with pork and celery, though I wasn't much for cooking. Usually, our meals were whatever we could throw together with the least fuss. But today, I wanted to make an exception, considering he'd injured his back.

When I arrived at the hospital, Joey opened the container, the savory aroma of celery and pork filling the air. His grin was wide and toothy. "You don't know how long I've been craving this."

Without bothering with a fork, he grabbed a dumpling with his hand and popped it into his mouth. "So good!"

The orderly, a man in his thirties, chuckled at Joey. "Hey, if you want dumplings, just let me know, and I'll get some for you."

"Mmm," Joey mumbled around a mouthful of dumpling. "But nothing beats my fiancée's cooking. You should try some; it's fantastic."

The orderly raised his hands in polite refusal. "I'm good, just ate. You two enjoy. I’ll step out for a bit."

Joey nodded, gesturing to the untouched dinner on his hospital table. "The orderly just brought that; you should have it while it's hot."

I picked up a cup of water, holding it to Joey's lips. "Drink some water, take it slow."

He sighed contentedly. "If only I had some soup to go with these dumplings, that’d be perfect."

Just as the orderly left the room, Marco appeared at the door, caught off guard by the man's brisk exit. Marco's imposing presence lingered in the air as the orderly nodded, then quickly moved on. Marco, however, remained where he stood, peering through the glass in the door at Joey and me inside the hospital room.

I was wiping a bit of sauce from Joey's lips with a napkin. Whatever Joey had said made me laugh, my hand playfully nudging his shoulder, my usually composed demeanor softened by a certain shyness in my smile.

Marco’s eyes tracked my expression, unreadable emotions swirling in their depths. He murmured to himself, “With an injured leg, can’t even look after yourself, yet here you are, cooking and bringing food from afar for him. Truly a devoted girlfriend.”

He inhaled deeply, suppressing the storm of jealousy brewing within him, exhaling slowly. Though it was a stolen glance, his gaze bore the confidence of possession.

"Sir," Boone said, ending a phone call and turning to Marco. "I've got the results from the investigation you requested on Miss Morris. I've had them sent to your email."

Marco pulled his eyes away from the window, retrieving his phone to check his email. Sure enough, a new message waited, the details about me laid out in the attachments.

My father was a university professor; my mother, a retired high school teacher. I’d been working at the pharmacy as a sales associate for two years now.

The details made Marco frown. My parents were educated professionals, yet I was working at a pharmacy? It didn’t add up to him. With such a background, surely I could do more than just sell medicine.

Something wasn’t right.

As Marco read on, he discovered I donated a third of my monthly salary to an all-girls private school. The school was well-known, the principal publicly acknowledging contributors to maintain transparency and gratitude.

A slow grin spread across Marco’s face as he digested this piece of information. Tenderness and mischievous excitement mingled in his eyes. "Here I thought she was all facade, but she’s quite the altruistic saint. But even saints need a place for their offerings."

He turned off his phone and once more peered through the glass at Joey and me, our heads bent close in laughter over dinner. His voice carried a note of anticipation, "I’m a saint myself. Care to taste the offerings I lay before you?"

Gwendolyn Morris had just returned home when her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen and saw an eye-popping figure: one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Her jaw dropped in disbelief at the sum.

After a moment, she closed the message, kicked off her shoes, and hung her coat on the hook by the door. She settled onto her bed and called Marco Griffin on WhatsApp. Marco answered almost instantly, his smooth voice coming through the speaker.

“Gwendolyn, did you get my payment?”

“Mr. Griffin, this amount is excessive; it doesn’t feel right,” she replied.

Marco chuckled softly. “It's calculated based on your boyfriend's earnings. Besides, there's no such thing as 'too much.'”

Joey’s income was indeed substantial, but not to that extent. Gwendolyn was never one to believe in something for nothing and was cautious of people being overly generous without reason. As she pondered how to handle the situation, Marco’s voice broke her thoughts. “I can explain it better in person. I'm actually near your place; let's meet up.”

The area around Gwendolyn’s neighborhood was mostly filled with bustling eateries, not ideal for a chat, so they decided to meet in his car.

As soon as she got in, she caught a faint whiff of whiskey on Marco. He smiled and said, “I was at a whiskey tasting tonight and had a couple of glasses. I was just passing by your neighborhood.”

His explanation put her a little more at ease. She pulled out her phone. “Why don’t you give me your account info? I’ll send back the excess money.”

There was a pause, and she looked up to see the colorful city lights reflecting in the car, casting a glow over Marco’s face. He was looking at her with a gentle expression, which made her slightly uneasy. Doubts crept back into her mind. She spoke directly, “Mr. Griffin, I have a boyfriend, so I’m not entertaining anyone else’s advances.”

Marco remained silent, his eyes soft but now with a hint of seriousness, a faint smile on his lips. His silence made her more unsettled, until suddenly Marco’s smile widened. He laughed lightly, a touch of mischief in his eyes as he shook his head.

“Gwendolyn, did you really think I was making a move on you? My apologies…”

Despite the potential awkwardness, his demeanor was sincere and oddly charming. He leaned back, folding his arms, and asked earnestly, “Then tell me, why would I be pursuing you?”

Gwendolyn was caught off guard, momentarily speechless. Yes, why would someone like Marco chase after her? And using such indirect methods, no less. Was she being overly confident?

But her instincts were usually accurate, and she had a strong sense that Marco wasn’t entirely indifferent. Yet, she couldn’t pinpoint the reasons.

In the car, it was just the two of them. Boone had stepped out when she got in. The atmosphere felt charged.

Marco leaned in slightly, his face closer than before, just watching her with those gentle eyes. One second, two seconds, three—and then Marco grinned. “You didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?”

He straightened up, retreating to a safe distance, when Gwendolyn surprised him. She reached out, hooking a finger inside his collar, pulling him back down. Their noses nearly touched; she could see each of his eyelashes.

Marco’s heart raced, his pulse quickening in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He was unsure of Gwendolyn's intentions, but a sense of anticipation built up within him.

Just as the tension peaked, she turned slightly, her lips brushing his cheek as she whispered in his ear, “You didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” She echoed his words back.

She pushed him away, leaning back with an easy smile. “Mr. Griffin, I'm not interested in a game of push and pull. There can be many reasons behind a pursuit. Let’s make tonight our last meeting. We come from different worlds; there’s no need to force it.”

It felt like the game was over.

Gwendolyn exited the car and shut the door. Before walking away, she leaned back down, waved her phone at him, and said, “Since you’re not worried about the money, Mr. Griffin, I’ll keep the compensation.”

For the first time, Marco found himself flatly turned down by a woman. Yet, despite the rejection, he wasn’t angry; instead, he felt an irresistible urge to pull her back and hold her close.

His eyes lingered on her retreating figure, noticing how sensitive she was to the cold. During their visit to the retirement home when the weather unexpectedly warmed up, most women had switched to lighter clothing, but Gwendolyn had worn a thick coat. And during most of their encounters, she had been bundled up in a wool parka.

March in the north wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t cold enough to warrant a heavy coat every day. The only time he had seen her in regular attire was when they first met—she wore a light gray sweater over black leggings, rushing to help her boyfriend.

“Does she really care for him that much?” Marco wondered aloud as he watched her enter her building.

His phone buzzed beside him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and answered.

Chandler Hunter’s voice came through excitedly, “Marco, I found something. I knew I’d seen that woman, Gwendolyn Morris, before. I’m headed your way now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes with some confidential info.”

An hour later, Marco sat in his study, a manila envelope marked "confidential" in front of him. Chandler's so-called “confidential” file turned out to be just two pages.

Marco glanced over the sheets, his eyes widening, his grip on the pages tight until his knuckles turned white.

The file contained information on a crime—a case of two deaths and one survivor. The deceased were a trafficker and a kidnapped young woman, while the survivor was Gwendolyn, who had narrowly escaped from the mountains where she had been held captive. When rescued, she was severely injured.

Gwendolyn’s ordeal had begun during her college summer break, when she had helped a stranger in distress—a decision that led to her abduction.

After reading, Marco picked up a lighter and watched as the papers caught fire, reducing them to ash. He stared at the burning flame, his previously feigned gentleness now replaced by a somber darkness.

“So, you’re a survivor of great trials,” he murmured to himself. “Having already faced one ordeal, I’ll spare you another.”

Watching the ashes smolder in the tray, he whispered four words, “The game is over.”

That night, Marco Griffin didn’t sleep well.

Following the doctor’s advice, he took the prescribed sleeping pills. Yet, despite them, he found himself lost in a labyrinth of dreams.

In his dream, his younger self was curled up inside a wardrobe. His mother's voice came from the other side of the door, soothing and coaxing, "Little Marco, mommy's coming to get you. I’ll find you soon."

The fear and terror he felt turned into tears streaming down his cheeks. Clutching his knees with one hand and desperately covering his mouth with the other, Marco tried to suppress any sound.

The gentler her voice became, the more it filled him with dread. "Stop playing hide and seek, come out and I'll take you to see daddy, okay?"

Suddenly, the wardrobe doors flung open, and blinding sunlight streamed through the windows, catching Marco in the face, leaving him nowhere to hide.

His mother smiled, taking his hand in a warm voice, "Got you, now let's go find daddy."

Little Marco cried even harder, pulling back, trying to wrestle free from her grip. Her demeanor twisted into something frightening as she tightened her hold on him, tears brimming in her eyes. She demanded, "Why are you afraid to see your dad? Why won't you help me? Why do you all want to separate me from my husband?!"

The commotion attracted others in the mansion. A woman dressed like someone out of a Victorian novel burst onto the scene, slapping Marco's mother across the face. She clutched little Marco protectively, unleashing a tirade, "Even a tigress wouldn't harm her own cubs! That beast Hawk Griffin will destroy my grandson, you idiot! What have I done to deserve a daughter like you?!"

His mother shook her head frantically, urgently explaining, "No, no, that's not it. Hawk wouldn't harm little Marco. He's just too angry. Once he calms down, he'll forgive me. Everything will be fine. He won’t bring up divorce again."

The dream shifted, now showing little Marco’s head being forcibly pushed underwater in a swimming pool. Endless water filled his lungs, and no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t escape the grip on his head. The man who promised to teach him to swim whispered with malice, "Your mother's actions destroyed the one I loved most. So I will take away what she loves, so she knows the pain of loss."

Little Marco's strength faded, his eyes closed, and he stopped fighting.

There was a splash, someone had jumped in, pulling him free from Hawk's grip. He drifted in and out of consciousness, hearing a familiar voice gently calling, "Mr. Griffin, do you want to kiss me? Wake up, and I’ll let you take a bite."

Marco snapped awake, sitting up abruptly.

The room was shrouded in darkness, yet he could still see Gwendolyn Morris’ smiling face from the first time they met.

She was playfully pinching Joey’s nose, telling him, "Joey, it's time to go home."

"Time to go home."

"Time to go home."

Why did even someone like Joey, who got so drunk that other women had to take him home, still have a place to call home? And yet, Marco felt forever alone.

A bitter resentment filled him—towards everything, towards every couple in love, towards the absence of anyone who truly loved him.

In the shadows, his eyes burned like those of a cornered animal. It took a long while for the night to calm his turbulent emotions. Closing his eyes, he shook away the image of Gwendolyn.

He had made his decision to end this charade. Though not a good man, he wasn’t cruel enough to hurt someone like her, who had already been through so much.

Reaching for his phone on the bedside table, he opened WhatsApp. What had she said earlier that evening? Oh yes, she hoped tonight would be their last meeting.

Marco let out a humorless chuckle, typing a single word in reply: "Alright."

As soon as he hit send, a large red exclamation mark popped up on his phone screen.

He couldn't help but laugh in frustration, "Dammit!"