Orphan.

The word pricked lightly at my heart, like a thorn. But it no longer stirred much inside me.

Darren didn't know yet—my biological parents had found me years ago. They lived abroad, successful in their careers, with a comfortable life. They'd been waiting for me to return.

The only reason I'd stayed behind, cleaning up the wreckage of the Finch family, was to repay my debt to Darren's father, who had raised me for ten years.

I promised him I would keep the Finch Corporation steady, and keep a watchful eye on Darren. Until the day he could stand on his own, or until he found someone truly dependable.

After his father's death, I exhausted myself filling the holes left in the company. I endured Darren's arrogance and whims, endured the petty humiliations he engineered with Carrie just to spite me.

But now… I was tired. And I had done enough.

"Darren, just leave."

"Paula! You dare kick me out? Don't forget, this house—"

Darren was shaking with rage.

"This house was bought with my own money," I cut him off. "It has nothing to do with your family."

"You—" Darren choked on his words.

He probably never imagined that I—Paula, who had always obeyed without question, who gave without asking for anything in return—would ever speak to him like this.

He froze for a moment, then, as if something occurred to him, let out a cold laugh.

"Fine, Paula. Just wait. Let's see how well you do without me and the Finch family. I hope you enjoy your downfall."

He threw out his threat and slammed the door on his way out.

I leaned against the doorframe and slowly slid to the floor, coughing violently.

It took a long time to catch my breath. Then, with trembling fingers, I picked up my phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Paula? Why are you calling this late? Did something happen?"

The sound of my mother's voice brought tears to my eyes.

Choking back a sob, I whispered, "Mom… I want to come home. I'll take care of things here, then go abroad… and be with you and Dad again."

Joy poured through the phone. "That's great news! Paula, we've been waiting for you. Your father will be so happy when he hears this!"

The next day, despite burning with a fever, I began preparing the handover for Finch Corporation.

What I promised Darren's father was to keep the company afloat, not to raise a son who refused to grow up.

That afternoon, Darren called.

I hesitated, then picked up.

"Paula, where are you?" His tone had softened, if only slightly.

"Is something wrong?"

"Carrie said what happened last night was her fault." He paused, then added, "She wants to apologize to you. We booked a private room at Nightfall Bar. Come meet us there."

Carrie wanted to apologize to me?

A bitter laugh rose in my chest.

Most likely, it was just another one of their little games.

But then again—fine. It was time to put an end to this, once and for all. No more blurred lines. No more entanglements.

"All right. I'll come." I agreed.

I changed clothes, tidied myself up, and drove to Nightfall Bar.

When I opened the door to the private room, Darren was seated at the head of the table. Carrie sat beside him.

All eyes turned to me the moment I walked in.

Carrie raised her glass with a falsely sweet smile.

"Paula, you made it. About last night—I wasn't thinking clearly. Things may have gotten a little out of hand."

Her tone was breezy, devoid of remorse. "But it was only to test your feelings for Darren. Don't take it so personally."

She lifted her glass. "Drink with me if you forgive me."

And with that, she took a sip, calm and composed, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a joke.

I stood where I was, unmoving.

Darren's brows knit together, his voice laced with open irritation.

"Paula, what are you standing there for? Carrie already apologized. What more do you want? Come sit down and talk this through."

He patted the empty seat beside him, as if doing me a favor.

I drew in a deep breath, forcing down the emotions rising in my chest, and replied evenly, "I didn't come here to hear an apology. I came to hand over the Finch Corporation's affairs."

From the briefcase at my side, I pulled out a neatly organized set of documents and resignation I had written long ago. I placed them on the table.

"These are the financial reports from the past three years, the contracts for all active projects, and the company's strategic plan for the next twelve months. And this is my letter of resignation. As of today, I will no longer be involved in Finch Corporation's operations.

"Darren, take care of it as you see fit."

The moment my words fell, the room fell into stunned silence.

All eyes turned toward me, their gazes tinged with disbelief.

Darren's expression darkened immediately. His face flushed, and he shot to his feet.

"Paula, what the hell are you saying? You're leaving?!"

"Yes," I answered calmly. "This company was your father's legacy to you. It should be yours to manage. How you manage it is no longer my concern."

"Paula! Have you forgotten? If it weren't for my father, you'd still be begging under some bridge! And now that you've grown wings, you want to cut ties? Let me tell you—if I don't give you permission, you're not leaving Finch Corporation!"

Carrie, now catching up, jabbed a finger toward my face, her tone sharp.

"Paula, don't be ungrateful! Darren gave you a chance to work at his company. That's more than you deserve! Who do you think you're fooling with this little act of playing hard to get? Apologize to Darren now, or you're going to regret it!"

The others joined in, talking over one another.

"Yeah, Paula, don't be like this. Just say sorry to Darren."

"We're all friends here—why make things ugly?"

"Darren treats you so well. How can you turn your back on him like this?"

Looking at the faces around me, I could only feel how absurd it all was.

"If what you call 'treat me well' is treating me like a servant at your beck and call, then I sincerely hope each of you finds someone just as 'good' to love."

The room fell completely silent.

Only the sound of Darren's ragged, furious breathing remained.

"I've said what I came to say. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, I turned and walked out, ignoring the shouts behind me.

Glass shattered.

Darren's voice followed, hoarse with rage, "Paula! If you walk out that door today, don't even think about coming back! I order you to apologize right now—and go through with our engagement!"

I didn't slow down, didn't even look back. Some people never learn.

With Darren, I had already done more than enough.

I packed my things that night, listed the apartment for sale, and moved temporarily into a hotel near the office to handle the final stages of my departure.

Darren's calls and messages came in a relentless barrage—blame, accusations, commands.

"Is this how you repay my dad for raising you?

"Do you remember what you promised me? How you swore to him you'd stay by my side?

"Ungrateful wretch. Don't think for a second that I can't survive without you. The company will be just fine without you!"

I stared at his messages, and couldn't help but laugh.

He hadn't changed. Still perched above everyone else, convinced the world revolved around him.

I didn't respond. I simply blocked his number.

I made one last trip home and took with me a box that had long been gathering dust.

It was filled with letters.

They were from a pen pal I'd met online during my first year living with the Finch family.

Back then, I was living under someone else's roof. I was sensitive, withdrawn, and deeply insecure.

My pen pal was a boy I had never met, whose warm and thoughtful words gradually melted the chill of my loneliness.

We exchanged letters for an entire year, sharing everything—our happiness, sorrow, frustrations, and hopes.

Until one day, I noticed a familiar envelope on Darren's desk.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

Stunned and overjoyed, I ran to ask him about it.

He hesitated for a moment, then admitted, somewhat awkwardly, that he was the one behind the letters. That he had been "Skyler."

He said he only wanted to watch over me silently, to encourage me from the shadows.

And I believed him.

From that moment on, something shifted in me.

Gratitude became dependence. Dependence turned into love.

I thought it was fate—that we had met in such a strange and beautiful way.

I thought that beneath the arrogance and entitlement of this young heir, there hid a gentleness few had ever seen.

But now, looking back, everything felt wrong.

The boy in those letters—so emotionally intelligent, thoughtful, mature—bore no resemblance to the shallow, prideful, petty man that Darren was.

I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, and unblocked Darren's number. Then I called him.

The line rang for a long time before he finally picked up. His voice, when it came, was heavy with impatience.

"What is it? Changed your mind? Realized you were wrong? Ready to come crawling back?"

I ignored the sneer in his voice and went straight to the point.

"Darren, I just want to ask you one last question. That pen pal from back then—Skyler—was it really you?"

There was silence on the other end.

Just as I thought he might not answer, he snapped.

"What are you even talking about? You're still hung up on that old crap? Do you really have nothing better to do than live in the past? Listen to me—my birthday's in two days. You better prepare a gift, and it better be good enough to make up for all this. Otherwise, I'll give you hell!"

He hung up, seething.

His outburst only confirmed what I had already suspected.

Maybe our entire relationship had been built on a lie from the beginning.

And everything I had endured, everything I had given over the years… meant nothing.

Outside, the sky was darkening. And with it, the last thread of attachment in my heart quietly broke.

…

Two days later, at Darren's birthday party, he was dressed in a tailored designer suit, surrounded by Carrie and a crowd of well-dressed friends.

Minutes ticked by, but I never showed.

His expression grew increasingly sour, just short of a tantrum.

Then, a deliveryman stepped into the room, holding a beautifully wrapped gift box.

"Excuse me, is Darren Finch here? This is a birthday gift from Paula Rice."

Darren's eyes lit up instantly.

With smug satisfaction, he tilted his chin and turned to Carrie and the others.

"See? I told you—Paula can't live without me. She just needed some time to cool off. Once I coax her a little, she always comes back."

Carrie's smile froze, but she forced a laugh and nodded along.

Darren took the box and unwrapped it carefully.

Everyone gathered around, curious.

But the moment he lifted the lid, his smile froze.

Inside was no apology, no gift of reconciliation—only a wooden box, filled with yellowed envelopes.

He recognized them instantly.

They were the very letters he had stolen from someone else to deceive me all those years ago.

Next to the envelopes lay several documents.

One was a copy of the agreement I had signed with his father, outlining my role as interim trustee of the Finch Corporation.

Another was a detailed report on the company's recent operations, along with a comprehensive risk assessment.

And the last—my resignation letter, signed in my own hand.

For a long moment, Darren stood frozen.

Then, with trembling hands, he picked up his phone and dialed my number.

By then, I was already seated on a plane bound overseas.

When my phone buzzed, I picked up without hesitation.

"Paula, what the hell is this?" His voice trembled with a trace of panic he couldn't quite hide.

I rubbed my temple and replied calmly, "Happy birthday, Darren. And by the way, I found out the truth. The boy who wrote me those letters—it wasn't you.

"You pretended to be him. You lied to me for ten years. But that's all right. I kept my promise to your father. I did what I said I would.

"From this moment on, I owe nothing to you or the Finch family. Goodbye."