Simon Gudrick had two concert tickets tucked neatly into the pocket of his tailored suit. I thought he had planned a surprise for me. I was giddy with anticipation, counting down the days until the concert. But when the day finally came, I found out he had taken those tickets and gone on a business trip instead.

With the help of a few connections and a ridiculous amount of money, I managed to get a ticket last minute. And that’s when I saw it.

Onstage, under the dazzling lights and booming music, he was kissing another girl—deeply, passionately, like they were in the middle of their own love story. Their kiss was so emotional, so raw, that the camera crew caught it and broadcasted it on the giant screen for thousands of people to see.

After the concert, I stumbled across the girl's social media post.

[Sharing a kiss with the love of my life at our idol’s concert… Best birthday gift ever.]

The comment section was filled with blessings and heart emojis.

[Wishing you 99!] they said, wishing them a love that would last a hundred years.

Meanwhile, I got hit by a car. His car. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Simon was sitting beside me, scrolling through his phone, a soft smile playing on his lips. A smile I had never seen him wear when he was with me.

I asked, "Who is she?"

Without even lifting his eyes, he replied coldly, “I’m your boss. Now that you’re awake, just focus on recovering.”

Then he walked away—no hesitation, no guilt. I turned my head away from the door and dialed my uncle’s number.

“Uncle, about that arranged marriage you mentioned… I’ll do it. I’ll marry him.”

——

There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a sigh of relief. “Meggy, finally. That man hid you in the dark for five whole years. A man like that doesn’t deserve to see the light of day.”

“When can you come back? I just messaged them—they’re already asking to finalize the wedding date.”

Five years with Simon and I was always the one left in the shadows. Now that he clearly wanted nothing to do with me, I figured he wouldn’t stand in my way if I resigned.

“The sooner the better,” I said. “I can handle the resignation process quickly.”

But then he came back into the hospital room—turns out he’d left something behind.

“Resign? Who’s resigning from our company?” he asked casually, while looking around for his car keys.

He would need to sign off on my resignation anyway, so I didn’t bother hiding it. But he didn’t even look up from his phone long enough to see me nod.

He picked up his keys and said with a half-laugh, “Doctor said you hit your head. Might even have memory loss. Honestly, I almost believed it.”

“The car... it was mine,” he added, almost offhandedly. “The streetlights were dim and you were staring at your phone…”

I froze. So that was it. That was why he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t explained anything and acted like I was just some employee.

Ten minutes ago, when he called himself “just my boss,” his face was a picture of professional indifference—polite, distant, with the perfect amount of scripted concern. But not an ounce of guilt.

Right before I passed out, I had seen the car with my own eyes. Simon was in the passenger seat. The girl he’d kissed was the one behind the wheel. He hadn’t even let me question him. He just made up some excuse about the company being too busy and left.

At the time, I thought he was avoiding me because he didn’t know how to face me after hitting me with the car. But the truth was far more pathetic. I didn’t matter to him. Not even enough to feel guilty.

Still dazed, I smiled politely and said, “Guess I was still a bit foggy when I woke up. Didn’t recognize you, boss.”

He barely responded. And I played along, pretending everything was fine. He turned to look at me again, probably confused.

The girl who used to demand cuddles and kisses even for a paper cut—now sat there emotionless, quiet.

Simon glanced around the room, confirming no one else was there, then softened his tone and said, “Meggy, hospitals are full of people and gossip. We can’t risk anyone seeing us like this. Just rest, recover. Once you’re home, I’ll make it up to you.”

I gave him a calm, practiced smile. “Thank you… boss.”

I used to call him “boss” as a flirty joke in private. But this time, the word felt cold, like a wall between us. He frowned. He noticed the difference.

Just as he was about to say something, the doctor came in for a routine check. Instantly, Simon slipped back into his corporate mask—cool and detached.

Before walking out, he paused at the door and turned back with a final reminder. “Get some rest. And don’t think your special relationship gives you any privileges at my company. Everyone’s treated equally. Everything follows the rules.”

The doctor glanced at my forced smile and gave a teasing chuckle. "Your boss already left. No need to push yourself to keep smiling like that anymore. But I’ll give him this—stubborn mouth, soft heart. He’s already paid all your medical bills."

My fake smile slipped into a bitter one. Simon really deserved an award for his performance. Nobody knew we were together. Nobody—except for a handful of his closest friends—knew I’d been in a secret relationship with him for five years.

I’d asked him again and again. "When can we go public?"

He always brushed it off with a vague, "The timing’s not right."

But today, I got my answer. When he thought I had amnesia, the first thing he said was I’m your boss. That’s what I really was to him. An employee. A secret.

My injuries weren’t serious, so the doctor kept me under observation for three days before clearing me to go home. Since my bill went through insurance, the excess refund was transferred back to Simon’s account—the one who paid.

Three days. No visit. No text. And then he called.

“You’re out already? You could’ve at least given me a heads-up,” he said, like it was an inconvenience. “I’ve got a client meeting today. Can’t come pick you up.”

“…Okay.” I swallowed the thousand questions that almost slipped out.

I checked his location. He was at a hotel. I didn’t need him to spell out what he was really busy with.

Then, in the background, I heard a woman’s voice, “Come dry my hair, will you?”

Click. He hung up immediately. Not long after, I received two transfers from him on messenger. One for $1314, another for $1520.

Those numbers meant something to us, our special dates. meant ‘forever love’ and ‘I love you’. For years, I had wished for those exact numbers. I wanted to screenshot them, post them, brag just once like the other girls who could show off their boyfriends.

But every time I tried, he refused. He didn’t want the attention. Now that I’ve decided to let him go, he sends them? I didn’t know what kind of twisted guilt or nostalgia he was acting on.

I stared at his newly changed profile photo. It was obviously a couple photo. But not with me. Without a second thought, I returned both transfers. He sent me a string of question marks. I didn’t reply.

When I got back to the apartment, nothing had changed. Everything was exactly the same as the night of the concert. Which meant he hadn’t been back since. I took a deep breath, pushed aside the ache in my chest and began to pack. It didn’t take long before the place felt empty.

Five years. Five years of a life I had carefully built around him, dismantled in just a few hours. Most of the things I packed were couple-themed items. Stuff I bought. Simon never liked wearing or using anything that hinted he was taken. He said he didn’t like being flashy.

I used to joke that he was acting like some undercover agent. Turns out, it wasn’t a joke. He just never considered me his to begin with.

I was halfway through when I heard the door open. He came in.

"Meggy, what’s this about?" he snapped. "I’ve been trying to call you! I asked you to dinner and you didn’t pick up or reply!"

I smelled the perfume on him before I even looked up. It wasn’t mine. I instinctively held up a hand to stop him from getting too close. My eyes drifted to the faint red marks on his neck—hickeys.

"Sorry," I said calmly. "I’ve been busy. Didn’t check my phone."

He scanned the room, frowning as he noticed the open suitcases. "Don’t tell me you’ve been busy tearing down the house. You just got out of the hospital. You should be resting."

Then he pointed at a few boxes I hadn’t tossed yet—still filled with new couple merchandise I’d bought. "You don’t want any of this?"

I bent down to pick one up and he snatched it from my hands.

"Alright, I’ll take them out. But stop wasting money on useless crap. Are you made of money?"

Then, casually, like nothing had happened, he said, "Go change. I’ll take you out to eat."

It was time. If I was going to walk away, I needed to say it.

From the balcony, I watched as he walked to the dumpster and threw the boxes in without a second glance. The same way he tossed away our five years. Like it meant nothing.

At the restaurant, he ordered several of our usual favorites. Dishes that brought back memories. Laughter. Movie nights. Lazy weekends. But he also ordered one dish I couldn’t stand—bitter melon with scrambled eggs. He knew I hated it. He always remembered… until now.

Suddenly, my appetite vanished. I didn’t feel like forcing myself anymore.

“Excuse me,” I called to the waiter, “Can you take this dish off the table? I’ll pay for it separately.”

But before the waiter could move, Simon pulled the plate toward himself. “Oh come on, I missed a few days at the hospital and now you’re acting like a drama queen? Maybe if you were watching where you were going, you wouldn’t have ended up getting hit by a car.”

I had seen him when he actually cared about me. So now, it was painfully obvious—he didn’t anymore.

Once, when I had a fever, he carried me on his back through the freezing night to the ER, crying the whole way. And now? He hit me with a car and didn’t even bother showing up.

He knew I hated bitter melon. For years, he never ordered or brought home anything remotely bitter. And now suddenly, like it was five years ago and we’d just met, he ordered bitter melon again.

I curled my lips into a tired smile. “I really hate bitter melon. I can’t even stand the smell.”

“Then don’t eat it,” he snapped. “Simple.”

The irritation in his tone was obvious. But I kept my smile polite. “I think… we should—”

Before I could finish the sentence, a woman walked up to our table.

“Simon, after all these years, you still remember I love bitter melon!”

I looked up calmly at the woman standing in front of me—flawless makeup, expensive clothes, her chin slightly raised as she looked down at me with thinly veiled disdain.

Without waiting for permission, she pushed Simon inward on the booth and slipped into the seat right across from me—shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Let me introduce myself,” she said, her voice as sweet as syrup. “I’m Simon’s girlfriend. Sean Michelle.”

I didn’t say a word. She leaned in closer to him, brushing her arm against his and gave me a sideways glance.

“Simon, aren’t you going to introduce her? She’s…”

Simon’s face stiffened. Clearly, Sean’s sudden appearance had caught him off guard. His eyes darted nervously to mine. I almost laughed.

“Meggy Klindsey. I work for Mr. Gudrick’s company,” I said smoothly. “The restaurant was full, so we’re just sharing a table.”

His head whipped toward me, panic flashing in his eyes for just a second—before he exhaled in relief.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he nodded quickly. “This is Meggy. One of my employees.”

Sean smiled like a cat with a mouse trapped under its paw.

“Ms. Klindsey must be extremely talented, then. I’ve never seen Simon eat at the same table with any woman besides me.”

She then placed her phone down next to her wine glass, nudging it slightly forward like it was accidental. But the message was loud and clear.

I caught a glimpse of her messenger profile photo. It matched Simon’s. A couple profile. Even their outfits today were matching—same color palette, coordinated down to the watch bands. Luxury. Designer. Deliberate.

Under the soft restaurant lighting, they looked picture-perfect. Like a magazine spread. I set my chopsticks down and stood up. Sean grabbed my wrist—her long manicured nails digging into my skin just out of his sight.

“Miss Klindsey, you’re leaving already? Did I say something wrong?” Her eyes shimmered with fake regret. “Let me apologize, okay?”

I wasn’t in the mood to play games with a girl pretending to be all sugar and innocence. I yanked my hand out of her grip.

Just as I was checking my wrist, where her nails had actually drawn blood, she suddenly swung her own hand and smacked a nearby little boy on the face. The child’s wail rang through the restaurant. He clutched his cheek and started sobbing uncontrollably.

Sean’s face turned pale, her eyes wide with fake horror. “Oh no, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Simon jumped in, apologizing profusely to the parents and immediately transferring money to cover damages. But then, the little boy suddenly pointed at me.

“It was her! She swung the lady’s hand and made her hit me! She should say sorry!”

Sean immediately gave me a look of deep hurt. “Miss Klindsey… I don’t know what I did to upset you. If you have a problem with me, just take it out on me. Please, don’t drag innocent people into this…”

Gasps and whispers rippled through the restaurant. I could feel the heat of their judgmental stares on my back.

Simon turned toward me and glared. “What are you standing there for?” he barked. “Apologize. Now! Stop making a scene.”

Like I was the one who embarrassed him. Like I was the one out of line.