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.

Backed by the adults, the little boy suddenly ran over and bit my hand—hard—and refused to let go. The more gently Sean tried to coax him, the deeper his little teeth sank in.

I couldn’t exactly fight a child, could I? So, swallowing my pride, I apologized to him. But Simon still wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t notice the blood trickling from the bite on my hand. Didn’t notice the pain on my face. All he cared about was saving face for someone else.

He grabbed my arm as I tried to leave.

“Meggy,” he barked, “Apologize. To Sean.”

Sean put on a delicate, self-sacrificing face and tugged lightly at his sleeve. “Simon, let it go, it’s not a big deal… I mean, I’m fine. It’s just the little boy who got hurt and probably scared.”

His eyes immediately locked on the red imprint forming on the back of her hand. He was heartbroken. So he turned to me—and without warning, shoved my injured hand into a bowl of hot soup that had just arrived at the table.

The soup wasn’t boiling, but it had to be at least 60 degrees. The salt from the broth seeped into the fresh bite wound, making my skin burn with a sharp, electric pain that radiated up my arm. My whole body trembled involuntarily.

“Meggy, what is wrong with you?” Simon hissed. “You need to be taught a lesson!”

“Is that who I am to you?” I asked quietly, through clenched teeth.

I already knew the answer, but I still couldn’t help myself from asking. Around us, whispers started rising.

“Wait—so which one is his actual girlfriend?”

“Are you blind? Obviously the one he’s protecting! You don’t wear matching designer outfits unless it’s official.”

Their eyes turned toward me, heavy with pity.

“Hey man, enough is enough,” one diner muttered. “Another few seconds and you’re gonna boil her hand off!”

I stood there, lips pale and trembling, yet somehow… smiling. I looked Simon in the eye. And for once, he looked uneasy. Finally, he let go of my hand. Took Sean by the arm. And walked away.

When I got home, a notification popped up—he’d ordered me a box of burn cream through delivery service.

[Meggy, please stop being so sensitive and antagonizing Sean. You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other. I hope you’ll get along from now on.]

So that was it? He really thought he could buy my silence—and my cooperation—with a box of burn ointment, while he kept both women at arm’s reach?

I said nothing. Just applied the cream silently and went to bed. He never came home that night.

***

The next morning at work, everyone looked at me like I was a walking scandal. Whispers buzzed through the office like bees in a broken hive.

As I sat down, Jessy—one of the few coworkers I actually liked—leaned in and whispered,

“Meggy, people are saying… that you tried to seduce President Gudrick and his girlfriend caught you red-handed. It’s all over the company chat groups.”

She passed me her phone. Someone had recorded the restaurant scene last night. A new group chat had been created overnight just to gossip about me—how I supposedly tried to sleep my way to a promotion and failed spectacularly.

I barely had time to process it all when Simon walked in with Sean at his side.

“Everyone, let me introduce our new department manager—Sean.”

So that’s what he meant when he said we’d be seeing a lot of each other. He wasn’t joking. He literally parachuted her in—to be my boss. The office fell silent. All eyes turned to me.

Since the previous department manager had quit, I’d been handling most of the responsibilities. Everyone assumed I’d be the next in line for the position. But now? He added her to the company group chat—right in front of everyone. And immediately, one after another, they both sent messages.

Anyone with eyes could see it. Their profile pictures matched. A couple’s photo. Smiling. Lovey-dovey. The entire office spent the rest of the morning gossiping instead of working.

I didn’t care anymore. I was leaving anyway. I drafted my resignation and sent it to HR before lunch. With nothing left to lose, I went to the break room and made myself a cup of honey grapefruit tea—something warm, sweet and far away from bitter melon.

I’d barely taken two sips when Sean strutted in like she owned the place. She made herself a coffee and sat down next to me, crossing her legs like a queen claiming her throne.

Her voice was syrupy and smug. “Meggy,” she said, “I know you were Simon’s little secret for five years. But I’m his official girlfriend now. I’m back and it’s time for the mistress to know when to leave.”

She smiled faintly. “As long as you keep your mouth shut like you did before, I won’t make things harder for you.”