I made a deal with Sonia Quindt—the billionaire CEO. After I'd proposed to her ninety-nine freaking times, she swore she'd finally show up for the hundredth.

Spoiler: she didn't.

She was out there at some concert with her boy toy. And, of course, someone caught them on livestream. Big kiss. Big viral moment.

Meanwhile, my face was plastered all over the internet too—lonely guy number one, waiting for a bride who never existed. Everyone online started making bets. Who was the mystery woman? How long until I came crawling back for the hundred-and-first proposal?

Sonia, apparently struck by some last-minute guilt, promised she'd make it right next time. Said she'd actually show up.

And she did. Wedding dress. Perfect makeup. Cameras ready.

She got a text from me:

[Sonia, there won't be a hundred-and-first proposal. We're done.]

I'd hit triple digits. Proposal number one hundred.

Same spot—County Clerk's Office, Borevia City.

Same result—empty sidewalk, empty heart.

Sonia Quindt? Off somewhere with Pierre Sanchez. Her boy toy.

Could be a concert. Could be an amusement park.

Didn't matter. She wasn't here.

Once, they'd even rolled up to the Clerk's Office themselves—married on a dare, divorced by brunch.

For fun.

What I'd dreamed of, they'd trashed for kicks.

So yeah, I killed my phone and sat by the curb.

Waited.

No car.

Then—buzz. Her name on the screen.

I picked up.

Cold voice, perfect diction.

"It's late and you're still not home. You're my fiancé—do you ever think about how I feel? Where are you right now?"

I didn't answer.

Old me would've folded fast, explained everything, tried to sound gentle.

Now? Nothing left to give.

She snapped, irritated.

"Hedley Hart, are you mute now?"

"County Clerk's Office."

Silence.

Then that tiny gasp—like she just remembered her own promise.

The deal: after ninety-nine rejections, she'd show up for the hundredth.

Say yes.

Instead, she'd gone to a concert with Pierre.

"I... wait for me. I'll drive over."

Click. End call.

I canceled the ride. Not out of hope though.

Snow started falling—hard and fast.

I stood there on the curb, freezing, shaking.

Three hours in, my phone died.

Sonia never came.

Before the screen went black, one last thing flashed—Pierre's post.

A selfie. Him and Sonia in front of some car, her face turned halfway.

Caption: [Under the same snow, our hair turns white. Close enough to growing old together, right?]

In the dead glass, my reflection stared back—smiling. Not bitter. Just done.

The hundredth promise, traded for a concert and a boy toy.

I froze out there till morning. She never came.

Five years gone to voicemail.

Five years spent waiting for her to mean it.

In the end, I was just background noise.

'Sonia Quindt, I'm done waiting.'

***

That night, I didn't go home.

Just dragged my half-frozen body two hours through slush to the nearest hotel.

No calls. No texts. Nothing.

Next morning, I showed up at Quindt Corp early—to quit.

Sonia built the place.

I was just another name on her payroll.

I'd been there since she had nothing.

Still meant nothing.

If I disappeared, she wouldn't even blink.

I was halfway through drafting my resignation when she showed up behind me.

I froze, then switched my screen like nothing happened.

She stared, voice sharp. "What are you writing?"

"Nothing. Just some contract drafts."

Her brows pulled together. She didn't catch on, just said, "Hedley, come with me."

As soon as she called me out, whispers exploded.

"Uh-oh, Hedley's in trouble with Ms. Quindt again."

Everyone thought Pierre was her boyfriend.

No one knew I was her fiancé.

In her office, she frowned.

"So I didn't come pick you up. Is that really worth sulking over and not coming home?"

I shook my head. "Snow was too heavy. Didn't seem smart."

True, but also a lie.

I didn't want to go back. I wanted out.

She didn't notice.

After a pause, she said, "About the proposal... I'll say yes."

Then handed me an invitation.

"Come with me tonight."

Front row seats. My favorite orchestra.

Her version of an apology.

I hesitated, then took it. She owed me that much.

She looked like she was about to say something—then her phone went off.

Shrill. Urgent.

She bolted.

Pierre. Of course.

Only he could make her drop everything.

After she left, I printed my resignation and brought it to Mr. Clarkson, the Deputy CEO.

He blinked. "Hedley, you're resigning... is it because of Ms. Quindt?"

I pressed my lips together. Funny, really.

Everyone thought I was quitting over her attitude.

No one knew it was because she broke me past fixing.

When I nodded, he sighed and signed it.

On my way out, I ran into Sonia and Pierre.

The Borevia's favorite couple.

Her eyes darkened. "Hedley, if there's work to report, do it later."

Then she brushed past me, Pierre right there beside her.

Her look said, 'Don't start.'

I didn't.

But that night, I still went to the concert.

The hall was packed, except for her empty seat.

Before, I'd always wait for her.

This time, I went in alone.

Listened.

She never showed.

And I wasn't even mad.

Five years gone.

No point clinging now.

Whether she knew about the resignation or not—

I was leaving.

***

After the concert, I didn't go home. Just wandered around Harbor Front.

Fireworks tore through the sky.

Didn't feel a thing.

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Not Sonia worrying—

just the news blowing up over the fireworks she'd planned for Pierre's birthday.

I got home at dawn.

Light still on.

Sonia passed out on the couch.

Was she waiting for me?

Five years together, and it was always her coming home drunk.

I used to call nonstop, scared she'd end up in a ditch.

Used to make ginger tea, worried her stomach couldn't take the booze.

She'd told me she hated that.

Said it made her feel old.

Maybe she heard the door, because she jolted up and rushed over to hug me.

"Where were you? Why didn't you answer? I almost called the cops!"

I hesitated, pulled away, grabbed my phone—dead.

"It froze in the snow. Battery didn't last."

At the word 'snow', something flickered in her face. Guilt, maybe.

She pressed her lips tight, then awkwardly handed me a velvet box.

I opened it. A ring.

I froze.

Once, I'd dreamed of this—Sonia at the clerk's office, hand out, waiting.

But that was another lifetime.

Now, nothing.

I closed the box and dropped it on the table.

"Thanks."

She frowned, confused. "You... what's going on with you?"

I looked at her, and it hit me—

she thought I'd melt. Cry. Pretend everything was fine.

The thought almost made me laugh.

I gave her a weak grin. "Oh, I'm so happy. That what you wanted?"

Thought that'd end it.

Didn't.

"Hedley," she snapped, "I just brought Pierre by the office. And I said yes to marrying you. How long are you gonna act like this?"

I didn't flinch. Plugged in my phone.

"You've got it wrong. I'm just tired."

Something in my voice landed.

For once, she felt me slipping.

She bit her lip, reached for my hand—

and her phone rang. Loud.

Pierre.

She opened her mouth to explain.

I cut her off.

"You're busy. Don't bother. I get it."

That threw her.

She gripped my hand tighter, searching for whatever she'd lost.

The phone kept ringing.

Finally, under my stare, she let go.

"I'll come to the 101st proposal," she said, then left.

I went to my room.

Slept like I hadn't in years.

Once I finished the handover at work, Sonia Quindt would never see me again.

***

At Quindt Corp the next day, I walked in like usual—

then my coworker Daniel pulled me aside.