Upon graduation, Asher Sterling asked me for a final fling. Afterwards, he casually handed me a cigarette, joking: "In the future, when I look for a wife, I definitely won't find a smoker." My throat tightened as I asked him why. He said, "Chloe, I like them pure." I was silent for a long time, then cut off all contact with him. When we met again, he had become my new boss. To avoid awkwardness, I voluntarily submitted my resignation, but he cornered me in his office. "It's been five years. One more time?" I lowered my eyes. "No thanks. I have to pick up my kid from school." 1 The air went still. Asher froze. I tried to stand up from his lap. But he pinned me down firmly, unable to move. The burning heat in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a crack in his usual calm demeanor. He gritted his teeth. "How old is the child?" I was silent, then answered softly after a moment. "Three." Three, not four. We broke up five years ago. This child had nothing to do with him. Obviously, Asher knew this too. I tried to stand up again. This time, the large hand across my waist didn't stop me. Pushing the door open, he spoke again, his voice tinged with suspicion. "I remember your HR file says 'unmarried'." My steps paused slightly. I steadied myself and looked back calmly: "Just got the certificate recently." "Just got the certificate, and the kid is three?" I nodded, frankly. "Yeah. Premarital pregnancy." Asher didn't respond. His sharp gaze swept over the cheap ring on my hand, and he scoffed dismissively. I didn't feel ashamed. I showed it to him openly. Almost poked his eye out. Sensing his impending anger, I fled quickly. Back home that evening, I let out a heavy sigh of relief. Sometimes, lies are the most useful tools for solving unknown troubles. I bought the ring yesterday at a dollar store. Cheap and effective. I thought it was enough to wipe out whatever lingering feelings Asher had for me. Sure enough, my resignation was approved the next day. HR specifically came down in the afternoon to notify me personally. I could leave within a week after handing over my work. Usually, resignations take a month. Mine took a week. It was self-evident whose idea this was. I nodded and started handing over my work to the intern. The new intern was very obedient and enthusiastic. At least while I was mentoring her, she never paid for her own breakfast or afternoon tea. Near the end of the day, Emily suddenly spoke shyly: "Chloe, can I leave a little early tonight? My boyfriend asked me out to dinner." I was a bit troubled. Not that I couldn't let her go, but I also needed to leave early tonight to pick up my daughter. Seeing my silence, she got anxious, clasping her hands together and pleading. I laughed and cried at the same time, having to agree: "Fine, go ahead." She thanked me excitedly and started packing: "My boyfriend gets off work soon." I was surprised: "He works here too?" Emily looked mysterious. "No, he's..." Before she finished, a deep, magnetic voice interrupted. "Packed yet?" 2 My body stiffened for a second. If I had never heard this voice before, I probably would have looked up to gossip. But unfortunately, this voice had filled my nightmares for the past five years. In the dark nights where I needed pills to sleep, Asher's words echoed repeatedly in my ears. "Chloe, you're too good. I'll corrupt you." "Chloe, try smoking. Girls who smoke are cool. I want to see a different side of you." Under his coaxing, I fell, and I learned. From sophomore year, I went from being Asher's pursuer to his bedmate. Then, defeating numerous other girls, I successfully became his girlfriend for three years. The day he accepted my confession, the weather was terrible, the wind howling. At that time, he had just dropped off a senior girl after a date. His car was parked under the girls' dorm. A pair of distinct, large hands lazily held a cigarette by the window, as if he were resting his eyes. The ash was blown away by the wind in mid-air. I went downstairs with a coat over my shoulders and knocked on his window, relying on the slight special treatment he gave me to confess. In that moment, the wind seemed to slow down deliberately, like a movie paused. I waited quietly for his answer. Asher turned to look at me, took out a cigarette, and handed it to my lips. His dark eyes were bottomless, carrying a fatal attraction. I took it in my mouth like I was possessed. My moist lips touched his fingers; he didn't pull back. His playful expression turned into silent permission, only saying: "Good girl, not so good anymore." Back then, I was drowning in his eyes, failing to understand the deep meaning behind those words. Until graduation day. That was the last time he asked me to a hotel, and the last time we met. After the pleasure, he skillfully handed me a cigarette. "In the future, when I look for a wife, I definitely won't find a smoker." Back then, suppressing the sob in my throat, I asked him why. Asher laughed, white smoke rising from his fingertips, his tone more serious than ever. "Chloe, I like them pure." Tears swirled in my eyes, making me forget to breathe for a moment. Heh, pure. He said he liked them pure. But once, he also claimed I was too pure, too good, leaving him nowhere to start. Today, I finally understand what he meant back then. Because I wasn't good anymore, all my actions fell into his category of "playable." 3 I pulled myself out of the memories, my expression returning to calm. Emily turned back excitedly, grabbed her bag, and trotted over. Then she suddenly looked back at me. "Chloe, aren't you rushing to pick up your daughter too? Let us give you a ride." I was about to refuse when Asher walked straight over and picked up my bag from the desk. He turned and walked toward the parking lot, giving me no chance to say no. The atmosphere in the car was weirdly quiet, with only Emily talking intermittently. Asher tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, responding to her lightly, but his eyes kept drifting toward me. Maybe afraid I felt awkward, Emily started chatting with me. "Chloe, you usually work late. Does your husband pick up the kid?" Suddenly hearing the word "husband," I didn't react for a moment and froze. Then I shook my head, making an excuse. "He's out of town, doesn't come home often." She looked enlightened, then looked at the ring I bought at the dollar store a few days ago. "Is that your wedding ring? It looks a bit faded." "Like cheap stuff from Temu for ten bucks." "Oops, I didn't mean that. Please don't misunderstand." Emily realized she misspoke and turned to apologize. But I still caught the disdain and inexplicable superiority hidden in her eyes. Right, compared to her Hermes, my cheap bag was obviously hell. I was about to speak when a laugh interrupted me. Asher reached out and patted her head, smiling dotingly. "Alright, you didn't say anything wrong. No need to apologize." Then, looking at me through the rearview mirror, he spoke as if chatting but deliberately meant for me to hear. "Poor people care about face. You speak so directly; aren't you afraid someone will make trouble for you at work tomorrow?" He spoke to Emily, but the words were for me. A seemingly careless sentence revealed naked defense and a hint of warning to me. I pretended not to hear and looked out the window. In the three years with Asher, I heard similar words countless times. Saying I wasn't good enough for him. I admit, the difference between Asher and me was too great. My family wasn't poor, but at most middle class. But the Sterling family wasn't just wealthy; they stood at the center of power. When we first got together, Asher told me clearly. "Chloe, you can be my girlfriend, but you can't be my wife." I knew. I always knew. So I kept my heart safe, never crossing the line. When feelings were strong, I also swayed uncontrollably. Try once, fight for it. What if I succeed? So near graduation, I asked Asher out. That day, he came early to pick me up. The car stopped in a quiet spot on campus. The driver got out and waited nearby. I was forced to turn around. The mottled shadows of plane trees outside the window shot into the car with the sunlight, blinding me. For an hour, Asher leaned lazily against the seat back, his white shirt slightly damp, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. The window was half open, cold wind pouring in, dispersing the white mist he exhaled. I looked at him and slowly asked that question. "Asher, do you love me?" I thought, rather than asking if he would marry me, I cared more about whether he had ever loved me. He looked at me, the playfulness in his eyes missing a bit of seriousness. "Almost graduation." In that moment, I understood what he meant. Almost graduation, so it's time to break up. 4 The car stopped at the preschool gate. I pushed the door open. My daughter, standing at the gate holding the teacher's hand, saw me and waved happily. I walked up quickly, thanked the teacher, and looked down at my daughter. "Sorry, Mommy is late today." "Did you wait long?" My daughter looked up, pointing a small hand. "Was it because of that uncle that you're late?" I was surprised and looked back in the direction she pointed. Asher was standing behind me at some point. His previously casual expression now held a seriousness. And a trace of imperceptible joy?! I froze, instinctively tightening my grip on my daughter's hand. He walked forward, slowly squatting in front of my daughter, looking at her cute, obedient face. Asher's usually cold tone softened a bit. "How old are you? What's your name?" I didn't speak, nor did I stop this scene. Having been together for three years, I knew the man in front of me well enough. Unless he saw it with his own eyes, he wouldn't believe what I said. I looked at my daughter gently, squeezing her small hand lightly, signaling her. My daughter understood immediately. "I'm Lily, three years old this year." Phew! I breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at the brows seven points similar to his own, the joy of being a father for the first time hadn't even been expressed yet. It was doused by my daughter's words. The words stuck in his throat, unable to make a sound for a long time. My daughter was premature, and due to my malnutrition, she was thinner than her peers. Moreover, for such a small child, it's really hard to tell the exact age at a glance. After breaking up with Asher, I blocked him on all social platforms, and he tacitly didn't follow me anymore. We were like two intertwined lines. Even if we had a brief entanglement, once pulled tight, we would return to our original positions. Staying in the same city for five years, it wasn't that I hadn't fantasized that at some moment, or intersection, that familiar car would pass me by again. But it didn't. We ran on different tracks, with our own rhythms and destinations. So even under the same sky, we were worlds apart. Back home at night, my daughter tugged at my hem, looking confused. "Mommy, I'm clearly four. Why lie to people?" Yeah. Why teach a child to lie? Maybe because I didn't want trouble. Not long after the last meeting, I found out I was pregnant. I thought about abortion. But lying on the operating table, I hesitated. The unwillingness lingered in my mind. I admit, I was unwilling. I thought, even if we weren't together, having a child connected to his bloodline would be good. So I gave birth alone. But when I truly held that small pink ball in my arms. I suddenly rejoiced in my decision. This is my child. Half my blood flows in her. She belongs to no one. She should come and see this world. ... After putting my daughter to sleep, I received a call from the HR director, notifying me not to come to work tomorrow. I frowned and asked, "Whose idea is this?" The other end hesitated for a moment, not intending to answer my question. I didn't ask further. After all, a day early or a day late made no difference to me.
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