After being hit by a car, the doctor told me I had suffered a head injury and might experience amnesia. When I woke up, I jokingly asked the man sitting by my hospital bed who he was. He paused for a second, then replied that we were just friends. 1 I stared at Arthur, who had just uttered the words "just friends," his face a mask of cold detachment. He definitely wasn't joking. The words "Gotcha" died in my throat. I could only look at him in silence. I suspect if the hospital hadn't called him directly, he wouldn't even be here. But I didn't question him. I just paused, then forced a polite, oblivious smile. "Oh, really? I'm so sorry to trouble you, then." He gave a curt "Mm," looking at his phone screen as if my presence was a massive inconvenience. "Since you're awake, I'm heading out. Things to do at the office." Before I could even process what was happening, he was on his feet and heading for the door. Just as he pulled the door open, perhaps driven by a microscopic shred of remaining conscience, he glanced back and tossed out a generic: "Get some rest." The polite smile stayed plastered on my face until the door clicked shut. Only then did it drop, leaving me completely expressionless. No one knew Arthur and I were dating. We were college sweethearts. After graduation, we moved to the city together and both landed jobs as marketing strategists at a top-tier firm. We were young, but we knew the stigma around office romances, so we mutually agreed to keep our relationship a total secret. Four years later, we both got promoted to branch managers, leading competing teams. At that point, going public was even more out of the question. So, we remained a secret. I had hesitantly asked him a few times if we should just tell people—it wasn't strictly against company policy—but he always brushed me off, changing the subject. Honestly, right now, I didn't even know if we still counted as a couple. Well, today I got my answer. The doctor told Arthur I might have temporary amnesia, but also stressed there was nothing to worry about and I would recover quickly. Knowing all that, and knowing the logic didn't add up, he still looked me in the eye and called us "just friends." He obviously didn't care what would happen when I "got my memory back." He didn't care if I actually had amnesia or if I was just messing with him. He had probably been wanting to break up for a long time. Makes sense. If we don't break up, how can he officially pursue Chloe? 2 A woman's intuition is more accurate than military radar. Even before this incident, our relationship had grown stale. We had been together for too long. From sophomore year of college to now, it had been seven years. We knew each other as well as we knew the lines on our own palms. He couldn't hide any changes from me. The shift started when a new intern, Chloe Lee, joined his department. She was fresh-faced and pretty. Her last name was Lee. The HR rep who handles employee files once gossiped with me that in the 'Father's Name' section of Chloe's intake form, she wrote 'Richard Lee'—the CEO of our company. A wealthy heiress slumming it in his department. At first, that was Arthur's excuse for taking such good care of her. "I can't exactly afford to offend her, can I? Besides, she's practically a child. Totally not my type. You're overthinking it." I didn't bother pointing out that this "child" was actually two years older than me. I accepted his excuse in silence. Later, I couldn't tell if he just didn't care enough to hide it, or if he genuinely wanted me to find out. About two weeks after Chloe started, I logged into a music streaming app Arthur hadn't used in ages to find some background music for a presentation. I noticed he and Chloe were following each other. He hadn't listened to music in two years because work had been so crazy. This was an account we shared back in college. We used to listen to music together all the time; our shared listening history was over 13,000 hours. Back then, he even made a playlist named after me. It was filled with cheesy love songs that reminded him of me, artists I liked, songs I shared on social media, and tracks he listened to when he missed me during our long-distance summer breaks... I checked. He had deleted that playlist. His recent listening history was filled with trendy K-pop songs—stuff he had zero interest in, but that Chloe listened to constantly. We work in marketing. I told myself he was just trying to stay updated on what younger demographics were into. I was just overthinking it. So I didn't say a word. I just quietly logged out of his account. I'm the kind of person who doesn't make a scene or throw accusations without hard evidence. After all, the person who wins the poker game is always the one who talks the least and hides their expressions the best. Of course, his "coincidences" and "shared interests" with Chloe didn't stop there. In early February, his team took on a massive project. I was leading my own team out of state, handling a different campaign. I only heard rumors that the main client contact for his project, a British executive, was notoriously difficult to work with. After working a 14-hour day without even having time to eat, I tried calling him to ask how the project was going. He didn't answer. Assuming he was busy, I shot him a text instead. He never replied. Later, I saw he had posted a team photo on his social media. Chloe was standing right next to him, flashing a peace sign and a brilliant smile. The project had clearly gone well. His caption read: "Know the enemy, know yourself." Chloe posted the same photo with the caption: "A hundred battles, a hundred victories." I clicked on his profile and saw he had changed his status to match hers. It was an inside joke, a shared moment of triumph that only the two of them understood. His previous status had been: "Sailing through the night, guided by the clear moonlight." Because my name is Mia. Mia Claire. 'Claire' meaning clear moonlight. I don't know if he thought of me for even a second when he erased our shared status. Probably not. Because he never returned my call, and he never replied to my text. But he did leave a comment on Chloe's photo: "Eat something soon. Don't ruin your stomach." I rubbed my own empty, aching stomach, and turned off my phone. That was strike two. 3 I was discharged from the hospital three days later. The doctors kept me under observation and finally cleared me. I hadn't received a single message from Arthur the entire time. Someone did, however, send a bouquet of Cappuccino roses—my favorite. Holding the flowers, I decided to give Arthur one last chance. Sitting in the hospital corridor, I called him. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. I kept my voice gentle. "Arthur, I'm being discharged today. Do you have time to come pick me up?" We both tacitly avoided mentioning the "amnesia" or the "just friends" incident. We pretended it never happened. He was silent. After a long pause, he said, "I'm sorry, Mia. I'm completely swamped right now. I can't get away. Do you want me to call you an Uber?" "What are you busy with?" I asked calmly. He paused again. He was probably surprised; I was usually so understanding and rarely pressed him for details. I knew for a fact that our first quarter projects had just wrapped up. This was our downtime. But he claimed he was busy. He didn't answer. I sighed and hung up the phone. When a man stops loving you, it's incredibly obvious. I remember right after we graduated, I had a severe stomach virus at 3 AM. Before I passed out, I managed to call him. When I woke up, he was sitting by my hospital bed, his eyes red. He was wearing one slipper and one sneaker, and both were for the left foot. I couldn't help but laugh weakly. He looked terrified, his eyes brimming with tears. "Don't laugh. When I opened your door and saw you on the floor, my heart literally stopped." "Next time, call 911 first! What if I hadn't answered? It's too dangerous." I had smiled at him then, completely dependent and trusting. "But to me, you're the safest option." See? He used to care about me so much. We really did have a beautiful, genuine, passionate history together. Even though it was almost completely unrecognizable now, remembering those distant moments still brought a bitter, self-deprecating smile to my face. I shook my head and tossed the expensive bouquet into the nearest trash can. "Didn't you like the flowers?" a voice asked from behind me. I turned around. It was a man I didn't recognize. He pointed at the trash can and apologized. "I'm so sorry. My driver accidentally hit you yesterday. I brought you to the hospital and contacted your emergency contact, but I had an urgent meeting and had to leave." "The flowers are a get-well gift. I've also taken care of all your hospital bills. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience. If you need anything else, please let me know." I let out a harsh, silent laugh. Even the flowers were from a stranger. I looked up, offering a polite, composed apology. "I'm sorry. I assumed someone else sent them." I sighed internally. I have always been a reasonable, dignified person. But having good manners doesn't mean I'm weak or easily manipulated. Arthur and I were completely, irrevocably done. 4 When I got back from the hospital, Arthur was already home. I unlocked the door and walked in. He was sitting on the sofa, the TV playing some variety show he had absolutely zero interest in. He was staring at his phone, texting someone, a soft smile playing on his lips. The screen's glow illuminated his face. It was an incredibly tender look. I couldn't even remember the last time I had seen that smile directed at me. I stopped in the entryway. He was so engrossed he didn't even hear the door open. I finally called his name softly: "Arthur." He dropped his smile instantly and looked up. My eyes fell on his hands. He reflexively locked his phone screen and placed it face down on the sofa. He looked at me, genuinely surprised. "You're back?" That was the moment I finally broke into a real smile. Laughing at him, and laughing at myself. I looked at him gently, my tone distant and indifferent. "We need to talk." Our breakup was highly "civilized." We are both very pragmatic people. The entire process didn't take long at all. We are mature adults; we value maintaining a facade of decency. When everything is laid bare, there really isn't much left to discuss. It's just a mutual, unspoken understanding. After I said "Let's break up," he didn't ask why. He just stayed silent. I imagine, in that moment, he felt a profound sense of relief. After a long pause, he finally muttered an "I'm sorry." I didn't accept his apology. I just calmly outlined the logistics of our separation. My tone was flat, my expression completely devoid of sorrow. My reaction clearly surprised him. After I told him he needed to move out as soon as possible, he suddenly interrupted me. "Mia, you don't seem sad at all." He frowned, his eyes locked onto my face, scrutinizing me with intense curiosity, as if he genuinely couldn't understand. Men are truly pathetic creatures. Even when he no longer loves me, even when this breakup is exactly what he wanted... seeing me so calm and unaffected bruises his ego. In his mind, I should have been crying hysterically, begging him to stay. Only then would his annoyance be mixed with a satisfying dose of superiority. I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. I didn't tell him I had already done all my grieving. I grieved when he ignored my messages but instantly commented on Chloe's social media posts. I grieved when he deleted the playlist he made for me just so he could listen to the K-pop Chloe liked. I grieved when he stared at me while I was faking amnesia and told me we were just friends. And I grieved while he was lost in the thrilling, ambiguous tension of a new romance with Chloe, right under my nose. To me, he was like a benign tumor. It was there, it wasn't immediately fatal, but I knew if I left it alone, it would eventually turn malignant and slowly drain the life out of me. There was nothing to fear. As long as it was still benign, I just needed to cut it out completely. The pain is temporary. I will heal. Before Arthur finished packing and left, I asked him one final, calm question. "Arthur, did you change your mind because Chloe is Richard Lee's daughter, or simply because she is who she is?" He stopped in the entryway and looked back. He was just as tall and broad-shouldered as the day I met him in college, but his handsome face had lost its youthful innocence, replaced by a cold, calculating maturity. I always thought of him as that boy on the campus quad, his face red as he clumsily confessed his feelings to me. It wasn't until this exact moment I realized that, somewhere along the line, he had morphed into a ruthless adult, meticulously weighing the pros and cons in a sea of corporate ambition. He paused for a long time before finally saying, "Mia, people always want to climb higher." That single sentence made me laugh out loud. I respected him for being at least seventy percent honest. I looked at him and smiled, a genuine, sincere smile. "Arthur, then I wish you the best of luck. May you soar to the top and get everything you ever wanted." His eyes lingered on my face. Deep in his gaze, there was a fleeting hint of melancholic regret. But that regret was microscopic compared to his burning ambition. Finally, he sighed and said, "Mia, don't hate me." I didn't even bother replying. 5 The worst part about office romances is that even after you break up, you can't just elegantly disappear from each other's lives. No matter what happens, you still have to go to work. When my cab pulled up to the office building, I saw Arthur and Chloe. They weren't alone; the rest of his team was there too. It was lunchtime. They were probably heading out to eat. Chloe was vibrant and animated, a bright, flirtatious smile on her face. She was walking backward, facing Arthur, gesturing wildly as she talked. Arthur had a soft smile on his lips, watching her with incredible tenderness. He kept an eye on the traffic and pedestrians behind her, gently pulling her arm to steer her away when she almost bumped into someone. It was a painfully familiar, yet entirely alien sight. After we broke up, he seemed genuinely happy. I stayed in the cab until they disappeared into the dim sum restaurant down the street. Only then did I look away. The cab driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes gleaming with gossip. "You got a crush on that tall, handsome guy?" I smiled and clarified, "That's my ex-boyfriend." The driver's expression instantly shifted from gossip to agonizing awkwardness. He looked like he desperately wanted to comfort me but didn't know how. I graciously let him off the hook. "It's fine. It hasn't affected me at all." When I walked into the office, Emma saw me and her face lit up. "Mia! You're back! You didn't even let us come visit you in the hospital." I smiled as I walked to my desk. "It was nothing major. Look, I'm perfectly fine. How's the post-mortem on the Hong Kong project?" She followed me into my office, handed me a stack of printed reports, and then glanced nervously out into the bullpen. Seeing it was mostly empty, she leaned in and whispered, "Mia, before you look at the data, I need to tell you something." I set the files down and looked at her. For some reason, she looked incredibly indignant. "Mia, you know Albert is transferring to manage the Nanjing branch next month, right? Everyone is saying the vacant Director position is basically a toss-up between you and Arthur." "You two have been neck-and-neck in performance for years. I'm not trying to gossip, and honestly, if it came down to pure merit, whether you or Arthur got it, we'd all respect the decision." "But... but..." She hesitated, biting her lip, looking like she was struggling to find the words. I smiled, my tone gentle. "It's okay. It's just us here. Tell me." She took a breath and whispered, "A few days ago, I saw Arthur and that new intern, Chloe, hugging in the breakroom." The rumor that Chloe was the CEO's daughter was an open secret in the office. Emma was furious because she believed Arthur was playing dirty to win the promotion. I traced the edge of the report folder, suddenly fighting the urge to laugh. While I was sitting in a hospital bed, staring at my phone and wondering why Arthur had completely vanished, he was busy wrapping his arms around his new golden ticket. But it was entirely expected. I let out a self-deprecating laugh, and even had to comfort Emma. "It's fine. HR decisions are made by upper management. We just need to focus on doing our jobs well. Whatever happens, happens." Emma sighed heavily, and I lowered my head to review the data. When Arthur knocked on the glass door of my office, I was genuinely surprised. In my mind, even though our breakup was relatively peaceful and we hadn't burned the bridge completely, that just meant I was a rational adult. It didn't mean Arthur and I were suddenly going to be casual work buddies who could chat like nothing happened. Unless absolutely necessary, I assumed neither of us would want any private interaction ever again. Until I found out why he was there. He stood in front of my desk, tall and imposing. His eyes swept over me before he finally spoke. "Mia, I thought you would have resigned by now." His tone sounded like a mix of friendly advice and a veiled warning. "Mia, we were together for seven years. Don't accuse me of being ruthless. Albert leaves for Nanjing next month. One of us is going to take his place as Director." "If I were you, I would start making other plans and finding an exit strategy." I stared at him. I understood exactly what he was implying. He was absolutely certain he was going to get the promotion. He was telling me to quit. Because once he became Director, and his girlfriend was the CEO's 'daughter,' he would inevitably force me out to avoid any awkward workplace gossip. This "warning" was his version of being "kind"—giving me a head start to find a new job. I could accept a man's infidelity and his change of heart. After all, feelings are fragile and rarely survive being tested. But I never imagined he would completely abandon his basic humanity. I looked at him like he was a complete stranger. Under his gaze, I uttered my first curse word of the day: "Arthur, you are absolute garbage." He took it in silence. 6 My first direct confrontation with Chloe happened a week after that conversation with Arthur. After breaking up with me, Arthur—who had insisted on keeping our relationship a secret for years because "office romances are bad"—went incredibly public with Chloe. I saw their disgustingly sweet posts on social media. Coworkers flooded the comments with congratulations. Only our mutual friends from college messaged me in shock, asking what happened. I didn't reply to a single one. The day Chloe cornered me was a perfectly ordinary afternoon. The office was mostly empty; people were either out to lunch or napping at their desks. I was in the breakroom, grinding coffee beans. As the rich aroma filled the air, Chloe appeared behind me. I turned sideways to give her room to pass, but she didn't move. She just stood there, looking me up and down with a highly suggestive smirk, and dropped the bomb: "I know you and Arthur used to date." With her round, baby-doll face, she was shorter than me. I looked down at her calmly, raising an eyebrow in a silent, questioning expression. She looked up at me, her eyes slowly scanning my face. Disappointed that I didn't give her the dramatic reaction she wanted, she paused before continuing: "I saw the playlist he named after you. And your matching statuses—'Sailing through the night, guided by the clear moonlight.' Your secret relationship wasn't as secret as you thought." I remained silent, patiently waiting for her to finish. She said, "My... my dad really likes Arthur. You know how it is. Arthur is young, ambitious, mature, and driven. My dad says Arthur reminds him of himself when he was young." "My dad wants to groom him for leadership. Arthur's potential is limitless. And, conveniently, I really like him, and he likes me." "Now we're together. But Mia, your presence here is a bit of an eyesore. I strongly suggest you do the smart thing and resign." That's when I finally understood her game plan. First, a show of dominance, then a thinly veiled threat, and finally, a 'helpful' suggestion that I quit. I held my coffee cup, my expression perfectly calm, my tone even. I even let a small smile slip as I looked down at her. "Ms. Lee, any employee termination requires a formal HR process. I'm not sure if your little speech today is meant to fire me, or what." "If you're trying to fire me, company policy dictates that HR needs to schedule a formal meeting and provide me with valid grounds for termination." Her face went pale, then flushed red. Perhaps she hadn't expected me to be so unyielding. Before turning to leave, I watched her expression falter and added one final detail: "Oh, by the way. Any personnel changes regarding managers or higher require the direct, personal approval of the CEO. Which means, the only person in this entire company who can fire me... is the CEO. Ms. Lee, you are merely an intern in Arthur's department. I think you're overstepping your bounds." I didn't stick around to watch her face contort. I took my coffee and walked out. Not long after my little chat with Chloe, Albert's official transfer notice to the Nanjing branch was announced. Before he left, the CEO hosted a farewell banquet. The entire management team was required to attend—all the department heads. We all knew that besides saying goodbye to Albert, this dinner would also serve to announce the critical leadership changes at headquarters. When the HR manager dropped the invitation on my desk, Emma was the only one who looked physically ill. I had personally mentored her. She leaned over my desk, first cheering me on, and then saying with absolute solemnity: "Mia, no matter what happens, our entire team has your back. If things go south here, we'll all leave with you and go somewhere else." I laughed, lightly tapping the invitation against her forehead. My voice was gentle. "What are you talking about? It's just a dinner. Did you forget my life motto?" "When you hit water, build a bridge. When you hit a mountain, carve a path. What's there to be afraid of?" Besides, the person who was going to lose this battle... definitely wasn't going to be me.
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