After a drunken one-night stand with my best friend’s brother, I became his secret girlfriend. Eight years into our secret relationship, my family forced me into an arranged marriage. “Dennis, my family gave me an ultimatum. I have to get married this year.” He paused, then lightly kissed my forehead, repeating his usual, “Just wait a little longer.” But then I scrolled through Anna, the intern's, Instagram. The picture was her and Dennis’s marriage certificate. The caption: Got the CEO! Easy win! Eight years I spent chasing him with no results, and she got him in three months. Suppressing the bitterness in my heart, I liked the post. My comment: “Congrats! Wishing you everlasting happiness.” After that, I agreed to the wedding date my family had set. Suddenly, my phone rang. For the first time, Dennis’s voice was panicked: “Chloe, don’t misunderstand. I just lost a game with friends, that’s why Anna and I got married…” I cut him off: “Dennis, I’m getting married.” A two-second pause on the other end of the line. Dennis’s voice came through, laced with impatience, mixed with a girl’s soft laughter in the background. “Here we go again.” “Are you that desperate to get married? The company’s cash flow is tight; can you please stop making things worse?” I stood in the evening breeze, holding my phone, my voice flat, without a ripple of emotion. “I’m not making things worse. I really am getting married.” He scoffed, as if he’d heard the funniest joke. “You don’t even have a guy you’re casually dating. Are you marrying thin air?” I was about to say Nelson’s name. But he was already rushing to hang up: “Alright, I have another call. Getting married was just a dare I lost, don’t overthink it.” The dial tone buzzed. I stared at the disconnected screen, my fingertips cold and stiff. Eight years. He always said, “Don’t overthink it.” The next day, I walked into the office carrying a few boxes of donuts and my wedding invitations. The office was buzzing. Anna was surrounded by a crowd, her face flushed crimson. “Anna, you’re amazing! Mr. Dennis is such a cold person, and you got him in three months?” “You’re our boss’s wife now! Don’t forget about us!” Anna covered her face, giggling, her voice just loud enough to carry across the entire office. “It’s not what you think, really. We just lost a game and got the certificate. Please don’t spread rumors.” I sneered. She announced it to the world on Instagram; how is that not spreading rumors? Her sharp eyes caught sight of the donuts in my hand. She trotted over in her high heels, took my arm, and shook it. “Did Mr. Dennis ask you to prepare these little gifts for us? Thank you!” I was about to say no. She snatched the donuts, pushing them into colleagues’ hands. “Everyone, try some!” The crowd cheered their thanks, praising Mr. Dennis for being so romantic and thoughtful. Just then, Dennis stepped out of the elevator. Everyone cheered, shouting, “Thank you, Mr. Dennis, for the little gifts!” Anna shyly looked up at him. Dennis froze for a moment, then forced a smile, responding, “Glad you all like them.” “Those are mine.” The moment I spoke, the entire office fell silent. All eyes were fixed on me. Dennis’s face instantly darkened, a hint of panic in his eyes. “Chloe, this is the company, not a place for your tantrums.” “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I met his gaze. “The donuts are my treat. I’m getting married next Saturday.” His face went dark, as if ink was dripping from it. He strode over to me, grinding out in a low voice: “Do you have to push my buttons like this?” Someone nearby snickered: “Chloe, we’ve never even seen you with a boyfriend. Who are you marrying? You’re not going crazy with jealousy because Anna married Mr. Dennis, are you?” Anna’s eyes instantly reddened. She bit her lip and chimed in. “Ms. Chloe, I know you used to like Mr. Dennis, but he’s just not interested in you.” “When rumors about you two started, Mr. Dennis privately clarified to us that you were just ordinary colleagues.” At her words, the way everyone looked at me changed instantly, like I was a failed gold-digger now lashing out in anger. I looked at Dennis. He turned his head away, his gaze fixed on the window, not even offering a single word in my defense. Eight years of a secret relationship. How many times had I endured client dinners for him, secured how many vital deals, how many times had he played dumb when people gossiped about me throwing myself at him? Now, he wouldn’t even grant me this small bit of dignity. Someone else joined in the taunting: “Ms. Chloe, Mr. Dennis and Anna are married now. If you keep bothering him, you’ll be a mistress. If that gets out, how will our company land any clients?” “Exactly. Trying to steal a junior colleague’s husband, how pathetic.” I looked at these colleagues I had personally trained and mentored, and suddenly felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat. I had originally planned to send them wedding invitations, but now, there was no need. My hand, hanging at my side, gripped my phone tightly. I swept my gaze over everyone. “Since that’s the case, I should introduce my fiancé.” I was about to open my photo album to show the picture of Nelson and me. Suddenly, my wrist was grabbed. Dennis snatched my phone, his face looking utterly terrible. “Everyone, get back to work!” He yelled at everyone, then dragged me by the arm toward his office. Behind us, I heard voices comforting Anna, and felt the contemptuous stares aimed at me. Inside the office, he slammed the door shut and irritably tugged at his tie. “I told you the marriage certificate was just a game! Do you have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?” “If it was just a game.” I looked up at him, my voice as cold as ice. “Why didn’t you clarify earlier? Why did you let them call me a mistress?” He choked for a moment, then spoke with a touch of self-righteousness. “Anna’s thin-skinned; I couldn’t possibly embarrass her in front of everyone, could I?” So my dignity could be trampled on. I reached out, pulled my phone from his hand, and turned to walk toward the door. My hand touched the doorknob, and I paused, not looking back. “My wedding is next Saturday. You and Anna are welcome to come.”
As I reached the underground parking garage, my phone rang. It was the HR recruiter who had contacted me before. “Ms. Chloe, about the Marketing Director position at that listed company we discussed, they’re willing to increase your salary by another twenty percent. Could you reconsider?” This salary was top-tier in the industry. “I accept,” my voice was steady. “Additionally, I’ll bring a multi-million-dollar deal with me. Please help me secure the corresponding commission.” The HR on the other end almost shrieked with excitement: “Don’t worry! We’ll make sure everything is perfectly arranged for you!” I hung up, got into my car, and my finger slid over Nelson’s name in my WhatsApp contacts. I sent him a message: “Hold off on signing the contract for now. Wait for my update.” Dennis said the company was struggling and told me not to make things worse. But in these eight years, which company crisis hadn’t I fought tooth and nail to overcome? This collaboration with the Nelson Group was something I had swallowed my pride and humbly begged Nelson for three times to get. It was a deal that could save Dennis’s company. The car exited the underground parking lot, and the scenery outside flashed past. Just like my eight years with Dennis, gone in the blink of an eye. I first saw Dennis outside my university dorm. He was my best friend Mansoor’s older brother, picking her up for summer break. He stood under a tree in a white shirt, a small mole at the corner of his eye when he smiled. I fell for him at first sight. Later, at our graduation party, we both drank too much and ended up sleeping together. I naturally joined his startup, starting as an entry-level intern. At first, he said we couldn’t go public because he was afraid people would say I got ahead through connections. I waited. After I used my own abilities to rise to the top position in the marketing department, he said he was afraid it would affect my friendship with Mansoor. I still waited. I always thought he would give me a title eventually. It wasn't until I saw the marriage certificate on Anna’s Instagram that I finally woke up. He wasn’t unwilling to get married; he just wasn’t willing to marry me. I drove back to the apartment Dennis and I had shared for five years. Leaving the company would take a few days to process, so I decided to pack my things and move out first. I pulled out a suitcase and opened the closet; his clothes took up most of the space. I used to tell him his style was too dull and asked him to try bright hoodies. He’d say he was the boss and needed to be serious. But now, in the most prominent spot in the closet, hung several bright, trendy hoodies. It wasn't that he wasn't willing to change; he just wasn't willing to change for me. I folded my clothes one by one into the suitcase when I suddenly heard the lock turn behind me. Dennis walked in. He saw my open suitcase and frowned. “Anna and I really have nothing going on. Can you please stop this?” He walked over, intending to take my hand. “Getting married was too rash of me. I’ll go to the city hall with her this afternoon to get divorced. Once the contract with the Nelson Group is signed and the company is stable, we’ll go public, okay?” I opened my mouth, about to say, “Let’s break up.” He suddenly interrupted me, glancing around the room: “Oh, right, where did you put the keys to the Flower Gardens apartment?” “In the bottom drawer of the nightstand,” I paused, then still asked, “Are you selling the apartment to cover the cash flow gap?” He paused, then smiled, his tone very casual. “Selling? No. It’s just sitting empty. Anna’s lease is up, so I told her she could move in there for now.” My heart felt like it was severely blocked by something, aching dully. The Flower Gardens apartment was the one he said he bought for us as our wedding home last year for my birthday. Now he was letting another woman live in it. He seemed not to notice my pale face and spoke again: “Oh, and the Nelson Group contract, once you’re done with it, just hand it over to Anna. Her probation period is almost up, and this deal will help her get permanent employment. Don’t worry, I’ll still give you the full commission.” Before I could speak, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, answered immediately, his voice impossibly soft. “Mmm, I’ll send you the address. Just have the moving company go straight there…” He walked out the door while talking on the phone, not even sparing me a glance. The door clicked shut. I stood in the empty living room and suddenly let out a laugh. Turns out, my eight years of youth meant less to him than an intern who had only been there for three months.
I pulled my suitcase out of the apartment without looking back. I went straight back to my parents’ house. Ever since I agreed to marry Nelson, my mom’s smile hadn’t left her face. She rushed to greet me as I came in, taking my suitcase. “I told you Nelson was reliable. We watched him grow up; we know him inside and out. Your father and I will absolutely be at ease if you marry him.” Nelson and I grew up together. My mom and his mom are best friends; they even joked about arranging our marriage when we were babies. If I hadn’t met Dennis in college, I probably would have married Nelson a long time ago. I knew he had always liked me. This time, when Dennis’s company’s cash flow was breaking, and he was at his wit’s end, it was I who swallowed my pride and went to Nelson, begging him to give Dennis a chance for a collaboration. He was silent for a long time, but finally nodded. Thinking about it now, I was incredibly stupid. After dinner, I hid in the study to organize my work handover documents. My phone vibrated. It was a WhatsApp message from Dennis: “Coming back late, don’t wait up for me.” I looked at the message and immediately deleted his chat. By the time I finished organizing, it was past ten. I showered, lay in bed, and casually opened Instagram. The first post was Anna’s update from half an hour ago. The photo’s background was the living room of the Flower Gardens apartment. Dennis and a few friends were arm in arm, playing a drinking game, with a pile of empty bottles on the table. The caption: He called me his darling in front of all his brothers. I’m so shy. The comments below were all teasing, saying Mr. Dennis was too doting. I stared at the screen for two seconds, then calmly pressed exit. No sadness, no anger. Eight years of affection had already burned out completely the moment he allowed my colleagues to call me a mistress. A new WhatsApp message popped up. It was from Nelson: “Are you free tomorrow? The bridal shop said the custom dress is altered. Want to go try it on?” I replied, “Okay.” The next day, Nelson came to pick me up early. My mom smiled as she saw me off, even packing two boxes of his favorite pastries. In the car, I felt a little embarrassed. I scratched my head and told him: “Could you please keep the Nelson Group contract on hold for me? I’m planning to switch to a new company and want to use it as a strong start.” He turned his head to look at me and smiled: “Why not just come work for my company?” “It’s better to keep business and personal separate,” I smiled back. At the bridal shop, the consultant immediately greeted us with a smile, holding a mermaid-style wedding dress. “Mr. Nelson specifically instructed us to alter it three times to your measurements. It’s sure to look beautiful on you.” I changed into the wedding dress and stood in front of the mirror, frozen for a long time. Before, when Dennis and I passed bridal shops, if I lingered a little too long, he would say he would design a one-of-a-kind dress for me later, so there was no need to rush now. I waited eight years and never got a dress designed by him. Instead, I wore one custom-made by Nelson. “Want to take a photo for Instagram?” Nelson stood behind me, his voice very gentle. I nodded and handed my phone to the consultant: “Could you please take a photo of us together?” He paused, then his eyes crinkled in a wide smile. He quickly walked to my side, gently and courteously placing his hand on my waist. The photo came out beautifully. I uploaded it to Instagram, editing the caption: Next Saturday, Cloudtop Chapel. Everyone is welcome to join Nelson and me at our wedding. One minute after I posted it, the comment section exploded. “OMG! Is that Mr. Nelson from the Nelson Group? Chloe, you kept that a secret!” “Who was saying she was throwing herself at Mr. Dennis before? Their faces must be so swollen right now!” “Mr. Nelson is a million times better than Mr. Dennis!” As I was scrolling through comments, my phone suddenly rang. It was Dennis. I answered, and from the other end came his drunken mockery, sharp and piercing. “Chloe, you’re something else! To force me to marry you, you actually got Nelson to put on an act with you? You’ll stop at nothing for a title.” I was about to speak when Nelson suddenly reached out, took my phone, and put it on speaker. His voice was calm, yet undeniably firm, echoing through the receiver. “Mr. Dennis, Chloe and I are really getting married.” “She waited for you for eight years; I waited for her for twelve.” “Thank you for not marrying her.” On the other end, there was a deathly silence. After several seconds, Dennis’s frantic roar came through: “Impossible! Chloe, say something!”
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