1 At thirty-two, my mother launched an all-out, indiscriminate matchmaking assault on me. I promptly broke up with my supermodel boyfriend of four years, packed my bags, and moved back to my hometown. My best friend was aghast. “Are you insane? Weren’t you obsessed with Julian Chase’s face and that body? You’re really letting him go?” I scoffed. “I’m not an idiot. A guy like him is fun for a fling, a little excitement. But marry him? Do I want to spend the rest of my life cycling between catching him cheating and forgiving him?” The words had barely left my mouth when a familiar voice, cold as ice, spoke from behind me. “So, Claire. Is that the reason you dumped me?” ... Dragging my suitcase back to the apartment I shared with Julian, I ran into a woman walking out. She wore a flimsy slip dress, loosely covered by Julian’s silk shirt. Barefoot, she dangled a pair of limited-edition heels from her fingers. I recognized her—a rising young designer Julian had been working with recently. Allie. Barely twenty, bursting with youth. I instinctively stepped back, hiding in the shadows of the elevator bay. A few seconds later, Julian followed her out. He was wrapped in nothing but a towel, his hair still dripping, his skin flushed. He leaned against the doorframe, lit a long, thin cigarette, and looked utterly languid. After a moment, he tossed an unopened, brand-new watch box at her. “Here.” Allie’s eyes lit up. She threw herself at him with a delighted squeal. “Oh my god! Is this the Celestial collection? Julian, you’re the best!” “Picked it up in Milan during fashion week. It was nothing.” “I love you to death, baby!” Allie tried to kiss him. But Julian’s patience had worn thin. He frowned slightly, turning his head to avoid her lips. “Alright, that’s enough. Get going.” The girl wasn’t offended. She pouted, half-joking, half-complaining. “So cruel. Use me and toss me aside. Just a minute ago in bed you were calling me your little vixen.” She hugged the watch box gleefully and blew him a kiss before she left. “Bye! See you at the studio tomorrow.” Only after she was gone did I step out of the shadows. Julian clearly hadn't expected me back from my business trip so soon. He froze for a second before his usual mask of indifference slipped back into place. “You’re back. Didn’t think to call?” I stared at him. “My flight was changed. It was late, I didn’t want to wake you.” A fresh, incriminating red mark bloomed on his collarbone, yet he showed no shame. He walked over, reaching for my suitcase. “You must be exhausted. I’ll run you a bath.” As he bent down, the towel loosened, revealing more of his sculpted torso. It was as if the last five minutes had never happened. Seeing me stand motionless, he raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?” Then, realization dawned, and a lazy smile played on his lips. “Miss me?” He leaned in close, his skin smelling of my body wash and another woman’s perfume. His hand expertly slipped under the hem of my shirt. “Then let’s get down to business first, and then—” Years of runway work and gym sessions had left his fingertips with faint calluses. They traced a path across my skin, sending a familiar shiver through me. I closed my eyes and, with a wave of exhaustion, pushed him away. I had to admit, I was addicted to Julian’s body. I’d pursued him in the first place after a single, breathtaking glance backstage at a fashion show. But maybe it was the dozen hours I’d just spent on a plane, or maybe it was the woman who had just left, but right now, all I felt was a rising nausea. I had zero interest. Julian was rarely rejected by me. He stared, stunned for a moment, and his face darkened. “What’s the attitude for?” I looked down and saw a woman’s earring, not mine, lying on the entryway rug. Julian obviously saw it too. He clicked his tongue, his expression turning impatient. A heavy silence fell between us. He pulled another cigarette from the case and lit it, smoke curling around his face. “She’s just a designer. Got drunk, had nowhere to go. I let her crash for the night.” “We didn’t do anything.” 2 I looked at him, our gazes obscured by a veil of white smoke. We couldn’t see each other’s expressions, but we both knew how pathetic that excuse was. This wasn’t the first time Julian had cheated. He was born to live among a garden of women. He was like this when I met him. At the time, my company was launching a high-end fashion collaboration. My best friend took me to meet the top supermodel of the moment, warning me that while his look was unique, his temper was foul. I’d never been impressed by models, always thinking them empty, beautiful shells. Until Julian walked in. He wore a simple black turtleneck, his posture impeccable, a few strands of hair falling across his high-bridged nose. The moment he entered, the air in the conference room seemed to still. That face, that body—it was the work of a biased creator. He glanced up, and his deep-set eyes swept over us with a careless detachment. I didn’t hear a single word he said that day. My mind was consumed with one thought: how to make him mine. After the meeting, people swarmed him, trying to get his number, but he coldly rebuffed them all. Only I persisted, waiting for him in the parking garage. After twenty-six years of being single, it was the boldest I had ever been. Julian was either annoyed by my persistence or intrigued by the novelty of it. In any case, I became his girlfriend. And that’s how it had been, until now. But I knew that in our four years together, Julian had never truly loved me. Or rather, he loved parts of me. He loved that I was independent, that I was sensible, that I could handle the messy PR crises that followed him around. He loved that I never questioned the gossip that swirled around him. Whenever I caught him, he’d offer a flimsy excuse, and I would forgive him. He once sneered that I was too pragmatic, not very womanly. He’d also joked that the day he met his true soulmate, he’d kick me to the curb without a second thought. Our entire relationship was held together by my tolerance alone. “You promised me you wouldn’t bring people home anymore,” I said, my voice low, my eyes fixed on the expensive piece of jewelry on the floor. A flicker of derision crossed Julian’s eyes. He had no intention of placating me. “Since when did you get so serious?” He leaned closer, blowing smoke in my face, his eyes glinting with malice. “Can’t handle it?” “If you can’t handle it, you can get the hell out.” He had said those words to me countless times over the past four years. Each time, it ended with me lowering my head, apologizing, and begging him not to be angry. Over time, he’d learned exactly how to control me. He knew that when he said that, I was powerless. I turned away. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” Julian’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His brow was prominent, giving his neutral expression a severe, intimidating edge. “Claire, quit while you’re ahead. Don’t push it.” I shook off his hand and went into the guest room. A few moments later, the front door slammed shut with a deafening crash. Julian was gone. He was angry. I knew it. In our relationship, I was always the one to compromise, to soothe his ego. I had never given him the cold shoulder like I had tonight. I turned over and opened my phone. In the family group chat, my mom had sent another picture of a man. “Claire, this is the one Aunt Linda introduced. A university professor, stable and reliable. You’re thirty-two this year. It’s time to think about settling down.” I switched to my work chat. My boss had tagged me. “Claire, HQ is opening a new brand strategy department and they need a director. I think you’re a perfect fit. The resources and platform at headquarters are on a completely different level. Think about it.” My mom wanted me to come home for blind dates. My company was offering me a promotion to headquarters, which was located in my hometown. The timing, the opportunity, the circumstances—it seemed there was truly no reason for me to stay in this city any longer. I sighed. Honestly, I really did like Julian. He was handsome enough, his body was incredible, and we were perfect for each other in bed. Most importantly, he was the perfect player. Being with him was easy. I didn’t have to think about the future, and I wasn’t responsible for him. The first few years of my career were incredibly stressful. I just wanted someone to blow off steam with, but I was a hopeless snob when it came to looks. I was picky, until I met Julian. The best years of his prime were spent with me. He and his body soothed me through countless late nights when I was drowning in KPIs. And although he had a constant stream of women, he was meticulous about it—all his flings had to provide clean health screenings. I was always careful, so I wasn’t worried about catching anything. Finding another… partner… who was this compatible would be difficult. But that couldn’t be helped. Dating was one thing; marriage was another. I liked Julian a lot. But I also knew, with absolute clarity, that he was not a man to build a life with. The game was over. 3 Julian didn’t come home that night. For the next few days, he completely vanished. My texts went unanswered. My calls went straight to voicemail. Then, a red exclamation mark appeared next to my messages. He had blocked me. It was his signature move: the cold shoulder. It had happened before. Julian was a master of the silent treatment. Each time, I’d have to hunt him down at his agency or his gym, swallow my pride, and coax him until he finally unblocked me. But this time, I was busy wrapping up my work. I didn’t have time for his games. That evening, I was booking a flight to headquarters when my phone rang. It was Julian’s assistant. The music on his end was deafening, mixed with the laughter of men and women. “Ms. Sullivan? Julian’s had a bit too much to drink. He’s at the Rosemary Club. Would you be able to come pick him up?” Julian loved to party. He came from a wealthy family; modeling was just a hobby that he happened to be good at. I’d once asked him why he didn’t just take over the family business. He’d scoffed and said his father’s mistresses and illegitimate children were already tearing each other apart over the inheritance, and he couldn’t be bothered to join the fight. His grandfather’s and mother’s shares would eventually be his anyway. He just wanted to live his life as he pleased. Julian had zero ambition, which was the complete opposite of me. Whenever I landed a big account or got a promotion, I’d tell him, and he’d seem utterly bored. He once said dismissively that working yourself to death for a salary that couldn’t even buy one of his watches was pointless. I knew we were fundamentally different people. We had nothing in common except for physical chemistry. I didn’t understand his soul; I only craved his body. He ignored my ambitions and only valued my compliance. It was for the best. That way, when we parted, neither of us would be heartbroken. I thought for a moment and said I would go. I put down the phone and glanced at my flight details. Ten a.m., the day after tomorrow. I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to break up just yet. Julian and I were just so good in bed. With the stress of changing jobs, I was hoping for one last romp. I clicked my tongue, a little disappointed. But since the opportunity had presented itself, I might as well go with the flow. ... When I arrived at the club, Julian was surrounded by a crowd in a VIP booth. Men and women, all impossibly glamorous and young. It was no surprise. Julian was handsome, rich, and generous. On him, even promiscuity seemed like a charming, model-esque eccentricity. I touched the fine lines around my own eyes, remembering something Julian had once said. “Claire, you’re thirty-two. Can’t you take better care of yourself? Stop living so rough.” No wonder he was tired of me. He was surrounded by girls in their early twenties. I stood on the edge of the crowd, my eyes meeting his. He saw me but looked away almost immediately. Allie was flushed, practically draped over him, her voice syrupy. “Come on, Julian, just one more drink.” Julian smiled. Under the club lights, his deep-set eyes shimmered, breathtakingly handsome but utterly devoid of warmth. “Drinking like this is boring. You feed it to me.” “How?” Julian said nothing, just lowered his gaze to her lips. A half-second later, Allie understood. A flash of ecstasy crossed her face. She tilted her head back and downed the glass of whiskey in one go. Then Julian grabbed the back of her head and kissed her, hard. It wasn't a tender kiss; it was a punishment, an assertion of power. Allie tilted her head back to receive it, the corners of her eyes turning red from lack of oxygen. Liquor dribbled from the corner of their joined lips. The atmosphere around them erupted. Screams and whistles filled the air. I knew he was doing it on purpose. He was punishing me for not placating him that day, for daring to give him the cold shoulder. It wasn't until I walked right up to their booth that the crowd quieted down, all eyes on me, waiting for the show. Julian looked up, his expression blank. “What are you doing here?” I looked at that face and was hit with a wave of nostalgia for the countless nights we’d spent entangled over the past four years. In the heat of the moment, we had even said we loved each other. Did it hurt? A little, maybe. But it wasn't unbearable. After all, I had always known this was who Julian was. A flirt, always chasing the next new thing, incapable of saying no. Selfish, raised on a pedestal, always the center of his own universe, with no regard for anyone else’s feelings. My voice trembled as I spoke. “Julian, you’ve gone too far.” He looked at me. He was sitting, and I was standing, yet I felt as if he was looking down on me. He still had that same detached expression, a contemptuous smile playing on his lips. “Too far? You can always break up with me. I’m not stopping you.” I said nothing, just looked at him. I couldn’t count how many times he had threatened me with a breakup. Eighty? A hundred? A friend next to him must have thought he was going too far. “Come on, Julian, that’s enough. Look at Claire, she’s about to cry.” In fact, my eyes were red. If you’re going to act, you have to commit. As a single tear fell onto the carpet, I saw Julian’s expression flicker. The hand holding his cigarette twitched, but he remained silent, his gaze cold. The next second, I spoke softly. “Fine, Julian.” “Let’s break up.” The expression on Julian’s face froze. For a second, I thought he was going to flip the table. But instead, he laughed. The smile didn’t reach his eyes; it looked like it was squeezed out from between his teeth. “Alright, Claire. You’ve got guts now. But you remember this: I, Julian Chase, never go back for seconds. Don’t come crawling back to me like a goddamn dog.” “I won’t,” I said, nodding and wiping away my tears. Then I turned and walked away without looking back. Julian didn’t come home that night. I spent the night deleting all his contact information and packing my remaining belongings. The next morning, I was on the earliest flight to headquarters. As the plane soared into the clouds, I pulled out my SIM card and dropped it into the trash. 4 I had no further contact with Julian. Life at headquarters quickly fell into a routine. I adapted to the new department’s pace and even went on a date with a man my mother had arranged. Across from me, a thirty-year-old man in a stiff suit was pontificating. “I believe that women, before thirty, should prioritize family. Being too career-driven isn’t a good thing. What I mean is, after we’re married, you should focus more on the home, taking care of the children…” As he droned on, I smiled and stirred my coffee, fighting the urge to throw it in his self-satisfied face. When he finally finished, he pushed up his glasses. “Did you get all that? Do you have any objections?” I maintained my smile. “None at all. However, Mr. Harris, I don’t think we’re a good match. Let’s just split the bill.” I left him muttering about how “women over thirty can’t be picky” and “old maids…” In the weeks since I’d been back, my mother had set me up on no fewer than ten blind dates. Some of them were decent men, on paper. But after four years with a man who looked like Julian, I found it impossible to feel any spark of interest in these average men. This gloomy mood persisted until the corporate strategy meeting on Monday. Everyone was already there, the room silent and tense. “What’s going on?” I whispered to the colleague next to me. She leaned in. “The board brought in the heir apparent. He’s parachuting in to get a feel for the domestic market before he takes over the entire Asia-Pacific region. They say this Mr. Ekhardt is an Ivy League law grad, worked in M&A on Wall Street with a perfect record. He started his own VC firm when he came back and took it to the top in just a few years. The old chairman had to basically bribe him with shares to get him to come back. He’s a real killer. Be careful what you say.” A few moments later, a man in a dark grey three-piece suit walked in. He wore no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. As he stepped into the room, an assistant respectfully took his briefcase. I looked up. For a second, it felt like everyone in the room had stopped breathing. The first thing that hit you was his presence—an aura of absolute command. He had a neutral expression, but everyone, including me, instinctively sat up straighter, afraid to meet his gaze. The second thing I noticed was his eyes—almond-shaped, tilting up slightly at the corners, framed by thin, gold-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses, his gaze was cold and analytical. He was incredibly handsome, a completely different type from Julian. If Julian was a scorching, brilliant flame, this man was a frozen undercurrent in the deep sea. “Apologies, my flight was delayed. I’m late.” His voice was cool and crisp. He sat at the head of the table. “My name is Pierce Ekhardt. As of today, I’m in charge of corporate strategy. I’ve already reviewed all departmental reports and the last three years of financials. Let’s begin with Group A. Each person has three minutes to present their results from the past year and their plans for the future.” One by one, department heads went up, their voices trembling. Pierce was as sharp as the rumors claimed, pointing out every loophole and doctored number with precision. “I don’t like wasting time, and I don’t like being treated like an idiot,” he said, his voice level. “I prefer to communicate efficiently with intelligent people. If that proves ineffective, I will consider other methods.” He wasn’t yelling, but the directors he’d called out were sweating through their shirts. When it was my turn, my palms were slick with sweat. But I was well-prepared, and my performance over the past year was strong. Once I started speaking, my confidence returned. My education and my career were my pride, my foundation. I never slacked off at work. Pierce didn't interrupt me. Through his glasses, I thought I saw a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. When I finished, I signaled that my presentation was complete. He nodded. “Claire Sullivan. Good work. From now on, all reports will be held to this standard.” ... After Pierce’s arrival, the entire department was thrown into a trial by fire. He ruthlessly cut redundant projects and people, but he also brought in top-tier resources that had previously been out of our reach. We were working longer hours, but our projected year-end bonuses had doubled. My colleagues, especially the younger women, were captivated by him. Two new interns, perhaps having read too many romance novels, tried to get his attention. One publicly contradicted him in a meeting. The other “accidentally” spilled coffee on his custom suit and tried to wipe it off. The first one was gone the next day. The second was packing her desk that afternoon. After that, the women in the office learned their lesson. But the gossip in the break room continued. “I heard he’s single. Not even a rumor of a girlfriend. Do you think he’s inexperienced?” “No way! A man like that? People are lining up. He probably just has ridiculously high standards.” “Oh my god, did you see him in that three-piece suit today? That shoulder-to-waist ratio… If I could land him, I’d give him my entire paycheck!” ... Listening to them, a thought sparked in my mind. Without Julian, this Pierce Ekhardt seemed like a far more intriguing prey. This man… I wanted to try. 5 I began to strategically place myself in Pierce’s path. He arrived an hour early every day. Three times a week, I would “happen” to catch the same elevator. It was usually just the two of us. I kept my words brief, a polite “Good morning, Mr. Ekhardt,” and then stood quietly. Every day at three p.m., like clockwork, I went to the break room for a black coffee. He usually took his break around the same time. I made sure never to run into him in the break room, always leaving just before he arrived, but making sure he saw my back as I left. Occasionally, I worked late. He would pass my desk on his way out. In short, I maximized my visibility without ever saying an unnecessary word. Finally, on the twelfth time he saw me working late, he stopped and walked over to my desk. “I’ve noticed you’ve been staying late a lot. Is the project running into trouble?” I feigned surprise, then hesitated before handing him the proposal I was working on. “It’s about the Eastside commercial real estate project. I’m a little concerned about some of the legal clauses in the partner’s contract, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I wanted to study it more.” Pierce sat down naturally in the empty chair beside me. “Let me see.” He smelled of cool cedarwood, a scent that mingled with my own subtle woody perfume, creating an unexpectedly intimate atmosphere. “This project’s risk assessment is an A-minus. It’s viable. Look at their financials from last year, their cash flow is healthy, and…” He spoke eloquently, and I listened intently, interjecting with a few highly technical questions. After he answered each one, I let my face break into a smile of comprehension. “Oh, I see! Thank you, Mr. Ekhardt. I hadn't thought of it from that angle at all.” “You have strong professional skills, you just lack a bit of experience. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.” He made a rare joke. “Go home early. I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of tyrant.” I nodded, gathered my files, and we walked downstairs together. Just as we stepped out of the building, a cold wind carrying a fine mist hit me. I hesitated and stopped. Pierce, who had been walking toward his car, turned back. “What is it?” I waved a hand. “It’s nothing, Mr. Ekhardt. You go ahead. I… I just remembered I left something upstairs.” He didn’t press, just nodded and left. Five minutes later, his car pulled out of the underground garage. I was still standing under the awning at the company entrance. Pierce rolled down the window. “Didn’t drive?” I looked embarrassed. “No. It’s raining, so hailing a ride is slow. It’s fine, Mr. Ekhardt, I’ll just wait a bit longer.” “Get in,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.” ... On the way, Pierce and I talked quite a bit. He seemed surprised to find that we shared the same views on many financial news stories. Even a very niche management studies book I was reading was one of his favorites. Pierce’s demeanor gradually shifted from polite and distant to more engaged and talkative. He was so engrossed in our conversation that he drove right past my apartment complex without slowing down. I was about to point it out when he realized it himself. “Sorry,” he said. “I got carried away.” After he pulled over, I thanked him again. Pierce just nodded, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, but he held back. “Is something wrong, Mr. Ekhardt?” I asked, looking at him. “The scent you’re wearing… it’s nice.” The moment the words were out, he seemed to regret them, looking down and falling silent. I hid a smile. “Well, Mr. Ekhardt. See you tomorrow.”
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