Chapter 3

Two days ago, Myron and Rosemary's shoes had still been sitting here.

I threw the pair of slippers into the trash and started cleaning like a woman possessed.

Every trace of the two of them, bit by bit, I scrubbed away.

I didn't stop until my back ached too much to bend any further.

My phone lit up. A message from Rosemary.

【Celia, I know I was wrong. Please give me another chance, okay?】

【I really don't have that money. My parents are in poor health, I can't let them find out.】

【After all these years between us, does that really count for less than money?】

Reading it, all I felt was a wave of nausea.

I wrote back.

【Years between us? When you were talking about feelings with Myron in my bed, did you spare a thought for all those years?】

【The money. Not a cent less.】

【Or I'll send the glorious record of you and Myron, recordings and photos included, straight to your parents.】

【Let them hear all about how their precious daughter plays the other woman.】

Once it was sent, I blocked her too.

The world was finally quiet.

I lay in bed, eyes open, and didn't sleep the whole night.

Over the next few days, Myron and Rosemary seemed to vanish from my world.

No calls, no messages, no more coming around to harass me.

I threw everything I had into work.

The project with Brent went unusually smoothly.

He was an excellent partner. Professional, meticulous, and every so often he'd drop in just the right touch of humor.

Working with him was a pleasure.

That afternoon, right after a meeting, Jeanette called me into her office.

She handed me a coffee, a searching look on her face.

“Celia, you and Myron, are you really done?”

“Done.”

“Well, that's for the best.” Jeanette sighed. “All these years, wearing yourself down for him, for Rosemary, you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I've wanted to say it for ages. That Rosemary, something about her never sat right. Who has an anxiety disorder and still posts on social media every single day?”

I held the cup and said nothing.

“It's over now. You should start living for yourself.”

Jeanette patted my shoulder. “Oh, and you and Mr. Delgado…… I'd say he treats you a little differently.”

My heart jumped.

“Jeanette, it's strictly a working relationship.”

“Sure, sure, a working relationship.” Jeanette's smile turned knowing. “Still, Mr. Delgado really is a catch. Character, ability, no complaints on any front. If you're thinking of starting a new life, you could do a lot worse.”

I gave an awkward smile and let it drop.

I was walking out of Jeanette's office when a transfer alert came through from the bank.

A hundred eighty-nine thousand, three hundred.

Not a dollar more, not a dollar less. Exactly half of Rosemary's bill.

A message followed, from a number I didn't recognize.

【Celia, I've paid you back. From here on, we're even.】

It was Myron.

I looked at that phrase, “even,” and almost laughed.

He was using my money to pay off the debt he'd saddled me with.

Then tossing out one light little word. Even.

There was no bargain that cheap anywhere on earth.

I sent the screenshot of the transfer to Rosemary's backup account.

She probably hadn't dared delete me, afraid I'd lose it again.

【Your man paid off half. The other half, you figure out yourself.】

【You get three days.】

Rosemary replied instantly.

【Celia, I really don't have the money. Can't you, for the sake of what we used to be……】

I cut her off cold.

【What we used to be ended the moment you climbed into my fiance's bed.】

【Or should I go have a chat with your boss? About how rich his employee's personal life is?】

Rosemary stopped replying.

I knew I'd hit exactly where it hurt.

She cared so much about face, so much about how she looked to outsiders. There was no way she'd let anyone at her company find out.

Sure enough, two days later, I received the other half.

It came in more than a dozen transfers, the biggest of them only twenty thousand.

You could tell she'd scraped it together with a lot of pain.

I collected the last of what she owed, then wiped every one of her contact details clean.

And with that, the two of them were finally out of my finances and my life for good.

That evening, to celebrate the first phase of the project wrapping up smoothly, Jeanette organized a department dinner.

As the client lead, Brent was invited too.

Over the meal everyone kept egging us on, saying Brent and I were a perfect match, made for each other.

They poured plenty of drinks into me, and my head was swimming a little.

I made an excuse about the restroom and slipped outside for air.

The night breeze on my face felt good.

A jacket carrying a faint scent of wood settled gently over my shoulders.

I turned. It was Brent.

He stood beside me with two cans of warm milk in his hands.

“Drink something warm. It'll help.”

I took the milk and thanked him.

“I hope tonight didn't put you in an awkward spot.” He meant the coworkers' teasing.

I shook my head. “They just like their jokes.”

We stood in silence for a while.

Then he spoke up “Three years ago, why did you quit so suddenly?”

I hadn't expected him to ask that.

“Something happened at home.”

That year, my mother was diagnosed with late-stage cancer.

I quit my job to be with her through the last of it.

That was also the worst year of Rosemary's anxiety disorder.

She called me almost every day, crying that she couldn't go on living.

I was caring for my mother and calming her down at the same time.

Looking back now, I honestly don't know how I got through those days.

“I'm sorry. I brought up something painful.” Brent's voice was very soft.

“It's fine. It's all in the past.”

I tipped my head back and took a sip of the milk, the sweet warmth spreading down my throat all the way into my stomach.

“Actually, I should thank you.”

“Hm?”

“Three years ago, if it hadn't been for you, I'd probably have been fired.”

He gave a small smile. “It was nothing.”

“Not to me it wasn't.”

I looked at him and said it in earnest “Brent, thank you.”

He looked back at me, the smile in his eyes deepening.

“You're welcome.”

Just then, my phone rang.

An unfamiliar number.

I hesitated, then answered anyway.

On the other end came a woman's hysterical wailing.

“Celia! You vicious little tramp! You've ruined our Rosemary!”

It was Rosemary's mother.

My heart sank.