Chapter 2

The room went dead silent.

Chloe snapped her head up, her face turning bright red. "Nadia! How could you say something like that?"

Ethan grabbed my wrist tightly.

"Nadia!"

He squeezed so hard my bones ached.

In the past, whenever he got angry, I would always be the first to apologize.

Because I hated silent treatment, and I was terrified that our years of history would be ruined by one heated argument.

But now, I just looked down at his hand, my voice cold and flat.

"Let go."

Ethan was stunned.

He had probably never heard me speak to him in this tone before.

No tears, no yelling, no accusations. Just pure, cold indifference, as if I were looking at a complete stranger.

"I said, let go."

His fingers loosened slightly.

In the next second, I yanked my hand back with force.

My wrist was already red and swollen.

A flicker of satisfaction flashed through Chloe's eyes, though she quickly put on a tearful face again.

"This is all my fault. Ethan, I should go. Don't let me ruin things between you two."

She turned to leave but walked incredibly slowly.

As expected, Ethan chased after her immediately.

"Why are you leaving? You did nothing wrong."

"The person who should leave isn't you."

He said this just as I reached the door.

My footsteps paused. I turned back to look at him.

"You're right. The person who should leave is me."

With that, I pushed the door open and walked out.

The hotel corridor was lined with thick carpet. I walked steadily, never looking back.

My phone buzzed again.

[I’m in the parking garage, B2. Black Maybach.]

I pressed the elevator button.

The moment the doors slid shut, I finally let out a long breath.

Seven years.

Turns out, ending it took only the thirty seconds it took for an elevator to go down.

The car was parked in the furthest corner.

As I walked over, the back door was already opened from the inside.

A man sat there wearing a black button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a lean, strong wrist.

He looked up at me, his gaze instantly locking onto my red, swollen wrist. His eyes darkened in a second.

"Did he do that?"

I got into the car, my voice tired. "It's nothing."

Julian Sterling didn't say a word.

He pulled an ice pack from a small medical kit next to him, wrapped it in a clean handkerchief, and gently pressed it against my wrist.

His movements were incredibly soft, as if he were afraid of hurting me.

"Nadia."

His voice was laced with anger.

"Every time you say 'it's nothing,' it's always the exact opposite."

My throat suddenly tightened, and my eyes stung.

Julian was my high school classmate. I used to have a massive crush on him.

But he was too brilliant, too far out of my league. I never dared to confess, and I never dared to think he would ever look at me that way.

During our senior year, his family went through a massive crisis, and he was sent abroad.

After that, I never saw him again.

Until one day, years later, I found a letter he had left for me hidden deep inside an old textbook.

There was only one sentence in it:

Wait for me to come back. I want you to be the first person I see.

Only then did I realize that while I was harboring a secret crush on him, he was silently in love with me, too.