Chapter 1Listening to the Rain as We Part

It was our second anniversary.

I saw the note on my boss Alexander’s phone, and my world tilted on its axis. It was a checklist, a brutal list of requirements for his perfect girlfriend:

Under 28.

Fluent in five languages.

Stanford graduate.

C-cup…

There were twenty-five items in total. Not a single one of them described me.

In that moment, our secret, two-year affair finally made a twisted kind of sense. I tried to console myself, telling myself no one could possibly meet every single one of his ridiculously demanding criteria.

Then came the new hire interviews.

I sat beside him as he picked up one woman’s resume, his head nodding in approval again and again.

When my eyes caught a glimpse of her qualifications, a cold certainty washed over me.

My time with Alexander was over.

The interview was almost unnervingly smooth. Alexander asked the woman, Isabella, question after question, a mix of professional and deeply personal.

“What are your hobbies?”

“What’s your favorite food?”

With every answer she gave, the stern, unsmiling lines of his face softened into something I’d never seen before. I knew why. Every single one of her answers ticked a box on his list.

My heart sank, stone by stone, into a pit of despair. In the two years we’d been together, he’d never shown this much interest in me. He never cared what movies I liked or what I did with my free time. Outside of the bedroom, we were practically strangers.

Alexander’s final question was the one that shattered what was left of my hope.

“Do you have a boyfriend right now?”

“No,” she answered, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

The way his lips curved into a smile and the look that passed between them was a silent, sealed contract.

After the interviews, Alexander placed her resume on my desk. “Notify her that she’s hired.”

I stared down at the smiling face in the photo. Isabella Knight. Even the dimples at the corners of her mouth were exactly what he wanted.

Two days later, I was escorting her to HR to finalize her paperwork when the department head handed me a form.

“Sarah, perfect timing. Could you sign this for me?”

I stared at the document, sure I’d misheard. “A department transfer request?”

The HR manager’s eyes were full of pity. “You didn’t know? Mr. Knight has appointed Isabella as his new executive assistant. He asked me to transfer you to the marketing department.”

A wave of desolation washed over me. I had poured five years of my life into this company, clawing my way up from intern to his assistant. Every promotion was paid for with the red flags on my annual health reports. Three years ago, when he transferred to this city, I followed him without a second thought.

And now, with a single word, he was casting me aside for a woman he’d just met. The marketing department was a notorious dead end—all the grunt work, none of the glory. It wasn't a transfer; it was a demotion.

This wasn’t the first time he’d treated me like I was disposable. For two years, he’d stood me up at restaurants, leaving me to wait alone until closing time. He’d completely forgotten the vacations I’d so excitedly planned.

The truth was simple. He just didn’t care.

Once that reality settled in my bones, I signed the transfer papers without hesitation. Then, on the spot, I wrote out my resignation and handed it in.

With that done, I stepped outside and called my mom.

“Mom, I think I’m going to come home and find a job there.”

“No, I’m not upset,” I lied, forcing a cheerful tone. “I heard about your surgery. This way, I can be there to take care of you.”

The resignation process would take a month, which was perfect. It was the end of the year, and I could collect my bonus from the last major project.

I packed my desk, moved my things to marketing, and waited until the office emptied out. Then, with a calm I didn’t feel, I walked to Alexander’s office.

Through the glass wall, I saw a new, smaller desk had been set up next to his. Isabella was still there, working. And Alexander, the man who famously kept everyone at arm’s length, was leaning over her, his body close to hers, patiently explaining something on her screen.

I had tried for years to break down that invisible wall between us. I’d even asked if I could move my desk into his office. His rejection was always swift and cold: “Sarah, I need my personal space.”

I thought seeing this would break me. But now, having let go, all I felt was a profound sense of relief.

He noticed me and raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. After dismissing Isabella, his expression hardened with impatience. “This transfer is a chance for you to gain more experience. Don’t be…”

I cut him off. “Let’s break up.”

He paused, then let out a short, derisive laugh. “Break up? Sarah, when did I ever say you were my girlfriend? From head to toe, you don’t meet a single one of my standards.”

I stared at him, speechless.

His eyes held their usual arrogance. “Since you brought it up, let me make it official. As of today, our… arrangement is officially terminated.”

His words were a slap in the face, sharp and stinging. I wanted to cry, but a laugh escaped my lips instead—a bitter, hollow sound for my wasted youth, for my own pathetic cheapness.

He was right. He had never called me his girlfriend. I was the one who stupidly assumed that one night changed everything.

It was at the company’s annual gala. He’d had too much to drink. I took him back to his hotel room, and he asked me to stay. He never knew that I’d been secretly in love with him for years, since my very first day at the company.

What followed was a night of passion I’d only dreamed of. The next morning, he woke up, saw me tangled in his sheets, and froze for a moment. Then, without another word, he dressed and said, “We’ll be in touch,” and left.

How could I have been so foolish? How could I have mistaken those four empty words for “I love you”? All the times he’d been dismissive, all the times he’d treated me with indifference—I had told myself he was just a cold person by nature.

But the real answer had been there all along.

I wasn't good enough.

The last flicker of warmth in my heart died out in the cold night air.