Thanks to my new project, Mr. Henderson gave
me paid leave to focus on Chloe’s gift,
instructing me to communicate directly with
Ethan. I slept in, lounging on the couch with
Money, when a text alerted me to a five-
million–dollar deposit. I counted the zeros,
stunned. Had Sugar Mama become even more
generous? Was this a gentle nudge, seeing as
the project hadn’t really started? Money talks,
and I was suddenly motivated. I propped my
-chin on my hand and opened WeChat. [Mr.
Carter, any specific details for the anniversary
gift?] Five minutes later: [Too complicated for
text. Come to Carter Corp. Let’s discuss.]
Perfect! I jumped up, picked out a killer outfit,
and applied my “no–makeup” makeup look.
Ethan tried to appear nonchalant when I walked
<
into his office, but I saw the flicker of interest in
his eyes. Easy peasy. His assistant showed me
in and discreetly closed the door. Just Ethan and me, alone in his vast office. He wore a black shirt, buttoned all the way up, exuding an aura of restrained… something. He looked good. Very respectable. He caught me staring. “What?” “Just admiring your… handsomeness. And general aura of awesomeness.” He scoffed.
11
“Flippant.” “If he wasn’t feeling flippant, he
could try turning that smirk upside down. I
rolled my eyes, pulled out my tablet, and
showed him some templates. “What kind of gift
are you thinking of? Bracelets and rings are
simple. We can incorporate some element that’s
meaningful to you two. Necklaces can be more
elaborate.” “A whole set, then.” I smiled
professionally. “Certainly.” He glanced at me,
tapping his fingers on the desk. “Something
along the lines of ‘Rose Poetry‘.” “Absolutely
not.” His nonchalant expression infuriated me.
“‘Rose Poetry‘ is a reminder of my past
relationship. I doubt your girlfriend wants her
<
anniversary gift tainted by someone else’s
memories.” “Is that so?” His voice dropped, his
eyes intense. “You seem awfully invested, Ms.
Carter. Still hung up on your ex?” “Of course,” |
said sweetly. “He’s gone, you know. This is all I
have left to remember him by.” The smirk
vanished. He stood, his aura darkening. “I
wasn’t aware I was dead.”
“Weren’t you the one pretending not to know
me?” Perhaps it was familiarity, but even when
he was scowling, I wasn’t intimidated. “Are you
trying to annoy me, or her, by suggesting I copy
‘Rose Poetry‘?” ‘Rose Poetry‘ was my proudest
creation. Inspired by the man standing before
- me. Back when my family was wealthy, I
attended a prestigious private school. I was a
sophomore, and Ethan, a year older, was a
–
campus legend the brilliant Carter kid who
got sent to the principal’s office in the morning
and gave award–winning speeches in the
afternoon. On my first day, he slung an arm
around me, grinning. “I’ve got your back, kid.
く
Fights, homework, whatever.” We were
inseparable then. Walking to and from school,
hitting up food trucks, sneaking extra study
sessions at the library on weekends. Until a love
letter appeared on my desk. I’d gotten plenty,
so I reached for it, ready to toss it, but a sweet
rose scent stopped me. I traced the strong,
familiar handwriting. Ethan’s. After school, he
came to my classroom as usual, his ears bright
red. His voice, cracking with puberty, was a low
murmur. “Bella… I want to be your boyfriend.
Okay?” The setting sun streamed through the
stairwell window. I walked down two steps,
turned, and tossed my backpack at him.
“Depends on how you behave.” From then on,
every afternoon during study hall, a letter
appeared on my desk. A rose–scented letter
filled with romantic words. It was a treasured
memory, hence ‘Rose Poetry,‘ my debut
collection, the one that launched my
international career. Ethan seemed momentarily
speechless. “I thought… since you didn’t even
want me anymore, you wouldn’t care.” His voice
<
was soft, unreadable. I pounced. “So, I can
change my mind?” He looked up sharply, his
eyes intense. I suddenly felt flustered. Then, his
expression shifted, a cold smirk replacing the
vulnerability. “Dream on.” Fine. I took a deep
breath. “So, what about the gift?” He adjusted
his cuff, feigning indifference. “Whatever you
think is best.” He was leaving it to me. I
could’ve gone wild. But my professional
integrity compelled me to ask, “Would you mind
telling me about your relationship journey?” He
raised an eyebrow. “Curious?” “No, just…
gathering inspiration.” He glanced at his phone
and stood. “I need to go home for dinner.”
“Perfect, me too.” I plastered on a smile. “One
more set of chopsticks won’t hurt, right? We
can chat after dinner.”
My shamelessness secured me a seat in
Ethan’s car. The driver, already surprised to see
me, looked shocked when Ethan said we were
going to the Carter family home. I grinned,
turning to the driver. “Sir, are you thinking,
<
‘Wow, she’s the first girl he’s ever brought
home‘?” The driver shook his head. “Ms.
Sanders has been here many times.” My smile
faltered. Ethan, overhearing, turned to me with
a mocking glint in his eyes. “Don’t flatter
yourself.” “Just kidding,” I retorted. “No sense
of humor.” He didn’t reply. We sat in the back,
as far apart as possible, like sworn enemies.
The AC hummed, and soon I started dozing. I
felt a light touch on my face. When the car
stopped, I rubbed my eyes, glaring at Ethan.
“Did you just pinch my cheek?” He was
perfectly composed. “No. You leaned over in
your sleep and brushed against my hand.” I was
skeptical. “Really?” We were miles apart. How
could I have accidentally brushed against him?
