1. Three Years Later

Shirley POV：

After a grueling day, I sent out the final two emails to clients who wouldn't be renewing their contracts, then finally shut down my computer.

My phone buzzed. It was Josh.

"Shirley, there’s a mess at the exhibition site. The crew is demanding more money to finish the setup, and I won’t be back until tomorrow. Can you head over?"

I grabbed my bag and keys. "Your timing is impeccable, Josh. This better come with a hefty bonus."

He gave a happy laugh. "Absolutely!"

Then his tone shifted, growing sincere. "Seriously, Shirley—thank you."

"Oh, stop it, Josh—" I said, drawing out his name. "It’s just the two of us running this show. If I don't go, who will?"

The clouds hung heavy and low as I floored the gas pedal.

By the time I reached the convention center, the rain was coming down so hard my vision blurred. That was when I realized I didn’t have an umbrella.

I checked the time—the crew’s shift was almost up.

Holding a folder over my head, I bolted into the storm.

The early winter rain lashed at me like a whip, cold and biting.

My heels caught on the uneven pavement, nearly twisting my ankles a dozen times.

Suddenly, a black sedan glided past me, nearly silent. By the time I noticed it, it was too late to dodge.

My body hit the cold metal with a heavy thud, and I was thrown into a deep puddle.

The filthy, freezing water soaked through my clothes instantly.

For a few seconds, I couldn't move. Every bone in my body felt shattered.

The sedan skidded to a halt.

My phone, lying in the mud, started ringing. I reached out and swiped to answer.

"Shirley, sorry to push, but the foreman is threatening to walk off the job..."

"I’m at the gates. Tell that asshole to stay put. I’m coming."

By the time the car door opened, I had already forced myself up.

Limping, I scrambled toward the hall.

Inside, it was chaos.

The foreman was extorting us for a payout. I told him to hell with that.

"You submitted the quote yourself. Every detail was confirmed, and now you’re hiking the price?" I demanded.

"No pay bump, no labor. Simple as that," he shrugged.

"Then get the hell off my site. I’ll find a crew that actually respects a contract, and then I’m coming for your throat in court."

"You win this round, bitch!" The foreman spat the insult and led his crew away, cursing under his breath.

I leaned heavily against the half-finished display; my ribs felt like they had snapped during the collision, the searing pain making it nearly impossible to draw breath.

I dragged my feet toward the exit, fumbling for my phone to message Josh.

The device—my constant companion for over three years—had hit the ground hard, a single crack ran the entire length of the screen.

My heart sank. I wiped it carefully, praying it was just dirt.

But it was broken. Truly broken.

As I rounded the corner of the hallway, a figure flashed in my peripheral vision.

I couldn't stop in time and collided head-on with someone. He reached out to steady me, the warmth of his palm seeping through my rain-soaked clothes and hitting my frozen back.

My spine stiffened instantly.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry," we said in unison.

I looked up, and the world stopped.

Connor Rogers.

A tailored navy suit traced the lines of his perfect physique.

His shoulders were broader than I remembered, his chest more solid—he radiated a newfound sense of authority and overwhelming pressure.

The scent of woody cologne filled my senses; it was the same familiar fragrance from a lifetime ago.

His face, sculpted and sharp, with that high bridge of his nose and those steel-blue eyes, had aged into something even more mature, more perfect.

But to me, he was a stranger now.

I jerked out of his grasp, forcing myself to stand tall despite the agony in my ribs.

My heart hammered against my chest so hard it hurt.

"I’m sorry. My car hit you earlier. Are you hurt?" His voice was eerily calm.

"I'm fine. Not dead yet."

I turned to leave, wanting no part of him. I hadn't even taken two steps before a hand clamped around my arm, wrenching me back.

"Hiss—" I gasped, the air catching in my throat.

A searing bolt of pain shot through me, leaving me paralyzed, afraid to move even an inch.

"Why are you running?" he asked, his voice steady. "I hit you with my car; naturally, I intend to follow protocol. Why are you dodging me?"

A bitter smirk played on my lips.

"I’m not dodging you. It’s just that looking at you makes me sick to my stomach."

The words he’d said three years ago, when we broke up, still carved into my heart like shards of ice.

I could still see him then—looking down at me with that unbearable arrogance as he tossed a bank card at my feet.

"Shirley, you were just a pastime. I’m bored, so let’s end this.

"Take the card. There’s enough on there to pay for the last three years. Most women would kill for a payout like this; you’re coming out ahead.

The memory of that soul-crushing pain surged back like a tidal wave, making me tremble.

He released his grip on my arm.

"Go to the hospital for a check-up. I don’t want any lingering legal headaches later."

I stared at him. He was dressed in a way I’d never seen before—bespoke tailoring from head to toe, so exquisite it made my eyes ache with a dull bitterness.

"A hospital visit isn't necessary," I said, pausing to catch my breath. "You love settling things with cash, don't you? Fine. Just pay me."

"I don't need a lawsuit or a dead body on my hands," he countered. "Go to the hospital. Don't make me say it a third time."

He reached for my waist.

Panic and shame boiled in my chest. I swung my hand with everything I had, the palm of my hand cracking across his face.

"Get away from me!"

The sound of the slap seemed to freeze the very air.

The impact snapped his head to the side.

He slowly turned back, his steel-blue eyes now frost-hardened and utterly void of warmth.

Without a word, he put a deliberate inch of distance between us.

"Don't make it complicated. Just pay me and we’re even. I promise I won't pester you."

He shook his head slightly and pulled out his phone.

"Where the hell have you been for the last few years?"

I gave him a cold, hollow look.

"None of your damn business."