Final Breakup: No. 100

Rosalyn Jones looked outside the window as she finished writing her resignation letter.

For seven days, the gigantic electronic billboard across the street had been playing Carl Grant and Zoe Quayle's wedding announcement on loop.

Everyone kept saying how Carl loved Zoe to a fault, but no one was aware that Rosalyn had stood by Carl's side for seven years.

It started when she was eighteen, and she was now twenty-five—she had truly given him the best years of her life.

But now, it was time for her to leave the stage as he was marrying someone else.

And after his wedding day, she would no longer be a part of his world.

Nonetheless, Rosalyn eventually tore her eyes from the screen, folded the resignation letter neatly, and inserted it into a white envelope just as her office door opened.

Carl entered, a couple of buttons beneath his black shirt loose, and the black trousers accentuating the length of his attractively long legs. There was also a distinct vigor in his step, making his noble presence all the more impressionable.

That reminded Rosalyn of the first time she saw him—he was wearing a black shirt too, nursing a beer in a quiet corner of a bar, looking distraught like a homeless mutt.

His family had just gone bankrupt at the time, and he had to sell his watch just to get money for a drink.

At that time, it was Rosalyn who bought it back for him and took him with her.

As it turned out, things that fell didn't necessarily stay down—Carl eventually pulled himself together for a grand resurgence and ascended as one of Cromwell's most eligible bachelors.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" he asked, his cool gaze on the envelope Rosalyn was holding.

Rosalyn held on to the envelope in one hand and pointed outside the window with the other. "Just looking at your wedding announcement video."

Carl's gaze darkened. "What's so interesting about that? You're the one who put it together."

Indeed, she had—she had chosen every photo of him and Zoe, finalized the design, and personally written a romantic script.

Back when Carl had first asked her to help, he said, "Rosalyn, you have to do this yourself—Zoe doesn't trust anyone else."

Although he and Zoe had only formally started dating three months ago, they had met during their school days, but were separated when the Grant family went bankrupt and Zoe's family went abroad seven years ago.

But when Zoe and her family returned to Mediana three months ago, Carl quickly rekindled their relationship and even proposed to her publicly.

Before that, everyone around Carl presumed he would marry Rosalyn after she stayed by his side for seven years.

She was convinced that would be the case too, when he asked her to choose a ring she liked three months ago, and she picked one that was her own size.

But that night, as the dazzling fireworks erupted in the skies over the city, he told Rosalyn, "Give me the ring."

With that, Rosalyn watched as Carl went down on one knee and slid the ring that she had spent so much time choosing onto Zoe's finger.

Even through the booming fireworks, she heard him tell Zoe, "For seven years, I've waited for this moment. For over two thousand five hundred days and nights, you were always on my mind."

At that very moment, Rosalyn could feel her heart blowing into a million different tiny sparks just like the fireworks overhead, never to be pieced together again.

Carl said that Zoe had always been on his mind for two thousand five hundred days and nights.

In that case, what about her? When she worked to build an empire with him every single day? When he called her drunk? When he slept, holding her in his arms?

What did all that time she had spent with him mean to him?

But she never asked this question—if anything, she didn't have to, because his proposal to Zoe was the answer.

So what if she had stayed by his side for seven years? To Carl, all those moments paled in comparison to those heart-racing memories he and Zoe shared in their youth.

What was more, he had never actually promised her anything in those seven years—it was all an illusion in her mind.

She certainly couldn't blame him now that her hopes had been dashed.

Still, Rosalyn gathered her scattered thoughts and looked up at the man she had loved for seven years.

"How can I help you, Mr. Grant?" she asked calmly.

"You're coming with me to Quayle Mansion tonight," Carl replied. "You know what to prepare."

"Yes, Mr. Grant," Rosalyn replied.

As his assistant, she was always ready to oblige any request he had.

Carl studied her just then, his gaze seemingly piercing her as he had the nagging feeling that something was off. "Rosalyn…?"

Still, he caught himself and stopped, as he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Eventually, he simply said, "You haven't smiled much lately."

Rosalyn was almost surprised—it was rare for Carl to notice such a thing, especially when he was so obsessed with Zoe.

Still, she quickly curled her lips to flash a formal smile. "I will be more mindful next time, Mr. Grant."

"Rosalyn." Carl sighed softly then. "You're my assistant, and that's not going to change for anything. And you have a promotion to deputy CEO to look forward to next year."

Promotions from secretary to CEO's personal assistant and to deputy CEO in a span of seven years were almost impressive.

But Carl simply had no idea that these responsibilities were not what Rosalyn desired.

All she wanted was to be Mrs. Grant, but that was nothing more than a fleeting fantasy now.

"Okay." Rosalyn smiled, accepting the promotion.

For the past seven years, she had accepted everything he had given her and never begged for anything he didn't give.

But somehow, Carl felt even more uncomfortable, and his eyes narrowed coldly at her. "Obviously, that's on condition that nothing goes wrong before that—especially my wedding."

Rosalyn nodded and assured him, "Understood, Mr. Grant. I will do my best to put together the perfect wedding for you and Ms. Quayle."

Carl stared at her intently for a couple of beats and eventually glanced at the envelope she was holding.

He paused and asked, "What's that?"