His Can Ring Promise

It happened in the special audience zone of the horserace. Christopher Quinton was amidst the owners of listed companies, and with him was Rachel Benson.

He was dressed in a sharp, crisp suit. White shirt, black trousers. The man looked nothing less than an elite.

Then, his face was plastered all over the screen, and the amount of his donation kept going up. The people around him realized what this must mean. They put on fake smiles and cracked jokes.

"You're young but accomplished, Mr. Quinton. That's 450 grand, and you donated it like it was nothing."

"This horserace is something the Halloways started. You'll get a chance to make a friend out of that person. Don't forget about us."

The business owners exchanged knowing looks and smiled calmly. The people here were bluebloods and elites of the city. Networking would do good for their future.

"Oh, Mr. West, you jest. You hold half a dozen projects. We'd love to work with you."

Rachel's comment caught the attention of Mr. West. He played along and said unctuously, "Yes, of course. Mr. Quinton, this must be your wife. You're a great man, you are. Business and family, and you get them both. Do you have any children? Maybe our children can be friends."

Rachel smiled shyly and buried her head in her chest. She looked at Christopher, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Christopher's busy with work, so we're not in a hurry to have any children. We're engaged."

Then, everyone turned their eyes to Christopher. That made him freeze up, and then a stiff smile pulled itself on the corners of his lips. "She's the one I love. We'll have children, sooner or later."

Well, this was a surprise. It'd been five years since they got engaged, and yet they hadn't gotten married. He made it a point to tell everyone he and Rachel had gotten engaged the day after our breakup.

I still remembered the hashtags—#You'reMyLove.TenYearsSeparatedUs.You'reMine.#—and the hashtag about Rachel's engagement ring—#BossLady'sRing.DiamondBigAsQuailEgg.#

Their loving relationship became the theme of every webpage I surfed.

And then a severe voice rang out behind me. His nametag told me who he was. The racecourse's manager. "What's your employee number? Who let you scavenge here? Everyone here's a VIP! We don't let janitors in here. Now get out!"

I stared at my hands. They were covered in grime and filth. My clothes were not the exact image of cleanliness either. Yeah, of course they'd think I wasn't one of the VIPs.

I explained, "Sorry, but I'm a guest too."