Morir de amor

"Your flight will depart from Colmar in three days.

"Have a pleasant journey, Ms. Hale. Goodbye."

I’d just confirmed the flight details with the airline staff when my assistant’s voice called from behind.

“Rosie, it's time to go.”

By now, Mark was already carefully helping Lana into the car.

News about him proposing to the ex of Genovia’s most eligible bachelor had blown up online.

Everyone was swooning over the idea of his fairytale romance. Finally, after a ten-year unspoken crush, he had gotten the girl.

No one knew I was the one who had actually been dating him for the past six years.

Earlier this afternoon, I found a custom engagement ring in Mark’s pocket.

I was thrilled. I thought he remembered I wanted to be proposed to under the sunset.

Clearly, I was just fooling myself.

It turned out the ring or his love had never belonged to me.

Shortly after I left town, Mark called.

His tone was cold and commanding as he said, “In half an hour, I want chicken soup.”

Then he hung up, without giving me a chance to respond.

I was stunned for a moment.

Chicken soup would be suitable for pregnant women.

I scrolled through our chat history on WhatsApp. Three months ago, Mark started asking for all kinds of soups known for nourishing the body.

Looking back now, it hit me.

He must have already decided back then to be the stepfather of Lana's kid.

Half an hour later, I showed up at his estate with the chicken soup in hand.

The living room was full of his close buddies from the team retreat.

The moment they saw me, the room went silent.

They always saw me as Mark’s pathetic lapdog secretary, who would do anything for him. Now, they looked at me with smug curiosity, clearly waiting for a meltdown.

Mark sat with Lana, half-curled in his arms, at the head of the room.

He took the soup and said flatly, “Perfect timing.”

Then he casually nodded at the table full of shots.

“Lana can’t drink. You’ve got a good tolerance, don’t you? Drink for her.”

He didn’t even look at me. It was as if he were talking about some other irrelevant thing.

Mark remembered Lana couldn't drink, but he forgot that I was allergic to alcohol.

I was nothing more than a servant in his eyes.

Something inside me snapped. After six years, I wanted answers.

I couldn’t stop myself from speaking.

“Mark, about today’s proposal. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation?”

The atmosphere shifted.

Everyone could tell he favored Lana.

Sure enough, Mark kept feeding Lana the soup and muttered, “Rosie, let’s talk later. Don’t ruin the mood.”

At that moment, any last bit of hope I had for him completely shattered.

I’d worked as his secretary for six years, dealing with his scandals.

I was so tired now.

I swallowed the bitterness in my heart and picked up a shot to down it.

“To Mr. Hill and Ms. Markle, may your love last forever and have your own children.”

They all expected a scene, thinking I’d scream, cry, or throw things.

After all, that was the old me.

Whenever Lana showed up, I lost my mind like a firecracker with a lit fuse.

Mark had gotten used to watching me fall apart.

He would console me with a gift, and I always forgave him.

I couldn’t remember how many times I fought with Mark after Lana returned to the country. Each time we had a cold war, I was the one who swallowed my pride and apologized.

In this relationship, I never stood a chance.

As I walked toward the entrance, I heard Lana’s playful voice behind me.

“Mark, Rosie’s upset. Shouldn’t you go after her?”

However, Mark just chuckled dismissively and gently rubbed her waist.

“It’s fine. She always listens to me. I’ll smooth things over later.”