Ten Years Wasted on Trash

I snatched the cigarette from Jared Sheppard's mouth and took a deep drag. This was a move we'd repeated countless times over the past ten years.

The mess stretched from the kitchen all the way to the bed. I often called Jared a wolf in sheep's clothing. He looked like a gentleman on the surface, but was absolutely feral when he was in bed.

I slowly blew out a ring of smoke and handed the remaining half of the cigarette back to him, but he refused it.

"Gabrielle, I'm done fooling around. I'm getting engaged tomorrow."

I flipped over and straddled him, the smile at the corner of my mouth impossible to suppress.

"Ten years, and you're finally ready to propose to me? Do it now. No need to make it so formal. I'll say yes—"

"It's not with you. She's not like you."

Our voices rang out at the same time.

Silence fell between us.

Jared picked up his phone and held it out in front of me. On the screen was a young woman smiling boldly and freely. She was dressed in clothes with no identifiable brands, yet one look told you that they cost a fortune.

"Rachel Speight," he said. "She's the daughter of one of our business partners. She's pretty, right? She's not like you. She doesn't need anything. She can just have fun with me without any concern or worries.

"She comes from a good family, and she's very innocent and pure. For my sake, she fought with her family for a long time. I have to give her a proper title."

He pulled the phone back and carefully caressed the screen. It was clear that he cherished this woman—so much so that he couldn't even bear to let me look at her for one extra second.

Pain stabbed through my chest.

This Rachel really was different from me.

I was calm, brooding, and always thinking three steps ahead. Every glance I took carried an agenda. And because of that, I'd helped Jared build his company from nothing to an empire worth one billion dollars.

Meanwhile, Rachel was bright and carefree. She was the type who never planned her next move.

Yet, I'd been the one who stayed by Jared's side for a full ten years. From the time he had nothing, I'd slept with him, drank with him, negotiated deals with him, risked my life with him, endured hardships with him, and schemed with him. I did more with him than a paid escort ever would.

I always thought he'd marry me. But now, he was telling me he'd just been fooling around.

My fingers that were pressed against his chest slowly tightened. All the composure I'd honed over the years finally shattered in front of him.

"Then what about me, Jared?"

He didn't say a word, merely grabbing my slender waist. I didn't say anything either and just wrapped my hands around his neck.

I kept tightening my grip, and his face went from fair to flushed. His cool, clear eyes narrowed slightly, tinged with a rare trace of desire.

This was the first time in years that I'd refused him.

He didn't seem bothered at all. Instead, he smiled lazily, a trace of mocking in his gaze. "Gabrielle Armstrong, don't tell me you've fallen in love with me? You know I hate trouble. I'll compensate you. Don't make a fuss.

"Be good. This is your last chance to call me Jared. If you don't, starting tomorrow, you can only call me Mr. Sheppard."

He brushed my earlobe, certain that I wouldn't actually hurt him.

When I stayed silent, he ruffled my hair, pulled up his pants, straightened his watch, and once again became the image of the perfect gentleman.

It was as if the entire room held nothing else but this mess—and me.

"Pack up your things. Leave the key in the flowerpot by the door. You don't need to come here anymore, Ms. Armstrong."

His voice was cold, and he left just as decisively. The sound of the door closing was heavier than usual.

I turned on my phone. On the screen was a photo of Jared and me together.

No long dresses, no jewelry.

Both of us were in suits, with perfectly measured smiles on our faces and gold-rimmed glasses on our noses. It looked like the "Employee of the Month" photos that hung in office hallways.

Jared was right. We really were very similar.

The last time I wore a dress was ten years ago. In these ten years, I seemed to have slowly turned into his shadow.

I looked around the room and suddenly felt tired of the suffocating darkness. With a sharp whoosh, I yanked the curtains open.

The glow of the sunset poured in.

I raised my hand. My skin, so pale it was almost translucent under the sun, looked as if it belonged to a vampire.

Leaning against the window, I lit another cigarette. Through the wisps of smoke, I seemed to see myself from ten years ago.

Back then, I wore dresses and was covered in glittering jewelry, shining brighter than the sun. I looked every bit the carefree little delinquent. Meanwhile, Jared was a critically ill patient, teetering on the edge of life and death.

We ate together and worked part-time jobs together.

In the hospital room that reeked of antiseptic, we ended up dating under the most absurd circumstances.

He complained about how noisy I was, yet before his final surgery, he stuffed his last ten dollars into my hand. The calm, always-controlled man held me and cried in an utterly miserable way.

"Gabrielle, if I make it off that operating table, I'll confess to you. And for the rest of my life, I'll love only you."

That day, he didn't wait for my answer before heading into the operating room.

I stood outside, laughing and crying at the same time. I never imagined that someone as strong and unyielding as him could also feel fear.

Later, when he came out of surgery, he used the first paycheck he ever earned to buy a diamond ring and confessed his love to me.

We cradled that ring while our stomachs growled with hunger.

Back then, that love was like a stubborn seed, taking root and sprouting amid starvation, carrying the scent of dirt and grit.

With unshakable certainty, he told me countless times, "Gabrielle, once I succeed and make it big, the first thing I'll do is marry you."

Now, his company was about to go public. He had succeeded.

But he was going to marry another woman.