When Love Falls Into Sorrow

I was working a shift at the club, balancing a tray of drinks, when I spotted a guy who looked exactly like my boyfriend—Charles Jones.

The man was sprawled out on a couch, the center of attention among the city's elite, who were all trying to win his favor.

"Mr. Jones, I haven't seen you around in ages."

"Should I get some starlets to join us?"

The man did not respond; he just casually flicked a speck of red from his finger.

A bombshell in a tight dress leaned in close and murmured, "Mr. Jones, aren't I enough for you?"

In a flash, he grabbed her wrist, flipped the script, and pulled her into a fiery kiss.

Frozen in the corner, my mind went blank.

I kept repeating that the man could not be the same guy I met by chance on the street.

My Charles was all awkward kisses with soft gazes reserved just for me.

To prove it to myself, I snuck a text to Charles, who was supposed to be at a construction site.

Holding my phone with a racing heart, I watched as the man broke off the kiss and glanced at his phone.

The light from the screen cast a soft glow on his chiseled face.

A moment later, my phone buzzed.

[Summer, I'm hauling sandbags.]

[I'll score 30 dollars when I finish the job!]

Something inside me snapped, and I looked up, dialing his number without thinking.

The man in the club whispered for everyone to be quiet, and the room hushed.

He picked up the call, and that familiar, affectionate voice hit me.

"Summer?"

An icy wave washed over me.

I ended the call.

I had to face it—my Charles, the guy I thought was just a regular Joe, was the same Charles who commanded the room with his power and influence.

However, it made no sense to me.

Why did he choose to crash into my life on that torrential night?

Why did he disguise himself as a down-on-his-luck guy just to stay close to me?

In the heart of the couch, Charles's brow creased as he relentlessly dialed my number.

My hands shook as I repeatedly rejected his calls.

Out of nowhere, a slender hand reached out, daring to smooth the lines on Charles's forehead. "Mr. Jones, is something bothering you?"

Her words were cut short as he thrust her hand away, his face clouding as he snapped, "Leave!"

The sound of glasses crashing to the floor echoed through the room.

Confused glances were exchanged. No one could understand the sudden darkening of Charles's mood.

Someone, eager to please, ventured cautiously. "Charles, are you looking for someone? Can we be of service?"

He paused abruptly, swallowed his emotions, and regained his calm. "No need."

He grabbed a glass of red wine and gulped it down, restoring normalcy to the room.

I rejoined my colleagues, heads down, tidying the chaos scattered across the floor.

I had lied about pulling night shifts at the workshop to keep Charles from worrying. Every day, I had donned glasses, a wig, and a mask for work, changing back only after midnight to wait by the factory gates for his arrival.

However, at that moment, its ridiculousness struck me as comical.

I had lied about the workshop.

He had lied about the construction site.

The difference, though, was stark.

I was actually toiling away.

He was merely playing a part.

Then, those detached eyes on the sofa casually swept over and fixed on me.

I bore the weight of that piercing stare in silence.

My back was drenched in a cold sweat.

I longed to muster the courage to look up and demand answers.

However, a sliver of sense whispered for me to let it go. Why should I invite disgrace?

"You..."

Charles's eyes narrowed, about to address me, when the sudden glow of the screen interrupted him.

His previously dull gaze sparked to life as he stood and strode out with urgency. "Hey? Summer?"

I quietly ended the call I had sneakily pressed beneath the tray.