Chapter 1

At the company's jewelry launch event, my boyfriend Quinn—the CEO—had planned to propose to me in front of everyone after seven years of secret dating.

But when he pulled out the engagement ring, his assistant Jenna suddenly stepped onto the stage, smiling sweetly as she leaned into his shoulder:

"Proposing already? Aren't you spoiling me a little too much?"

The audience erupted in cheers, commenting on what a perfect couple they made.

Quinn didn't deny it. Instead, he slid the ring onto Jenna's finger and even claimed credit for my new jewelry collection, saying it was all Jenna's work.

I didn't cry or cause a scene. I simply took off my "Chief Designer" nameplate and set it in front of Jenna.

"Consider this position my wedding gift to you two."

What Quinn didn't realize was that I held all the patents, and clients only trusted my name.

He had just thrown away his only shot at turning the company around—with his own hands.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as I handed Jenna my nameplate.

After all, I'd poured my heart and soul into this collection for years—collapsing from low blood sugar in the design studio more than once.

But soon the room erupted in applause. Colleagues praised my "graciousness," calling me a true professional for stepping aside after all these years with Quinn.

Only Quinn stood frozen on stage, his expression unreadable as he stared at me with lips pressed tight.

Watching his awkward reaction, I almost laughed.

Quinn had always insisted he didn't want his personal life in the spotlight, so we kept our relationship under wraps for seven years. I'd begged to go public countless times, but he'd always refused. When I finally got him to agree to this proposal, Jenna had to crash the moment.

Now, whether he still planned to propose or not didn't matter—I wanted nothing to do with it.

"Well, if there's nothing else, I'll head out. Enjoy the rest of your evening, everyone."

Without waiting for Quinn's response, I walked straight out of the banquet hall.

The launch was a hit because my designs had generated massive buzz—high-end clients were already lining up to place orders.

I held the patents for the collection's core designs, and every late night I'd pulled at the office had led to this moment.

But after this betrayal? There was no way I was sticking around to clean up his mess.

Before I knew it, I was in the elevator heading down to the parking garage.

I slid into my car, and there on the passenger seat sat a huge bouquet of red roses.

Today was supposed to be our day. I'd bought the roses and even made dinner reservations, I was so excited.

What a joke. After all that anticipation, he chose to play hero for Jenna instead.

My expression hardened. I was about to start the car when Jenna suddenly appeared in my headlights.

She twirled my nameplate between her fingers, a triumphant glint in her eyes, and simpered:

"You know, Harper? Quinn was gonna propose to you today. But all it took was one little conversation to change his mind."

"Don't tell me that hurt your feelings?"

She raised an eyebrow, her face twisted with malice.

Her smug little grin almost made me laugh out loud.

Back in the day, her little digs used to get under my skin—making Quinn think I was the unreasonable one, sparking fights that went nowhere.

But now? I couldn't care less about her games.

Sure enough, the click of dress shoes echoed across the concrete.

Jenna's expression did a complete 180. Clutching my nameplate, she started pounding on my car window:

"Harper, please don't be upset! Quinn didn't give me your job because he favors me—I begged to learn from you! If it bothers you that much, I'll step down right now."

"A position like Chief Designer needs someone with your experience! I could never fill your shoes!"

Her voice quivered like I'd just yelled at her, carefully pushing the nameplate toward me.

Quinn picked up speed, flinging his suit jacket onto my windshield.

Thud.

He barked:

Harper! When someone's talking to you, you roll down the window! You could've hit her! Have you lost all your manners?"

I couldn't help but snort.

I rolled down the window, ready to tell them both the job was all hers.

But Jenna—thinking I was about to take back the nameplate—panicked. Her fingers fumbled with the ribbon, yanking it away.

Next thing I knew, she doubled over, clutching her stomach, face white as a sheet, muttering something about her period cramps.

What a performance. And of course, he fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Quinn forgot all about yelling at me. He rushed to prop Jenna up, digging a heating pad out of her purse like it was a lifeline.

He turned to me, flustered and frantic:

"Harper, are you just going to sit there? Drive us to a hotel so Jenna can lie down!"

I rolled my eyes and tried to pull away.

But Quinn planted himself in front of my car, jaw set—like he'd rather get run over than let me leave.

Unbelievable.

I'd curled up in the office bathroom with cramps before, and Quinn didn't spare a second glance—just told me to "tough it out."

Now Jenna fakes a stomachache, and Mr. Cool-as-a-Cucumber CEO turns into a panic-stricken mess—like his own safety doesn't even matter.

I sighed and drove them to the nearest hotel—reluctantly.

In the hotel room, Jenna claimed she felt better, and Quinn let out this huge sigh of relief—like she'd just survived a heart attack.

I couldn't watch their little show anymore. I turned to go.

But Quinn chased me into the hallway, grabbing my arm.

I tensed up, ready for another lecture about "being nice to Jenna."

Instead, he hung the nameplate around my neck and even smoothed out my dress like nothing had happened.

He softened his voice:

"Harper, you know Jenna—she's always joking around. We'll do the proposal another time, okay? Just be patient."

"That Chief Designer title isn't something to throw around. Don't be dramatic. I'll let this little outburst slide."

I hummed noncommittally.

Quinn studied me for a long minute, then reluctantly held out a crumpled box—like he was doing me a favor.

"Look, Harper. I saw those flowers in your car. They're nice. Why don't you put them in a vase when you get home? Actually... I got you something too."

Classic Quinn move—hurt me, then try to buy me off with a trinket.

The box looked familiar. I remembered Jenna posting about something similar on Instagram half a month ago.

She'd "accidentally" ruined a scarf he gave her, crying about it online like it was the end of the world.

Quinn commented that he'd replace it right away.

I took the box and flipped it open.

Inside was a cheap scarf—fuzzy pills already forming on the edges. The price tag was still stuck to it.

He splurged on designer scarves for Jenna, but I got stuck with this dollar-store garbage.

I didn't even bother calling him out. I just said:

"Got it. I'm leaving now."

As I rounded the hallway corner, I spotted a trash can and dropped the box in without a second thought.

Then I pulled out my phone and called the luxury brand that had been courting me:

"I'll take the job."