Chapter 3

A week ago, after we'd finished making love, Jefferson got up for his usual shower. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and finally asked, "Jefferson, what are we, really?"

He paused for a second, not even turning around. "It's whatever you want it to be."

I scrolled through my phone and shoved it in his face. Those influencers and socialites kept sending me flirty pics, all trying to stir up trouble.

"Can you tone it down a little?" I said.

He didn't even look at the phone and just called out over his shoulder. "Good girl. Don't overthink it. We're just using each other, that's all."

My eyes burned, my heart aching and bitter. "I never thought of us as just using each other."

After I said that, everything went blurry. I reached up and realized my face was wet with tears.

He looked at me, his face unreadable. "You knew exactly who I was from the start. I was just someone you slept with. If you can't handle that, you can walk away."

Of course I knew.

I knew he was the heir to the Whitfield Group. I knew his family might set him up with Brisa from the Trevino family, and I knew he was never going to be mine alone.

I always thought I was the logical one, but my heart still twisted with pain.

I found out Brisa was coming back during Monday's project meeting.

In the conference room, the investment director was sharing the second quarter plan when he casually mentioned, "The Trevino family is throwing a welcome party tomorrow. Our department got an invitation. Anyone interested?"

Someone chimed in, "The Trevino family? Is it Brisa who just got back from overseas?"

"Yeah, she just finished studying abroad and is now a new partner at Whitfield Group. Rumor has it Mr. Whitfield personally recruited her."

"Didn't the Trevino and Whitfield families have an engagement all along? This isn't just about hiring. She's basically set to be the future Mrs. Whitfield, right?"

Everyone just grinned, like they all knew what was up.

I sat in the corner, head down, scribbling notes. My pen hovered for a moment, and then I kept going.

After the meeting, my lunch buddy slid over and whispered, "Shannon, you're always close to Mr. Whitfield. Got any inside scoop?"

"Nope," I replied.

He shot me a skeptical look. "Come on, you're basically Mr. Whitfield's protégé. You gotta know something."

I closed my notebook, keeping my tone even. "I really don't."

As I was about to leave for the day, I got a message from Jefferson. [Let's have dinner tonight.]

I stared at the chat window for a while, then replied: [Let's break up. We're not right for each other.]

To my surprise, as soon as I stepped out of the office, Jefferson was waiting for me in his car.

We always kept things strictly professional in public, so nobody would ever suspect we had anything else going on.

Not wanting to stir up any trouble, I played it smart and got in.

When we got to the restaurant, Jefferson sat by the window, shrugged off his suit jacket, and the waiter handed him a menu.

He flipped through it and asked offhandedly, "Did you have the project meeting today?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"Any problems?" he asked.

"Nope, all good," I said.

He sounded a little annoyed. "Did you really mean it when you said you wanted to break up this weekend?"

"Yes," I replied.

He didn't press any further, just ordered a bunch of dishes—every single one I liked.

After three years, he still knew my tastes by heart.

Or maybe he just kept track of what all his 'useful' people liked.

When the food arrived, he scooped some eggplant onto my plate and said, "Brisa's coming back tomorrow. The company's hosting a welcome dinner. You should come."

My fork paused mid-air. "Is it really fine for me to go?"

"What's so weird about it? You're the ops manager, and she's a partner. You two have to work together, so meeting her is totally normal," he said.

"Okay," I replied.

He shot me a look, like he wanted to say more, but finally just said, "Go home and think it over. I can act like you never mentioned breaking up."

I kept my head down, eating in silence.

He probably thought I was just upset, but I didn't bother to explain.

Jefferson was always decisive and meticulous, but he was also unapologetically self-assured.

I didn't want to jeopardize my upcoming interview, so it was smarter not to start anything with him.

If we hadn't broken up, I'd probably still be silently wondering about all the rumors between him and Brisa. But now, it was crystal clear that I was just another tool at his disposal.

The next day at work, my lunch buddy slid over again. "Shannon, did you hear? For Brisa's welcome party, Mr. Whitfield is actually going to pick her up from the airport himself."

I kept my eyes on the computer screen. "Nope, didn't hear that."

She said, "For real! My friend in admin said Mr. Whitfield even had a brand new car set up just for her."

I just hummed and kept editing my slides, but my mind was somewhere else.

Jefferson had never picked me up. Not even once.

Even if I landed late at night, all he'd do was send his driver and text me: [Arrived]

Just one word—no punctuation, nothing.

I knew I shouldn't compare myself to her, but in that moment, I couldn't help feeling that pang of disappointment.

The welcome party that night was held at a hotel owned by the Whitfield Group.

The lobby was dazzling with lights, full of glitz and glamour.