Chapter 1

The night of the annual gala, the projector rig at the law firm suddenly came crashing down.

Everyone heard me call out, "Edward."

But Edward stepped right past me and shielded Lily Wynn, who was standing by the stage.

Shards of glass sliced the back of my hand, blood dripping down between my fingers.

Lily had only cried from fright.

Half an hour later, while admin was bandaging me up, my colleagues were whispering in the break room.

"Is Lily Mr. Grant's girlfriend? Did you see the way he looked at her? Well."

"Seriously, she's only been here six months and he's already giving her client resources."

"Then where does that leave Sophie? Hasn't she always been single?"

I looked down at the gauze on my hand and let out a small laugh. "Former colleague, I guess."

*****

Suddenly, the doorway fell silent.

Edward was standing there, still holding the hot milk he'd bought for Lily.

The air in the break room felt like someone had hit pause.

The intern who'd been talking the loudest went pale, clutching her paper cup so hard that water spilled out without her even noticing.

The admin was the first to react, quickly getting to her feet with a forced smile. "Mr. Grant, we were just chatting."

Edward didn't spare her a glance.

His gaze landed on my bandaged hand, then shifted to my face.

We locked eyes for a couple of seconds before I looked down and secured the last bit of tape.

The admin had wrapped it up in a rush, and a bit of the tape was sticking out, hurting whenever it touched the cut. I pulled my hand back and smoothed it down myself.

Edward finally spoke up, "Go to the hospital."

His voice was steady, without a hint of emotion. Just like earlier at the annual party. After helping Lily stay on her feet, he turned to tell the admin to call a car, calm the clients, and let the venue staff know.

Everything was handled with perfect order.

Even my bleeding was just another task for him to handle.

I picked up my phone from the table. "No need, the bleeding's stopped."

"There might be glass in the wound," Edward said.

"The admin already checked, there's nothing inside," I replied.

Edward's brow creased a little. "Sophie Ryan."

He almost never called me by my full name in front of others.

Whenever he did, I'd instinctively pull myself together and help him keep up appearances, making sure everything looked perfect.

But today, I didn't react.

Lily peeked out from behind him, her eyes still red, wrapped in Edward's suit jacket.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Sophie, you really should go to the hospital. I was so scared just now. Mr. Grant only pulled me first because I was the closest. Please don't misunderstand."

Her words were soft, but no one in the break room dared to respond.

I looked at the suit draped over her shoulders.

Black wool, with a barely visible stitch on the left cuff. I'd sewn that three years ago.

Back then, Edward had pulled an all-nighter on a merger case, and his cuff got snagged on a file cabinet. He just tossed his jacket over the back of his chair, saying he'd send it to the dry cleaners once he was done.

I thought he was being careless, so I sat on the little couch in his office, fixing the stitches one by one under the desk lamp.

At three in the morning, he looked up from his computer, his eyes bloodshot, but he still managed a smile.

He said, "From now on, everything at home is yours to handle."

I teased him, "And you? Who do you belong to?"

He rubbed his forehead and said, "I'm yours."

Now, that same jacket was draped over Lily's shoulders.

She clutched the collar, like she was holding onto a claim she had no right to make.

I looked away, keeping my tone neutral. "No misunderstanding."

Lily's grip on the collar tightened.

Edward walked in, set the hot milk on the table, and reached out to take a look at my injury.

I drew my hand back.

His hand hung in the air, a faint red mark on the back, probably from the projector stand when he shielded Lily.

I couldn't stand seeing him get hurt before.

If he got a hangnail, I'd fuss over him forever, making him use hand cream.

Now, I glanced at it, snapped the first-aid kit shut, and handed it back to the admin.

"Thanks for your help," I said.

The admin quickly waved her hand. "No worries, Ms. Ryan, really."

Edward slowly withdrew his hand.

He glanced at the people still hanging around. "Admin team, coordinate with the venue. I want the site photos, equipment contracts, and confirmation of responsibility on my desk by ten tomorrow morning."

Everyone answered at once and bolted out of the break room like they were fleeing the scene.

Lily tried to slip away too, but Edward stopped her.

"Go back to the hotel and get some rest," Edward said.

Lily's eyes welled up again. "But you..."

"Go back," Edward said.

His tone wasn't harsh, but it left no room for her to say anything else.

Lily bit her lip, took the jacket off her shoulders, and handed it back to him. "Don't stay up too late, okay? Your hand got scraped too."

Edward didn't take it.

Lily hesitated, then draped the jacket over the back of a chair and walked out with her head down.

The break room was empty except for Edward and me.

He closed the door and stood two steps away from me. "There were too many people earlier. I didn't see where you were."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Lily was standing right under the projector stand. That was a really dangerous spot," Edward said.

"Yeah," I replied.

"I'll make sure the venue takes responsibility for your injury," Edward said.

"Okay," I replied.

My answer was so smooth that Edward didn't say anything else.

He looked at me like he was waiting for me to lose my temper, to demand explanations, to call out all the ways Lily had overstepped these past six months.

I knew this routine all too well.

I'd confront him, and he'd just stay silent.

I'd end up with tears in my eyes, asking him for something definite, and he'd tell me I was overthinking the whole work relationship.

I put all the chat logs, client dinners, and late-night calls right in front of him, and he'd just rub his brow and tell me to chill out.

In the end, I was always the only one falling apart in the conference room.

Edward was always calm, always rational, always acting like the voice of reason, saying, "Sophie, don't mix your personal feelings with work."

But tonight, I couldn't go through the motions anymore.

I grabbed my phone and texted my location to the driver.

Edward asked, "What did you mean by that?"

"Which part?" I replied.

"Former colleague," Edward said.

I slipped my phone into my bag. "Exactly what I said."

His gaze darkened. "There was an accident at the annual party, and you got hurt. I get that you're upset right now. Let's leave the resignation talk for tomorrow."

I gave a soft laugh.

It was so quiet, even I found it unfamiliar.

"Edward, I wasn't handing in my resignation in the break room. Relax, I won't make things difficult for the team when it comes to the paperwork," I said.

He always hated when I called him that.

Seven years ago, when we first joined the firm, he was the youngest lead attorney in the M&A team, and I was the stubborn rookie in litigation who refused to back down, even after getting chewed out by the partners late into the night.

Everyone else called him Mr. Grant, but I insisted on calling him Edward.

After he made partner, everyone in the firm started calling him Edward in that formal, work-appropriate way.

Even then, I was the only one who still called him by his real name when it was just the two of us, late at night.

Edward's Adam's apple moved. "Sophie, don't do this."

"Do what?" I replied.

He didn't answer.

I picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and offered it to him. "Your jacket."

Edward looked down at it, but didn't reach for it.

I didn't insist.

After a few seconds, he finally reached out and took it.

As his fingers brushed against my wrist, I pulled back half a step without thinking.

He froze.

Out in the hallway, the cleanup from the annual party was still going on. The admin staff were rushing around, the client's driver waited downstairs, and the venue manager was smiling apologetically as he explained the aging equipment.

This firm never ran out of problems.

And Edward always had someone else he needed to prioritize.

As I walked out of the break room, he called after me, "Sophie."

I stopped, but didn't turn around.

He said, "Come to my office tomorrow morning. We need to talk."

I caught a glimpse of myself in the elevator doors. There was a dark red stain on the hem of my dress, my hand awkwardly bandaged, and my lipstick was half gone. I looked like a mess.

"I've got a pre-trial meeting tomorrow morning," I said.

"After that," Edward replied.

"I need to revise Evermark Inc.'s appeal brief this afternoon," I said.

Edward was quiet for a moment. "Then tonight."

I pressed the elevator button.

"Edward, I'll have my assistant keep you posted on my work schedule. As for my personal time, it's already booked for tomorrow," I said.

The elevator doors slid open, and the car was empty.

I stepped inside and pressed the button for the first floor.

Just before the doors closed, I caught a glimpse of Edward, still standing there.

The cup of hot milk was still sitting on the table, the steam slowly fading away.

By the time I got home, it was almost midnight.

I didn't bother with the living room lights. I just switched on the little lamp by the entryway.

I bought that lamp myself.

Edward was always working late, and I hated the thought of him coming back to a pitch-black house, so I always left a light on for him.

He always complained it was a waste of electricity.

But every time he came home, he'd pause in the entryway for a moment, dropping his keys into the little ceramic dish I'd bought.

Tonight, the dish was empty.

I slipped out of my dress, tossed the bloodstained one into the laundry basket, and unwrapped the bandage in front of the bathroom mirror.

The cut was a bit deeper than I'd thought.

When the water hit it, I winced, my fingers instinctively curling from the pain.

My phone buzzed twice.

Edward texted me: [Don't let water touch your wound.]

A few seconds later, another message came in. [I'll send the driver to pick you up for the hospital tomorrow.]

I stared at the screen for a moment, then typed back: [No need.]

Once the message was sent, I logged into the firm's internal portal.

The submission channel for the annual partner evaluation was still open.

My name sat at the very top of the candidate list, followed by my revenue, win rate, client reviews, and team management rating from the past three years.

I scrolled down, line by line, until the screen dimmed on its own.

I turned the screen back on and opened another file I'd saved in my drafts ages ago.

The file name was simple. [Draft Resignation Plan]

At that moment, the pain in my hand finally hit me.

I changed the date at the top of the document to today.