While the two of them were locked in that silent standoff, something finally clicked in my mind.
I understood how Orion had managed to find me.
The massive deal I'd closed—the one that had shaken the entire branch—Orion was the real client behind it. The ultimate decision-maker. He must have seen my name on the contract.
A deep wave of exhaustion surged up from the pit of my stomach, spreading through my limbs like lead. The huge sense of accomplishment I'd felt when I landed that deal—working late nights, fighting through language barriers, enduring cold stares and subtle discrimination—now felt like a slap across my face.
So that's how it was.
Honestly, integrating into work and life in a foreign country isn't easy. Every small victory is earned through quiet suffering. But people fall in love with themselves by overcoming challenges one after another. And besides that one deal, my other sales combined still made me the top performer in the department this month. I hadn't gotten here by clinging to anyone.
And yet—
I just couldn't understand.
Why did Orion always have to appear at moments like this, only to silently press my head down and force me to admit, 'Aurora, you can't survive without me.'
Before the confrontation could escalate into an outright fight, I turned my head toward Louis and gave him a small, reassuring look."Can you give us a moment?" I said softly. "I still have unfinished business to talk through with Mr. Durnavelle."
Louis hesitated. His eyes flicked between me and Orion, clearly unwilling to leave me alone with him. After a long second, he exhaled and nodded."Call me if there's any problem," he said quietly. "I'll be waiting by the car."
Once Louis left, the space around us seemed to close in. The warmth drained from the air, replaced by something cold and suffocating.
Orion immediately turned to me, urgency tightening his features. "That night," he said quickly, "Rhea kissed me too fast. I didn't even have time to dodge it. Just like how that guy leaned in toward you just now."
His voice softened, almost coaxing. "I know you've been mad long enough. And you've really gone too far this time. I'm sorry. But can you please come home with me now?"
I stared at him.
Even now—even after everything—he still thought this was just a tantrum.
The words piled up in my throat, tangled and sharp, then spilled out as a laugh. Absurd. Bitter."I don't care what's going on between you and Rhea anymore," I said. "And when I said we're breaking up, I meant it."
At this point, I didn't believe for a second that Orion had flown across countries because he loved me.
It was more likely that, as someone who had always been in control, he simply couldn't tolerate the fact that the person who'd always stood behind him had disappeared without permission.
Maybe my answer was something he'd never anticipated. His face went completely blank.
After all, in this relationship, I had always been the one to surrender first. To apologize first. To patch things up first.
He opened his mouth, as if struggling to find the right words. "Why?"
The question was almost funny.
I used to ask why too—over and over, hysterically, desperately.
But Orion had always said there was nothing that needed explaining.
Now, standing here, I finally understood how he must have felt back then.
When you don't care anymore, there's no need to explain.
"There's no why," I said calmly. My voice didn't shake. "It just doesn't matter anymore. I don't love you anymore. We broke up. That's all. It's a normal thing."
He studied me closely, as if trying to find a crack, a lie, anything familiar. "You're just still holding a grudge," he said at last, his eyes darkening. "You want to break up? Fine."
Then, slowly, with a confidence that have shaken me to my core, he said, "I'll chase you again."
I never knew he had this kind of relentless persistence in him.
Orion had always valued his dignity above everything else. Pride was stitched into his bones. He never lowered his head, never chased, never lingered where he wasn't wanted. If something slipped from his grasp, he'd simply tighten his jaw and let it go—at least, that was the man I thought I knew.
But now?
Just like this—he was a perfectly valid, perfectly respectable client, yet he insisted on working directly in our office, day after day, shoulder to shoulder with us. He deliberately, calmly inserted himself into my work, my schedule, my routines. Lunch breaks. Meetings. Casual hallway encounters that were anything but casual.
It was invasive. Subtle. Persistent.
I no longer believed he was doing all this because he loved me.
This wasn't love.
It was pride—raw, wounded pride—unable to accept that he was the one who'd been left behind. Unable to swallow the fact that, for once, he wasn't the chooser.
Then one afternoon, as I passed by the break room, I heard my name.
I slowed without meaning to.
Inside, my coworkers were gossiping openly, voices bright with excitement, as if my life were a TV drama airing live.
They talked about how lucky I was.About how ridiculous it was that two top-tier men were chasing after me at the same time.They were even placing bets—actual bets—on who I'd end up with.
Every single person bet on Louis.
For all kinds of reasons.
Because Louis had publicly called out a racist colleague in front of hundreds of people, without hesitation, without softening his words, just to defend me.
Because someone had seen Louis and me alone in the office overnight—me asleep at my desk, him quietly covering me with a blanket.
Because someone had seen Louis and me go to an English movie release together, sitting side by side, laughing naturally, comfortably, like something that made sense.
Their voices overlapped, excited, convinced.
The betting only stopped when a sharp, brittle sound cut through the room.
A cup shattered on the floor.
Like a magnet, everyone's attention snapped toward the other door of the break room.
Orion was standing there.
Glass shards glittered at his feet. Coffee soaked into the carpet. He didn't look down and didn't apologize.
Our eyes met across the room.
He just stood there, staring straight at me.
The man who had always been cold, composed, commanding—someone who could control boardrooms and bloodlines with a single look—now looked… lost.
For a fleeting second, I thought that might be it. That this would finally be the moment he'd understand and leave me alone.
I was wrong.
The very next day, he used his position as the client to force me into having dinner with him.
We sat across from each other in a quiet, high-end restaurant.
He gripped his wine glass, fingers whitening slightly around the stem. When he spoke, his voice was dry. Hoarse. Like it had scraped against something sharp on the way out.
"This past year," he said slowly, "I treated you badly, didn't I?"
His long lashes trembled faintly, like butterfly wings caught in a storm. "My bad," he continued, forcing the words out. "I didn't maintain proper boundaries with someone of the opposite sex."
He paused, then added quickly, as if afraid I might interrupt. "But I've already fired Rhea. I didn't cheat. You can't condemn me to death over these things."
Then, after another brief silence, his tone shifted—lighter, almost casual, but too deliberate to be natural. "Just like I know…" he hesitated, "…you and Louis don't have anything going on either, right?"
So it was true.
There really is no such thing as fully understanding another person's pain.
You can sympathize.
You can imagine.
But only when you're the one standing alone in a blizzard—when the wind cuts into your skin and your bones ache from the cold—do you truly understand how unbearable it is.
I watched his expression carefully. The tension in his jaw. The faint hope he couldn't hide.
For the first time, I felt satisfied.
But I didn't want to drag Louis into this mess.
So I didn't confirm anything.
I didn't deny anything either.
"It doesn't matter," I said calmly.
"Doesn't matter? Again with doesn't matter?!"
Orion's voice cut sharply through the restaurant, loud enough that several people nearby turned to stare. Cups paused mid-air. Conversations faltered. A hush rippled outward from our table.
He had always been composed from head to toe—so controlled it was almost frightening. I'd never once seen him lose himself like this. Now his breathing was uneven, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jump. His Adam's apple bobbed painfully as he swallowed, forcing himself to regain control, like a drowning man clinging to the last piece of driftwood.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the couple's ring I had left behind. It lay in his palm, small and dull under the lights. He held it up between us like a gambler pushing his final chip to the center of the table.
"You once said you'd trade this ring for a wedding ring," he said hoarsely. "That promise still stands. Let's go back and get married, okay?"
He knew better than anyone how much I had wanted to marry him.
All it had taken was a single sentence from him—The company doesn't allow office romances. It's not the right time to go public yet—and I had spent years as his secret, nameless girlfriend.
No introductions.
No acknowledgments.
No future anyone else could see.
Year after year of waiting.
Back then, when I was being targeted at work by the supervisor who later turned out to be a predator, I would come home burning with grievance, collapsing onto the couch beside him.
"When I finally become the boss's wife," I'd grumble bitterly, half-joking, half-desperate, "I'm going to shock everyone at the company—especially Ronald." Then my voice would soften, crack just a little. "Orion… year after year… when will the right time finally come?"
But now—
Now, hearing the "proposal" I had dreamed of for so long, my heart didn't stir at all. Not even a ripple.
I met his eager, almost pleading gaze and reached out. I took the ring from his hand. For a moment, his eyes lit up—hope flaring bright and fragile.
Then I spoke, calmly.
"On our six-year anniversary, I called you over and over. You didn't answer."
Orion's voice rushed out immediately, tripping over itself. "I was sleeping at the office those few days, then Rhea came to drop something off, but we didn't—"
His explanation cut off abruptly, like a beast whose throat had been seized mid-roar.
I cut him off.
"That night, I was almost raped by Ronald."
It was as if all the blood drained from Orion's body in an instant. His face turned deathly pale—so pale it was almost frightening. His lips parted, then closed, then parted again. He looked like someone gravely injured, struggling to breathe. No sound came out. Not a single word.
"Luckily," I added lightly, almost casually, "a passerby saved me."
I thought to myself—I'm more merciful than Orion ever was.
Back then, no matter how hysterical I became, no matter how desperately I begged for clarity, he never once gave me an explanation. He simply decided what mattered and what didn't—and I had to accept it.
But I was tired now.
I had my own life.
My own footing.
My own sense of worth.
I wasn't here to beg or accuse. I just wanted to make everything clear.
"Actually," I continued, my voice steady, "I really hated you that night. I hated how superior you were. How indifferent you were." I paused, then said softly, "But in the end, what I hated most was the weak version of myself who stayed by your side."
So this was what it felt like—to watch someone fall apart over you with just a few words.
But at this point, there were no survivors in love. Only mutual destruction.
I laid myself bare, as if taking a scalpel and cutting open my own chest, exposing my heart without anesthesia.
"The biggest obstacle between us was never Rhea," I said. "Being with you exhausted me. You made me feel like, without me, you could choose anyone at any time. I worked myself to the bone. I lived in constant anxiety. I was always afraid of losing you—until finally…"
I exhaled slowly.
"…I realized the validation I desperately needed shouldn't come from you. It should come from myself."
I looked at him, really looked at him.
"I used to think I couldn't live without you. But it turns out, without you, I'm actually doing better."
The moment my last word fell, Orion just stared at me. His expression was sorrowful, hollow, utterly desolate—as he watched me stand up, walk to the window, and open it without hesitation.
I let the ring slip from my fingers.
It disappeared into the night.
In the end, he didn't say a word.