chapter 1

My Mom had a heart attack and needed money to save her life.

I plucked up all my courage to ask my boyfriend—worth hundreds of millions, my secret lover for ten years—to borrow money.

But before I even got a chance to open my mouth, he frowned coldly and shouted at me to get out of the meeting room.

"Get out! Do you think someone at your level is worthy of stepping into my meeting room?"

Right away, his capable female secretary asked me out of the meeting room to wait.

I waited for eight hours.

Until the hospital called with the news of Mom’s death.

It was as if my boyfriend had just remembered me. He told his female secretary to take me to his office.

"Go on, what did you come to see me about?"

A bleak, bitter laugh slipped from my lips. "Nothing. Just wanted to steal a minute of your time to end this."

"I just ended a ten-year relationship. Are you really sure you want to marry me?"

The man sitting across from me fell silent for a moment, then said earnestly, "Jane Clark, I’ve been waiting for you for ten years."

My heart tightened sharply. "Okay. Let’s get married in seven days."

Once we’d settled it, I picked up my bag and walked out of the café, heading for the high-speed rail station.

It was the third day since my mother had passed away.

In those three days, I’d cried my eyes out every day. Everyone around me knew my mom was dead.

Everyone except Sean Brown—my boyfriend of ten years.

Because our social circles never overlapped.

He’d never taken me to meet his friends, and he’d never deigned to meet mine.

Besides, Sean was worth hundreds of millions; every minute of his time was valued in the tens of thousands.

So he’d never bother to stoop to check my social media.

He didn’t just not know my mom was dead—he didn’t even know she’d died because we couldn’t afford her surgery fees.

So when Mom’s ashes were buried in the ground, I decided to end things with Sean for good and marry another man.

A cold rain began to fall from the sky, and just then, my phone rang.

It was a Twitter message from Ella Turner, Sean’s secretary.

"Miss Clark, Mr. Brown will be on a business trip tomorrow. Please prepare two pairs of leather shoes and three suits for him."

Staring at Ella’s bossy message.

Even though I’d long since made up my mind to break up with Sean, a sharp ache still welled up in my chest.

During the ten years I’d been with Sean, Ella had been a constant presence in almost half of our relationship.

Even when I sent Sean a Twitter message being coquettish, the one who replied would be Ella.

"Sorry, Miss Clark, Mr. Brown is in a meeting. I’ll pass your message along."

Even the daily things in my life with Sean—buying condoms, groceries, clothes, daily outfits—almost everything was handled by Ella.

I hated it. I’d argued with Sean about it countless times.

But Sean would just look at me calmly every time. "Jane, you have neither taste nor judgment. I’m having Ella, who’s more capable, take care of these things for you. What are you complaining about?"

Before, his words would leave me speechless.

But then, I’d accepted it.

It was true—how could a graduate from an ordinary domestic university like me compare to Ella, a graduate student from a prestigious foreign university?

She’d seen the world. She could handle clients outside the company and manage Sean’s daily life smoothly at home.

Unlike me, who’d worked at Sean’s company for ten years and was still just an insignificant employee in the operations department.

But just then, a sneer curled my lips. If Sean valued Ella so much, then I’d just give him to her.

I immediately replied to Ella, "Miss Turner, I don’t have time to prepare clothes for Sean. If you don’t mind, you can go to his place and prepare them for your Mr. Brown yourself."