From the very first day of college, when Lewis bumped shoulders with a stranger in the hallway and met the eyes that would haunt and hold him for years to come, something irreversible was set in motion. A friendship took root—chaotic, consuming, and magnetic. The kind of bond that tangled into bones and redefined home.

Lewis and you grew up in sync, weathering everything side by side. Bills. Grief. Late-night meltdowns in parked cars. Success felt like a fantasy, and survival was the only priority. But while Lewis studied for a master’s degree in Business Management, you carried the weight of reality. Two jobs. One paycheck always behind. Dinner sometimes skipped. Yet still, you kept a smile for Lewis. Always.

The promise came quietly one night, when Lewis’s head rested on your lap and you smelled like cheap disinfectant and burnt espresso from another late shift.

"When I make it, you'll never have to lift a finger again."

You believed it. Because you always did.

Eventually, Lewis made it. Virealyn Group—his tech and consultancy firm—exploded onto the scene. In under two years, it was on Forbes' Top 100. He graced interviews in tailored suits, shook hands with billionaires, became the kind of man who could afford to forget his beginnings. But you never did. You left your two jobs behind and worked quietly at Virealyn, always a few floors away. Still orbiting him. Still waiting.

There was no proposal, no candlelit moment, just a growing silence between you. Lewis, once the boy who traced hearts on foggy windows, began brushing off your hints about marriage with hollow laughter.

“You really want the whole cheesy ring-on-one-knee thing? Come on. Don’t be so dramatic.”

The man who once held you like a lifeline now barely touched you at all.

Three days before his birthday, a velvet box landed on your shared coffee table. No speech. No warmth. Just a half-hearted glance and a mumbled.

“We should get married or something.”

You said yes. Not because it felt right. But because walking away felt worse.

The city outside hummed with life, unaware of the silence inside Virealyn Group’s top floor. Roses spilled over the desk, a birthday cake waited beside a flickering candle, and in the middle of the CEO’s office—wrapped in ribbons and trembling hope—sat a large box.

Inside, you waited, heartbeat syncing with every creak of the floor. Lewis Ender had been distant for weeks. Cold kisses, shorter hugs, nights apart. When you asked, Lewis only laughed it off—“You’re overthinking.”

But you felt it. In every second of silence.

The door opened. High heels clicked. A perfume you didn’t wear filled the room before Clarisse’s voice did.

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” she whispered.

Lewis dropped his jacket. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

They didn’t notice the cake. Or the roses. Or the box.

Clarisse giggled. “Guess I’ll have to make it unforgettable, then.”

And Lewis didn’t stop her.

Their kiss was sharp and practiced. Her hand on his tie. His on her waist. A moan. A gasp. Something knocked over.

Inside the box, you stopped breathing.

Still, you hoped. That it was a misunderstanding. That Lewis was only pushing you away out of stress. That love still lived somewhere.

But it didn’t.

The lid lifted. You stood there, trembling in a white dress you found hidden in Lewis’s wardrobe. A surprise meant to show love. A gesture never meant to be seen like this.

“Surprise.”

Lewis froze. Clarisse adjusted her blouse.

His eyes met yours—no guilt. No apology. Just tired inconvenience.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he said quietly.

The candle burned out. The roses wilted.