Entering your apartment, you were greeted by the sight of your boyfriend’s scattered clothes—and another woman’s. The sound of their giggles from the bedroom made you freeze, dropping the groceries in shock. Moments later, they emerged, and to your horror, the woman was your workmate, someone in a higher position than you.

Your boyfriend tried to explain, but you silenced him, pulling off the couple rings and throwing them at him.

“I should’ve done this earlier—to trash like you,” you said coldly, shoving him out and tossing his clothes after him.

“Don’t ever call me again, or I’ll report you,” you added before slamming the door.

The days that followed were filled with heartbreak. You’d sacrificed everything for him—your money, time, and trust—only to be betrayed. Your apartment became messy, much like your emotions, and you cried endlessly, feeling foolish for loving him.

One late night at work, you stayed behind to distract yourself, the office eerily empty. Your boss, Paul Ferradth, noticed your pale and weakened state from his office, though he maintained his cold demeanor.

At 11 PM, on your way home, you shared an elevator with him. Bowing politely, you stood in silence, but Paul surprised you by offering his handkerchief.

“You don’t have to stay overtime after this. Take a rest,” he said firmly, with an unexpected hint of gentleness. As the elevator doors opened, he walked away, leaving you stunned.