Chapter 11

The bar’s lights were dim and hazy, jazz music lazily flowing through the air.

Damon Thorne leaned back in the leather booth, long fingers clutching a whiskey glass. The ice had long melted, leaving the liquor diluted and tasteless.

Scarlett Hayes leaned against his shoulder, her red lips close to his ear, her warm breath caressing him.

“Damon, my place tonight?”

He absently hummed in response, his eyes fixed on his phone screen.

No new messages.

Normally, by now, my messages would be exploding.

I would send photos of stray cats I met on the street, snap pictures of the new flower shop below the company building, complain that the cafeteria food was too salty, ask him what he wanted for dinner…

Trivial, boring, yet they filled his life completely.

When did my messages start to decrease?

Damon frowned, his fingers unconsciously tapping open our chat window.

The last message was from three days ago, a file I’d sent, with a formal note:

[Mr. Thorne, please review.]

Scrolling further up, I found my last private message before I resigned:

[Mr. Thorne, rest assured, I will never like you again.]

His chest suddenly tightened.

“Damon?” Scarlett pinched his arm, annoyed.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Damon snapped back to attention, giving a perfunctory smile.

“What did you say?”

Scarlett playfully glared at him.

“I said, it’s been a while since we…”

Before she could finish, Damon’s phone suddenly vibrated.

It was his assistant calling.

He answered almost immediately. “Speak.”

“Mr. Thorne!”

The assistant’s voice was urgent.

“Ms. Hayes cancelled her apartment lease, left the keys with the property manager, and moved out all her luggage!”

Damon abruptly stood up, knocking over his glass.

The amber liquid splashed onto Scarlett’s dress.

She shrieked, but he seemed not to hear, clutching his phone as he coldly ordered, “Find out where she went.”

“We’ve already checked,”

the assistant said cautiously.

“Ms. Hayes bought a train ticket back to her hometown, but… she got off midway. Her whereabouts are unknown now.”

Damon’s temples throbbed.

She was actually avoiding him.

This realization made his heart feel like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand.

A tidal wave of bitter emotions surged through him.

The feelings he had suppressed deep in his heart, now erupted like a seed breaking through the soil.

She had never been out of touch. Even if he called her at three in the morning to deliver documents, she would instantly reply,

“Okay, Mr. Thorne.”

But now, she had evaporated into thin air, leaving no trace.

“Keep looking.”

His voice was low.

“Turn the country upside down if you have to, but find her.”

Hanging up the phone, Scarlett could no longer maintain her gentle, delicate demeanor. Her face turned green with anger as she asked in disbelief:

“Damon! You’re abandoning me for an insignificant secretary?!”

Only then did Damon notice the wine stain on her dress.

He rubbed his temples, pulled out a few banknotes, and tossed them on the table. “Call a car for yourself and go home.”

“What do you mean?” Scarlett grabbed his wrist, her nails almost digging into his skin.

“Didn’t you say you’d spend the night with me? I’m just a substitute. She left, so she left. You still have to go…”

“Enough.” Damon cut her off coldly.

Scarlett froze.

He impatiently pulled his hand away.

Damon, who had always doted on her unconditionally, now had an expression of annoyance and coldness she had never seen before.

“I’m a bit tired. I don’t have the energy to argue. Let’s cool off for a while.”

Stepping out of the bar, the cool autumn night wind hit him.

Damon stood under the neon lights and suddenly remembered the last time I came to the villa to pick up my things.

She was quietly tidying the documents on her desk, her back as fragile as a piece of paper.

He was in his study on the second floor, watching her through the glass, thinking she would always come back.

After all these years, no matter how much he neglected or humiliated her, she would always adjust her mood and silently return to his side.

But now, she had truly left.

Damon pulled out a pack of cigarettes, his fingers trembling slightly.

Such a simple action, lighting a cigarette, yet it took him three tries.

The choking nicotine churned within him, but it couldn't suppress the inexplicable anxiety.

He opened his phone gallery and unconsciously scrolled to a hidden album.

There was a photo of me sleeping.

He had taken it one night when he was drunk.

I was curled up in his arms, tears still clinging to my eyelashes, but my lips were slightly upturned, as if I was dreaming of something good.

He had never told me that he wasn't fully drunk that night.

When Scarlett chased him out, she saw Damon staring blankly at his phone.

She stumbled over, snatched the phone, and then froze, struck by lightning, when she saw the screen.

“...You have her photos?”

Damon’s eyes darkened, and his impatience grew stronger.

“Give it back.”

“Damon Thorne!” Scarlett’s voice was sharp.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?!”

Passersby on the street turned to stare.

Damon snatched his phone back, his voice icy.

“Stop being crazy.”

“I’m crazy?”

Scarlett laughed hysterically.

“What about you? You stare at her photos, track her movements, and now you’re abandoning me for her. Who’s really crazy?!”

Damon silently opened the car door.

Scarlett clung to his suit, refusing to let go. “Answer me!”

“Nothing to answer,”

he said, prying her fingers off one by one.

“She followed me for so many years. Even a dog I’ve kept this long would get some affection.”

Scarlett stumbled backward, her makeup smudged by tears. “You’ll regret this…”

The black Maybach sped away.

In the rearview mirror, Scarlett’s figure grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing into the night.

Damon rolled down the window, letting the cold wind rush in, but his thoughts grew increasingly chaotic.

His assistant sent a few more messages:

[Mr. Thorne, we found that Ms. Hayes contacted a cultural company in a neighboring city, but they refused to disclose whether they hired her.]

He replied: [Acquire that company.]

The moment the screen went dark, Damon suddenly remembered the day I knelt at the company entrance.

My knees were bleeding, yet my back was straight. I hadn’t shed a single tear.

At the time, he felt it didn't matter. Just a secretary, a punishment was a punishment.

But now, thinking of my pale, fragile appearance, he felt an unbearable tightness in his chest, as if he had lost something very important.

Damon floored the accelerator. The Maybach sped through the night, wanting to rush back to the villa as quickly as possible.

A last shred of hope lingered in his heart, that this was all just me throwing a tantrum.