But before I could leave, Yvette grabbed my arm, eyes full of wounded innocence.
“Eliza, do you look down on me for beating you out of the promotion? Is that why you’re refusing to come?” she asked softly. “Anyone else can skip it, but not you. I want your genuine blessing.”
I frowned and drew in a breath to respond.
But the same Sean, who had just agreed to let me go, suddenly spoke up on her behalf.
“Everyone else is going. It wouldn’t look good if you’re the only one skipping,” he said. “Don’t be so petty. As a senior, you should show some grace. Don’t let others laugh at you.” Then he also added, “You can get a massage any day.”
I froze, and bitterness rose in my throat.
I should have known long ago how cold he truly was, because whenever something, or someone, more convenient or more beneficial appeared, my feelings never mattered.
When I was twenty-three, in my second year living away from home, he promised to spend my birthday with me. I cooked and waited for him all night.
But when I finally called, I heard a girl crying beside him.
Yet, he didn’t apologize or explain. He only blamed me for caring too much about “just a birthday.”
Yvette’s mother had died giving birth to her. So, birthdays reminded her of that, making her sad.
So for the next five years, he never celebrated my birthday. He wouldn’t even let me celebrate it myself, either, not even on social media, because it might upset Yvette.
He always said it was all for appearances.
Yet when no one was watching, he still wasn’t willing to give me even the smallest bit of affection.
Now, seeing my supervisor subtly urging me with his eyes to let it go and not make trouble, I relented.
Fine. I would treat it like a farewell dinner.
At the restaurant, the two of them sat side by side. In her sleek business attire and his tailored suit, they looked perfect together.
Some people were simply out of reach, no matter how much you chased after them.
So when my colleagues joked about how good they looked together—“a perfect match, a natural pair”—I just smiled and nodded along.
“They do look good together,” I said. “Their age, looks, family backgrounds—everything fits.”
The moment the words left my mouth, both Sean and our VP, Henry Clarke, who’d been chatting with him earlier, froze.