"Ms. Williams, your resignation has been approved." The HR manager's voice came through the phone. "But... Mr. Richardson doesn’t seem to have noticed it was you. Should I remind him?" Sophia Williams traced the edge of her desk with her fingertips, her voice steady. "No need." "But you’ve been his secretary for four years. He relies on you the most—" "No one is irreplaceable," Sophia interrupted. "My parents are getting older. They want me to return home and settle down. Since the process is complete, I’ll handle the handover." After hanging up, she began packing her personal belongings from the office. Her movements were slow, as if bidding farewell to her past self. Three years ago, when she first stepped into this villa, she was just a fresh graduate. Now, leaving with nothing more than a small suitcase. Eight summers ago, Sophia, a small-town girl, got into Harvard. There, she met the girl who would change her life—Emma Richardson. Emma was the heiress of the Northridge elite, yet she unexpectedly became best friends with this girl from a humble background. They were inseparable, and through Emma, Sophia entered her world—meeting her family. Including her perpetually cold-faced older brother, Ethan Richardson. After graduation, Emma went abroad for further studies. Sophia stayed in Capital City and became Ethan’s secretary. She thought this unrequited love would remain buried forever. Until that rainy night when Ethan was drugged. She had meant to call an ambulance, but he pinned her against the wall. His kiss carried the heat of alcohol and intoxication, scorching as if to melt her. When she woke the next morning, Ethan was already dressed, smoking by the window. Seeing her awake, he asked bluntly, "You like me?" Sophia instinctively wanted to deny it. "You blush every time you see me," he exhaled smoke. "You remember all my habits, even how many sugars I take in my coffee." "You turned down better offers after graduation just to be my secretary." He stubbed out his cigarette. "Sophia, don’t tell me these are all coincidences." She flushed, speechless. Ethan handed her a black card. "Last night was a mistake. I’m in love with someone else. I won’t take responsibility." Only then did Sophia remember—last night, he had whispered another name in her ear. Isabella Thompson. The woman Emma had once mentioned—Ethan’s unforgettable first love. Even as rumors swirled about her overseas, he stubbornly waited for her return. "I don’t want money," Sophia mustered her courage. "Just give me a chance. If she comes back, or if you still can’t let her go, I’ll leave on my own." Ethan studied her for a long moment before saying, "Suit yourself." And so, by day, she was his secretary. By night, his lover. For four years, they left traces of themselves in every corner of the office, his car, the villa. Until his birthday last week. Sophia prepared a candlelit dinner, waiting until midnight—only to see his social media post: "The best birthday gift is getting back what was lost." The photo showed him kissing Isabella under fireworks. Her hands trembled as she called him. Isabella answered. "Ethan, someone named Sophia is calling," Isabella’s sugary voice came through. "Why isn’t she saying anything?" "Don’t mind her," Ethan’s voice was distant. "She’s irrelevant." In that moment, Sophia knew the dream was over. As she packed her bags to leave the villa, she ran into Ethan returning home. "Found a place?" He eyed her suitcase. "Yes. The old apartment," she said softly. "Just for a month." Ethan frowned but didn’t press. "I’ll drive you." "No need—" "The snow’s too heavy," he cut her off. "If something happens to you, Emma will be upset." The car’s interior had changed completely. Pink seat covers, cartoon plushies, snack wrappers—nothing like Ethan’s usual style. "Isabella likes these," he explained. Sophia nodded. "Congratulations. You finally got her back." Midway, Isabella called, wanting to build a snowman. Ethan pulled over, hesitating as he glanced at Sophia. "I’ll take a cab," she offered. As she stepped out, her suitcase tipped. Its contents spilled—a diary filled with his name, stolen photos, a tie clip he’d once discarded. Ethan froze. Sophia scrambled to gather them. "Sorry." He said nothing, turning back to the car and speeding away. Sophia waited in the snow for a cab that never came. Carrying her suitcase, she began walking home—only to be hit by an electric scooter. A long gash split her calf, blood staining the snow. The rider fled. Limping, it took her four hours to get home. As she tended to her wound, her phone buzzed. A message from Ethan: "Don’t cling to a lost cause." Sophia stared at the screen for a long time. At dawn, she burned the suitcase in her courtyard. Eight years of love turned to ash in the flames. Ethan Richardson, as you wish.