A Cold New Year

After work, Kian didn’t drive to Isabel’s apartment immediately. Instead, he parked outside a mall.

"Come on," he said casually. "I’ll buy you a New Year’s gift."

He led me into a jewelry store.

It was not a luxury brand, just one of those chain jewelry stores you could find in any mall.

He browsed the display cases for a while before finally picking up a silver necklace with a tiny pendant attached.

"What do you think?" he asked, holding it against my neck. "It suits your skin tone."

The price tag caught my eye: $299.

I chose to remain silent and stared at Kian.

A few days ago, Isabel posted a photo of a solid gold bracelet on social media.

It was one of the latest designs. The bracelet weighed a full troy ounce.

The caption read: "A New Year's gift from the boss! Isn't love supposed to have some weight to it?"

Kian mistook my silence for disappointment. He laughed awkwardly. "Money’s a little tight lately, and gold prices are through the roof right now.

"I promise to get you something more substantial once my finances improve. This necklace might be modest, but it truly comes from the heart."

I accepted the necklace and gave him a smile. "It’s pretty. Thank you."

Kian visibly relaxed after paying for it, as though he’d finally completed some difficult obligation.

When we arrived at Isabel’s apartment, the moment I stepped inside, I noticed two pairs of matching couple slippers by the entrance. One was pink, and the other was blue.

Kian naturally slipped his feet into the blue pair. Only after changing shoes did he seem to realize I was watching him. He froze awkwardly and immediately tried pulling them back off. "Oh, wrong pair. I thought these were the guest ones."

"It’s fine," I said calmly. "They seem to fit you pretty well."

I didn’t bother changing shoes before walking farther inside.

Two sets of pajamas were tossed casually across the living room sofa. Just like the shoes, they were a matching set.

Kian had just started rushing over to clean them up when Isabel walked out from the kitchen carrying dishes.

"Oh, sorry about the mess, Lane," she said brightly. She placed the food on the table, smiling with the ease of a hostess welcoming guests into her home.

"I just bought this place recently. Luckily, I have Mr. Newman to thank for it. If he hadn’t arranged work for me and given me those generous annual bonuses, there’s no way I could’ve afforded a place in this neighborhood."

Generous bonuses?

I looked sharply toward Kian.

For years, his story had always been the same. Every holiday, he claimed the business was struggling and there was simply no money left for me.

Even when I’d been hospitalized, I covered every cent of my own medical expenses.

In truth, he funneled his money here. That was the so-called "bad investments".

Kian avoided my gaze entirely, lowering his head and focusing intently on his glass of water.

Throughout dinner, Isabel constantly piled food onto his plate. "You must try this, Mr. Newman. I know it's your favorite," she cooed, following up with, "I spent hours simmering this soup just for you. It's known to be excellent for a man's health."

The two of them exchanged glances openly across the table, acting as if I didn’t even exist.

After dinner, Isabel stood and began clearing the dishes. She carried a black garbage bag toward the door, but just as she passed me, she suddenly stumbled.

"Oh!" The trash bag slipped from her hand and burst open across the floor, its contents spilling out. There were used condoms, a pile of sex toys, and several pieces of lingerie that barely counted as clothing.

Immediately, the air froze.

Isabel covered her mouth dramatically and said, "Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to spill everything.

"Lane, don’t misunderstand. Th-Those belonged to my ex-boyfriend."

Kian’s face turned beet red.

He shot to his feet, trying desperately to cover the mess, only to realize there was no way to hide any of it.

Right then, my phone screen lit up, and a new message popped up.

It was from my boss, Sophia Larsen: "Lane, your transfer to overseas photography studio was approved. Have you booked your flight yet?"

Before I could grab my phone, Kian snatched it first.

The moment he read the message, his expression darkened instantly.

"Overseas transfer?"

He looked up sharply, staring at me. "Since when were you leaving the country? Why didn’t I know about this?"

I reached for my phone, but he gripped it tightly instead.

He demanded, "Lane, you'd better explain this."