After Choosing Her Secretary, She Regretted Losing Me

When I got into the car accident, Verity Walker, my girlfriend, passed by with her male secretary. She slowed down the moment she caught sight of me, bloodied and wrestling in pain, though rather than extending a hand, she leaned out the window and hurled a cutting remark my way.

“Don’t worry about him; he’s not going to die!” She jeered before speeding off, leaving me in a state of disbelief.

Later that evening, I huddled in the dim corner of my bedroom, a heavy sense of unease settling over me.

As my eyes drifted to the open closet, something caught my attention—among my hung clothes was a pair of men’s underwear that didn’t belong to me.

Without hesitation, I shut the closet door and picked up my phone.

“President Everett,” I uttered, calm and composed. “I’ve made my decision. I’ll be ready to leave the city next week and join your company.”

“That’s excellent news, Tyron,” he responded, satisfied. “We’re excited to have you on board.”

...

As I ended the call, the bathroom door creaked open, and Verity emerged. Her long hair hung damp around her shoulders. She had always been quick in the shower, thirty minutes tops, but recently, she spent at least two hours locked away with her phone.

“Who were you just talking to?” she asked, curious.

When she asked, her eyes stayed glued to her phone. I told her I had just spoken to President Everett.

“Oh,” was all she said, her voice distant, like she hadn’t processed a word. I didn’t push it; those days of trying to make her care were long behind me.

Instead, I quietly started drafting my resignation letter on my phone, fingers moving steadily across the screen.

Verity reached for her cup but paused when she realized the coffee I used to make for her every night wasn’t there. Her cold gaze finally shifted toward me.

“Tyron,” she began. “I took your CT report to an orthopedic specialist. He said your leg only has minor surface injuries. Just be careful not to get the wound wet.”

I barely looked up, still typing. “Okay, I’ll be careful,” I replied, my tone calm, indifferent.

During the afternoon, I found myself facing eight stitches in my calf from the accident. To complicate things further, three of my toes on the left foot had been amputated due to necrosis from blood loss.

The doctor sighed, shaking his head, wishing I had made it to the hospital sooner—my toes might have had a fighting chance.

Verity caught sight of my unusually cold demeanor and furrowed her brows. She was clearly on the brink of coming over to check on me. But just then, her phone buzzed, and her mood brightened in an instant. She sprang to her feet with energy and dashed into the study.

Seizing the moment, I opened Verity’s WhatsApp using a secondary account. My heart dropped as I stumbled upon a new update that was visible to everyone but me.

The post featured a tall, dashing young secretary with the caption, [Oh! It turned out to be me!].

The photo captured Verity and her secretary, Colton Turner, making heart signs together.

In an instant, I smirked and liked the post before the contract from President Everett came through. Without a moment’s hesitation, I signed it, sealing my decision.

The next morning, Verity surprisingly rose early to pick up food from a nearby restaurant. Just as I was about to unwrap the bag of seafood, she coldly slapped my hand away and remarked, “Don’t you like seafood? The shrimp are the ones I specially bought for you.”

I was taken aback, quickly realizing that the seafood she referred to was intended for Colton. Unable to contain my disbelief, I asked her, “After seven years of dating, don’t you know I’m allergic to shrimp?”

Verity's cheeks flushed as she stood up abruptly.

With a hint of sarcasm, she said, “Fine. It's my fault. A grown man really should stop being so picky and making a fuss over nothing,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Honestly, it’s your choice, eat or don’t eat. I couldn’t care less!”

As Verity turned to leave, I dashed into the room and pulled out a bag, presenting it to her.

“When you see Colton later, please return this to him?” I asked, my voice steady.

Her eyes widened in shock as she caught a glimpse of the men’s underwear inside. She opened her mouth, poised to explain, but when she met my indifferent gaze, she cleared her throat and replied, “Alright, I’ll have a word with Colton and ensure he’s more careful next time.”

Noticing my lack of enthusiasm, Verity awkwardly suggested that I could come to work with her today.

Despite our seven years together, where we had weathered countless storms, she had always been strict about keeping work and personal life separate—never once did we commute together.

Yet now, on Colton's first day at work, she was already bending the rules, providing him with transportation.