After the Breakup, I Married the Richest Man in the City

The content was: [Sharon, do you need help packing your things?]

Susanna seemed overly eager.

Clearly, Conrad knew nothing about this and intended to keep treating me like a fool.

"It's nothing. I've got to go now," I said, hanging up the call.

...

I returned to the hotel, quickly showered, and rushed to meet with a client. After the meeting concluded and contracts were signed, I thought everything was settled. However, the client was in high spirits and insisted on celebrating with drinks.

Although I have a mild allergy to alcohol, I didn't decline the invitation.

I drank until I was hunched over a toilet, vomiting uncontrollably.

It was already four o'clock in the morning.

My assistant saw the client off, and after taking a sobering pill and getting some fresh air, I felt relatively sober.

I hailed a cab and got in.

My assistant's loud calls from outside were muffled by the car windows and the cold wind.

At four o'clock in the morning, the sky was starting to lighten. The dark horizon was pierced by golden streaks.

It reminded me of Conrad's awkward and earnest confession when he first asked me to be his girlfriend.

He had nervously held my hand, looking dazed as he asked, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

Back then, he was a proud, spirited young man. Despite the lectures from teachers and parents, he insisted on holding my hand and running freely across the school grounds.

I remembered... Conrad was waiting in line to buy me a Pretzel, his ears turning red from the cold, but he kept it warm in his jacket to ensure it wouldn't get cold for me.

He said, "I can't let it catch a bit of cold, not for my dear Sharon."

I thought those moments would last forever...

When the driver informed me we had arrived, I was still lost in my memories, tears streaming down my face.

I thanked him, opened the door, and got out, only to trip over the steps.

I felt a sharp pain in my knee, sure that I had scraped it badly.

The pain was so intense it felt like my bones might have fractured.

Turned out I was not sober.

That was the day when I first met Hugh Mackintosh.

A pair of polished men's shoes appeared before me, and a deep, pleasant voice sounded above me. "Can you stand up?"

I looked up at the sound.

He was tall, bathed in the first light of dawn, with a halo of silver radiance surrounding him like a deity descending to earth.

I was entranced, forgetting my disheveled state as I sat on the ground.

He crouched down, and only then did I realize this was the man from the plane, the one whose pristine suit I had ruined. His entire demeanor radiated nobility.

"What a coincidence, meeting again," I murmured, not sure if he heard me.

"You've been drinking?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. "And quite a lot, it seems."

Before I could respond, I suddenly felt myself being lifted.

Looking up, I found our faces were now only inches apart.

He cradled me in his arms, and to steady myself, I had to wrap my arms around his neck.

His features were striking—high-bridged nose, sharp jawline...

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the alcohol, but I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting downward, oblivious to how intrusive it was.

"You look so familiar..." I slurred.

He paused briefly before continuing to walk. "You should update your pickup lines."