My Fiancée Drank From Her Assistant’s Glass, So I Ended Our Engagement

"You didn't mean any of that!" Cheryl stamped her foot, her voice climbing. "Twenty years we've been in each other's lives. You can't just throw that away!"

I stopped packing and looked up at her.

"Twenty years... so you do remember."

She bit her lip.

"Look, I know yesterday went too far. But you started it by going after Douglas. You can't blame me for getting angry."

"Enough!" I slammed the drawer shut. "Don't say that name in front of me."

The office plunged into silence.

Then a commotion erupted outside.

Someone screamed down the hall: "Oh my God, Assistant Gilbert is going to jump!"

The color drained from Cheryl's face.

She didn't even glance at me. She bolted out the door like an arrow loosed from a bowstring.

When it came to choosing between me and Douglas, she never hesitated.

I let out a bitter laugh, picked up my cardboard box, and headed for the elevator.

As I passed the lounge at the end of the corridor, I caught sight of Douglas through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He was sitting on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge, swinging them back and forth.

A crowd had already gathered on the street below. Fire truck sirens wailed, growing louder as they approached.

"This is all my fault! I'm the one who ruined the company!" Douglas's voice drifted in through the open window, thick with sobs. "If I hadn't made Mr. Dickerson angry, Zenith Group never would've pulled out of the deal..."

Cheryl stood by the window, nearly frantic.

"Douglas, get down from there! This isn't your fault!"

"So what if we lost the partnership? You can't do this to yourself!"

Then she spotted me. She lunged forward and grabbed my arm like I was a lifeline.

"Drew, call Rufus Swanson. Right now!"

"If he agrees to keep the deal going, Douglas won't do anything rash!"

I shook her hand off, cold.

"Call him yourself."

"Drew!" Her voice turned sharp as a whip crack. "Douglas already apologized. Are you really not going to stop until someone dies?"

She snatched a fruit knife off the table and pressed it against her own throat without a second of hesitation.

"If you don't make that call today, I'll die right here in front of you!"

The blade bit into her pale skin, leaving a thin red line.

The scene was so familiar it ached.

When I was fourteen, cornered by a gang of thugs in an alley, Cheryl had stood in front of me just like this, clutching a box cutter. Her eyes had been fierce and unwavering. "Anyone who touches him answers to me!"

Now those same eyes burned with the same fire.

But this time, she was protecting another man.

I stared at the bead of blood welling on her neck.

Slowly, I pulled out my phone and dialed Uncle Rufus.

"Uncle Rufus, it's me... Yeah, about the partnership..."

The moment I hung up, Douglas was helped down from the ledge.

He threw himself into Cheryl's arms, sobbing.

She let out a long breath of relief and turned to me with a smile.

"See? Isn't this so much better when everyone gets along?"

I said nothing. I picked up my box and walked away.

She froze, about to chase after me, when Douglas let out a pained groan behind her.

She stopped immediately.

"Douglas, what's wrong?"

"I think... I think my leg cramped up..."

The sunlight hit me like a blade when I stepped outside the building.

My phone buzzed. A message from Uncle Rufus.

"Kid, that phone call was an act for their benefit, wasn't it?"

"Don't worry. The partnership can pick back up anytime, but I only work with you."

I texted back a quick "thanks," then flagged down a cab.

As the car pulled away from the office building, I took one last look at the place where I'd spent five years of my life.

Then I blocked Cheryl's number. Every contact method, every platform. All of it.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked.

I turned my gaze forward, toward the straight road ahead.

"The airport."