My Long-Lost First Love Is My New Roommate

I flipped the page. A printed email from Julian’s private account to my company’s HR director stared back at me.

*Ensure Miss Moretti gets the senior analyst spot.*

The date matched my promotion perfectly. I turned another page.

*Move Mia Russo to the alternate list. Compensate her quietly.*

My stomach violently emptied itself. The pride I felt for the last two years—the late nights, the endless spreadsheets, the belief that I finally proved my worth—shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. He bought my career.

I slammed the folder shut.

The next morning, I bypassed my desk entirely and marched straight to the employee breakroom. Mia stood by the coffee machine, stirring sugar into a paper cup.

I dropped the copied email onto the counter next to her hand.

"Did you know?" I asked.

Mia glanced at the paper. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped her throat. It was a terrible sound, completely at odds with the tears suddenly welling in her eyes.

"Didn't you really know?" Mia asked, her voice cracking. "That spot was supposed to be mine."

She didn't yell. She didn't throw the coffee in my face. She just picked up her cup and walked out, leaving me standing in the sterile fluorescent light. I had never felt so entirely worthless.

Thirty minutes later, I pushed past the receptionist on the top floor of Julian’s corporate headquarters. I shoved his heavy glass office doors open.

Julian sat behind his massive mahogany desk, reviewing a tablet. He looked up, a calm smile forming on his lips.

I threw the manila folder across the wood surface. Papers spilled everywhere.

"Which of these did I earn myself?" I demanded.

Julian glanced at the scattered documents. His smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating mask.

"I gave you an opportunity," he stated flatly.

"You bought my life!" I shouted. "Every project. Every promotion. What about the opportunities you stole from others? What about Mia?"

Julian stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket, completely unfazed by my anger.

"The world isn't fair, Elena," he said, walking around the desk. "I just put you on the winning side."

"I refuse to be your pet." I stepped back, creating distance between us. "I want a career I actually built."

Julian stopped. His eyes narrowed, scanning my face as if searching for a hidden motive.

"Do you really care about fairness?" Julian asked, his tone dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Or do you just not want to owe me? Because you want to be clean when you go back to Adrian?"

My hand cracked against his cheek.

The sharp smack echoed off the floor-to-ceiling windows. My palm stung fiercely.

Julian didn't raise a hand to defend himself. He didn't even touch his face. A single drop of blood welled at the corner of his mouth. He simply tilted his head, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

I reached for my right hand and yanked off the diamond promise ring he gave me for our anniversary. I dropped it onto the pile of stolen accomplishments on his desk.

"We are done," I told him.

Julian stared at the sparkling band. "Are you sure?"

"I am sure."

A humorless smirk twisted his bloody lips. "Fine. Break up with me. But don't come crawling back when you realize Adrian doesn't love you as much as you think."

I turned my back on him and walked out.

The apartment felt like a tomb when I arrived. I dragged my suitcase from the closet and threw it onto the mattress. I shoved sweaters, jeans, and shoes inside without folding them. I needed to leave. I needed to erase every trace of the last three years.

I zipped the luggage shut and dragged it into the hallway.

Adrian blocked the front door.

He still wore the white bandages around his ribs from the crash. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his jaw tight. He looked from my face to the suitcase by my feet.

"Don't go," Adrian said.

The words hit me like a physical blow. My vision blurred. A hot tear spilled over my lashes, tracing a burning path down my cheek.

"Why didn't you say that three years ago?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Adrian froze. The muscles in his neck strained.

"I waited for you to say 'don't go' when I was twenty," I pushed forward, gripping the plastic handle of my suitcase. "I waited until the very last second. Now? It's too late."

His face drained of color. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, watching the ground crumble beneath his boots.

He slowly stepped away from the door.

I rolled my luggage past him. Our shoulders brushed.

"Three years ago was too late," Adrian muttered, his voice barely a rasp. "But I still don't want you to leave now."

I didn't stop walking.

I crashed on my friend Sarah’s couch. The cramped living room smelled like lavender and old books. I sat cross-legged on the cushions, staring at the glowing screen of my laptop.

An unread email sat in my corporate inbox.

*Paris Headquarters: Open Competition for Senior Directorship.*

I scrolled through the requirements. It was a blind submission process. No names, no references. Just raw data models and strategy proposals. Julian had already withdrawn his financial backing from my department. His recommendations were gone.

For the first time in two years, the safety net vanished. If I failed, I failed alone. If I won, I earned it.

I clicked the application link.

Miles away, Julian stood in the center of his empty office. The city lights cast long shadows across the floor. He wiped a handkerchief across his bruised lip.

His assistant hovered in the doorway, holding a tablet.

"Sir, HR is asking how to handle Miss Moretti's file going forward," the assistant asked nervously.

Julian tossed the blood-stained handkerchief into the trash bin. He stared at the diamond ring still sitting on his desk.

"No one helps her from now on," Julian ordered, his voice devoid of any warmth.

He paused, his grip tightening on the edge of the mahogany desk.

"Including me."