Six Years in the Shadows: The CEO's Discarded Love

3: 3

The next morning at the office, the break room was buzzing.

I walked in with my mug, and the noise dropped all at once.

Someone coughed. Someone else ducked their head and pretended to scroll through their phone.

"Hey, did you hear? The special pick crashed and burned."

"I always said he acted so high and mighty. Who knows how long he'd been kissing up behind everyone's back."

"Turns out Clint didn't pull any strings at all. He won fair and square, on pure skill."

"Maybe he's getting old. Can't perform in bed anymore!"

I stood there, nails digging into my palm.

Clint came over holding a cup of coffee.

"Dudley. You're here."

"About yesterday, I really feel awful. You're my senior, and beating you makes me so uncomfortable..."

"Let this coffee be my apology. From now on, feel free to teach me anything about the work."

He held the coffee out, held it there for a full five seconds.

I reached to take it.

The instant my fingertips touched the side of the cup, his fingers went slack.

Scalding liquid streamed from my chest all the way down to my waist.

I sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back on instinct.

Clint froze for a second, then looked down at his own hand.

"Dudley... did you, did you not grab it right?"

"I know you're angry with me... but you didn't have to refuse it on purpose..."

His eyes reddened, his voice trembling.

"That coffee was fresh. It was so hot I could barely hold it..."

Everyone's eyes swung toward me at once.

"Clint brought him coffee, nice as anything, and he not only wouldn't take it, he let the whole cup dump on himself..."

"Loses the promotion contest and pulls a stunt like this. Pathetic."

"What's going on here?"

Lucretia walked in.

Her gaze skimmed over Clint's reddened eyes and settled on my shirt, soaked with coffee.

Her brow creased.

"I was bringing Dudley coffee, and he didn't grab it right..."

Clint's voice shook. "It was all an accident..."

"I didn't—"

"Did it burn your hand?"

Lucretia cut me off and glanced at Clint.

Clint looked down at his own sleeve. There was a small coffee stain on the cuff.

"No, just got a little on me..."

She looked at me again.

"You made this mess, you clean it up. Go buy him a clean shirt."

I looked down at the burned red skin across my chest.

"I—"

"Don't stand here disrupting your coworkers."

Her voice was so flat there was nothing in it at all.

I looked into her eyes. No emotion, like she was looking at a stranger.

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Forget it.

Nothing I said would she believe anyway, right?

I nodded, didn't say another word, turned, and walked out.

At the mall downstairs, I grabbed the first shirt I saw and took it to the register.

The cashier took the shirt, gave it a look, then looked at me.

"Sir, this size doesn't really fit you. Want to go up a size?"

"Also, that burn on you looks pretty bad. Do you want to take care of it first?"

I glanced down.

The dark brown coffee stain ran from my collarbone to my lower belly, stuck to my skin.

The burned patch was red, and a few blisters had already come up.

Even a cashier could see it.

And Lucretia could only see that one little stain on Clint.

"It's fine."

I scanned to pay, took the bag, and walked back to the office.

Standing in the lobby of the building, the tears just fell.

No one would notice me.

And there would be no Lucretia crossing half the city to comfort me.

I brought Clint's shirt to his desk.

Lucretia was talking to him. "That must have been a shock today. Take the day off and get some good rest."

"Thank you, Ms. Henson."

Lucretia didn't look at me.

"Dudley. His work today. You finish it."

My face didn't change. I gave a low sound of agreement.

I turned and walked back to my desk.

There was a tube of burn ointment sitting on it, unopened, a sticky note pinned under it.

【Remember to use it.】

I picked it up, gave it a look, and dropped it into the trash can by my feet.

I opened my computer, and a task list popped up on the screen, the work packed wall to wall.

I stared at the entries.

The back of my hand still had the burned red mark, and it stung sharply, pulling every time I hit a key.

At six that evening, I finished the last line.

I opened a blank document and typed the title:

Resignation Letter.