With the Wind, I Leave It All Behind

I stormed out, ready to confront Stephanie—only to run straight into Dean.

He bumped into me deliberately, sending a box tumbling to the floor. Pink foil packets spilled everywhere.

“Oops, sorry, Director Jones.”

He bent down to gather them and I instinctively knelt to help—only to freeze when I saw what they were.

Condoms.

“This isn’t something you should bring to the office,” I said sharply. “Mind the image you're projecting.”

Trying to be civil, I kept my tone neutral.

But Dean just grinned wider.

“No choice,” he said casually. “My girlfriend's needs are... intense. No matter where we are, she expects me to be prepared.”

He gave me a pointed look, rubbing his waist dramatically.

“I heard you're President Myers’s fiancé? We're all adults. Don't you ever need these?”

I flushed and turned away, coughing to cover my discomfort.

Looking back now, I realize, everything he said was on purpose.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

Sometime before dawn, I opened my phone for the third time and saw Dean Henry’s new post.

A hotel bed with white sheets.

A woman’s bare shoulder in the foreground.

His abs front and center, flashing a peace sign at the camera.

The caption:

[Told you, no woman can resist me. Even the most ascetic ice queen ends up begging in my bed.]

My heart turned to ice.

Then, the next update popped up.

[Promotion unlocked. From now on, it’s Director Henry to you.]

I stared at my phone for what felt like hours.

Pain gripped my stomach, yanking me back to reality.

The medicine was gone. I dragged myself out at dawn to buy more, dark circles under my eyes.

Then I waited at the neighborhood gate.

For the past five years, Stephanie had picked me up every morning without fail.

But today was different.

Ten minutes passed.

Just as I decided to call a ride, her voice rang in my ear.

“Liam, sorry, I overslept. Can’t pick you up. And didn’t I tell you? You’re heading to the branch now, Vice President.”

I said nothing.

Through the car window, I saw her step out of a hotel, hand-in-hand with Dean Henry.

The buttons on her white shirt were undone, hair a mess.

Dean grinned as he pulled her close and kissed her.

I hung up, heart turning in my chest, stomach in knots.

Stephanie had chased me all through college.

She brought me breakfast daily. On Valentine’s Day, she covered the entire field with roses, holding up a sign that read: [I love Liam Jones.]

She chased off any girl who approached me.

“Liam Jones belongs to Stephanie,” she’d say proudly.

Even as her career soared and socializing became inevitable, she’d smile and say, “My boyfriend’s too strict.”

One time, she was even drugged at a party. Instead of caving, she called an ambulance and had herself hospitalized to avoid being touched.

Later, she clung to me with tears in her eyes, like a hurt puppy.

“I saved myself for you, Liam. You have to marry me.”