I didn’t have time to be jealous.

“Get Stella into Conference Room Three,” I told my assistant. “No one speaks to the press until I get there.”

“But Mr. Song—”

“I’ll handle Mr. Song.”

I entered the private elevator.

Thirty seconds later, the doors opened onto the executive floor.

Sophia was inside Gabriel’s office.

Through the glass wall, I saw her place one espresso in front of him.

Gabriel took it naturally.

My stomach tightened.

Then Sophia laughed and leaned across his desk.

I knocked once.

Gabriel looked up.

His expression changed immediately.

“Emily?”

“Stella’s pregnancy leaked.”

He stood.

“Confirmed?”

“Yes.”

Sophia turned toward me.

“So you’re Emily Parker.”

I paused.

She knew me?

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

“Sophia.”

“What?” She smiled. “I’ve heard a lot.”

Of course she had.

I forced myself back to work.

“We have twenty minutes before the conference. Stella’s endorsement contracts include morality clauses. If we deny the pregnancy and evidence appears later, it’ll be worse.”

Gabriel was already reaching for his jacket.

“Move the conference back thirty minutes. Legal comes with us.”

He passed Sophia.

“Sorry. We’ll finish later.”

She waved casually.

“Go save your empire.”

Then she looked at me.

“Good luck, Emily.”

I didn’t have time to wonder what that meant.

For the next two hours, I forgot everything except Stella.

We changed the strategy completely.

No denial.

No lies.

Stella walked onto the stage and admitted she was pregnant, announced a temporary break, and asked the public not to harass the child’s father.

The reporters went insane.

But honesty gave them less blood than a cover-up would have.

By noon, public opinion was already stabilizing.

When I finally returned backstage, Gabriel was waiting.

“You handled it well.”

“That’s my job.”

His eyebrows moved slightly.

I walked past him.

“Emily.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

I nearly laughed.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve called me Mr. Song six times today.”

“You’re my boss.”

“I was your boss yesterday too.”

Yesterday, I hadn’t yet heard him describe sleeping with me as payment for services rendered.

I smiled professionally.

“Anything else, Mr. Song?”

His face darkened.

“No.”

“Then I have work.”

That evening, I left exactly at six.

Gabriel noticed.

For three years, I had rarely left before eight.

At 6:03, he messaged.

Where are you going?

I answered:

Dinner.

Three dots appeared.

With whom?

I stared at the screen.

Then locked my phone.

At seven thirty, Ethan was waiting at the restaurant.

He hugged me so hard my feet nearly left the floor.

“Emily Parker!”

I laughed for the first time all day.

“You idiot.”

“You got thinner.”

“You got older.”

“Europe does that.”

We were still laughing when Ethan suddenly looked behind me.

His expression changed.

“Friend of yours?”

I turned.

Gabriel stood near our table.

I almost dropped my glass.

“Mr. Song?”

He looked at Ethan’s hand, which was still resting on my shoulder.

Then at me.

“Business dinner.”

I glanced around.

“Here?”

“Problem?”

“No.”

“What a coincidence.”

“It isn’t.”

The voice came from behind him.

Sophia.

She walked over, looking amused.

“I’m the business dinner.”

I wanted the floor to open.

Sophia sat at a nearby table.

Gabriel joined her.

For the next forty minutes, I became painfully aware of everything.

When Ethan made me laugh, Gabriel looked over.

When Ethan removed a piece of parsley from my hair, Gabriel’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

When Ethan asked whether I was dating anyone, Gabriel actually stopped talking to Sophia.

“No,” I said.

Ethan grinned.

“Good. My mother still wants you as a daughter-in-law.”

I kicked him under the table.

He laughed.

Across the room, something cracked.

Gabriel had broken the stem of his wineglass.

Sophia stared at him.

Then she started laughing.

Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated.

Come outside.

I ignored it.

Another message.

Emily.

Then:

Now.

I replied:

I’m off duty.

His answer came instantly.

I’m not asking as your boss.

My heart betrayed me again.

I excused myself and walked outside.

Gabriel was waiting beneath the restaurant awning.

“Who is he?”

“Ethan.”

“I know his name.”

“Then why ask?”

“What is he to you?”

I folded my arms.

“Why does it matter?”

Gabriel stepped closer.

“You agreed last night meant nothing.”

My chest tightened.

“You insisted it meant nothing.”

“And now you’re having dinner with another man?”

I stared at him.

Then laughed.

“That’s impressive.”

“What is?”

“You told me not to take sleeping with you seriously, reminded me not to get pregnant, called driving me to work payment for how I ‘served’ you, and now you’re jealous because I’m eating dinner.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Good.”

I turned.

He caught my wrist.

“Emily.”

I looked down.

He released me immediately.

Then said something quieter.

“I shouldn’t have said that in the car.”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I was angry.”

“At what?”

He didn’t answer.

Suddenly I understood.

“The phone call.”

His jaw tightened.

“You were angry because Ethan called me?”

Silence.

I almost smiled.

Then I remembered Sophia.

“Go back to your two espressos.”

Gabriel blinked.

“What?”

“Sophia.”

Understanding appeared.

Then, unbelievably, he laughed.

I wanted to hit him.

“What’s funny?”

“Sophia is my cousin.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“My mother’s sister’s daughter.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Then why is her surname Reed?”

“Her father’s surname.”

I stared at him.

He continued, clearly enjoying my humiliation now.

“She returned from London yesterday. She brought me coffee because we’re discussing her contract with Zenith.”

I wanted to disappear.

“Fine.”

I turned again.

Gabriel blocked me.

“But Ethan?”

“My father’s best friend’s son.”

His expression changed.

I smiled sweetly.

“Practically my brother.”

Now it was my turn to enjoy the silence.

“Good night, Mr. Song.”

This time he let me leave.

But something changed after that.

Gabriel stopped coming to my apartment late at night.

No flirting.

No accidental touches.

No mixed signals.

For two weeks, he became perfectly professional.

And strangely, that hurt worse.

So I made a decision.

I applied for a transfer to Zenith’s Los Angeles division.

It was approved within a month.

The morning the paperwork reached Gabriel, he appeared at my desk.

“What is this?”

“A transfer.”

“For two years?”

“Possibly longer.”

“You didn’t discuss it with me.”

“I discussed it with HR.”

“I’m your direct superior.”

“Not after next month.”

His face went still.

“Why are you leaving?”

Because I love you.

Because I can’t keep accepting crumbs and pretending they’re meals.

Because every tender thing you do makes every cruel thing you say hurt twice as much.

Instead, I answered:

“I need distance.”

“From me?”

“Yes.”

That finally stripped the arrogance from his face.

That evening, Gabriel came to my apartment.

He didn’t enter.

He stood outside and said:

“I lied.”

“About what?”

“That morning.”

My fingers tightened around the door.

“When I said it was only desire.”

I didn’t speak.

He looked directly at me.

“I said it because I woke up beside you and realized I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.”

“So you humiliated me?”

“I panicked.”

“You’re thirty-four, Gabriel.”

“I know.”

“That’s a terrible excuse.”

“I know that too.”

He swallowed.

“I’ve loved you for almost two years.”

My heart stopped.

“But I’m your boss. I kept telling myself that anything between us would put you in an impossible position.”

I laughed bitterly.

“So your solution was sleeping with me twice?”

“No.”

His mouth tightened.

“My solution was apparently being an idiot.”

That almost made me smile.

Almost.

Then he said:

“Don’t cancel the transfer.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Go.”

Pain flashed through me.

Gabriel continued:

“If you stay because I confessed while I’m still your boss, you’ll always wonder whether you chose freely.”

He stepped backward.

“Go to Los Angeles. Build something that has nothing to do with me.”

“And us?”

His eyes softened.

“When I’m no longer the man signing your evaluations, I’ll ask you properly.”

I went.

For two years.

Gabriel never interfered with my work.

He called occasionally.

Not as my boss.

Not after midnight.

Not with excuses.

When I returned to Shanghai permanently, Ethan picked me up at the airport.

Gabriel was waiting outside my apartment that evening.

He held two coffees.

I looked at them and laughed.

“Seriously?”

“One is yours.”

“And the other?”

“Also yours if you reject me. I’ll need something stronger.”

I took one.

Gabriel looked nervous.

For the first time since I’d known him, genuinely nervous.

“Emily Parker.”

“Yes?”

“Would you have dinner with me?”

“As your employee?”

“No.”

“As the woman you slept with?”

He winced.

“I deserved that.”

“You did.”

He took a breath.

“As the woman I’ve loved badly, waited for properly, and would like the chance to love better.”

I let him suffer for five seconds.

Then I smiled.

“One dinner.”

Years later, Gabriel still hated when I told people how our relationship began.

Not because of the two nights.

Because of the morning after.

The morning he had been so afraid of admitting he loved me that he convinced me I meant nothing.

But that mistake taught both of us something.

Desire could happen in a night.

Love was what remained when distance removed convenience, power, habit and access.

And when Gabriel finally got another chance with me, he understood one rule perfectly:

This time, I wasn’t something his body had chosen.

I was someone who had to choose him back.