Chapter 4: The Final Goodbye

This time, I failed the assessment, but I didn’t cry.

Afterwards, Marcus still wore his professional smile as he introduced us:

"This is Lillian. This is Shannon Wells. Shannon, the competition is tough this time. Lillian just returned from New York—her skills are top-notch."

Lillian extended her hand, looking at me with determination:

"Glad to be your competitor. Let’s both do our best."

She squeezed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so delicate. There was something fierce behind those blue eyes—something I knew would never be mine.

Since Lillian was new, everyone organized a get-together to welcome her.

We ended up at a sports bar a few blocks from the office. The place smelled like spilled beer and fried pickles. College basketball blared from the TV, drowning out half the conversation. Pitchers of beer and greasy wings piled high. People toasted Lillian, making her blush. I nursed a gin and tonic, pretending to laugh along with their jokes.

Everyone drank a little too much. When I went to the restroom, I called Derek, but his line was busy. I gave up.

I saw Lillian, her cheeks flushed from alcohol, quietly crying and talking to someone on the phone:

"Hey, what happened? You were supposed to get me. Don’t you want me anymore?"

The sight of her made my heart twist. I ducked back behind the door, giving her privacy. It was obvious—some things, no matter how much you pretend, can’t be hidden.

Soon, a black G-Class Mercedes appeared in the night.

A man got out and walked toward the drunken Lillian.

When she saw Derek, she stared in a daze for a moment, then ran to him, crying.

Derek opened his arms and caught her:

"Don’t cry."

He wrapped her in his coat, smoothing her hair with a tenderness I’d never known. The doorman pretended not to notice. Our colleagues watched, whispering behind their hands, their faces lit by the neon bar sign.

Amid the whispers of colleagues, Derek looked up.

He and I exchanged a glance.

He helped Lillian into the car, then turned to me and said:

"Ms. Wells, get in the car too."

I smiled and shook my head.

The night air stung my cheeks, and I stood on the curb, watching his taillights disappear into the snowy dark. For the first time, I felt the cold down to my bones—and I knew I’d never really been welcome in his world, no matter how hard I tried.

As Derek’s taillights vanished, my phone buzzed—a new message from an unknown number: 'You deserve better. Meet me tomorrow.'