Chapter 3: The Lunchbox Showdown

When I got home, Aunt Carol had finished packing lunch. She smiled as she worked. “There aren’t many couples as loving as you and Mr. Sanders. Makes me a little jealous.”

The old me would’ve beamed with pride. But right now, I couldn’t even force a smile.

The house was half an hour from Sanders Corp. By the time I arrived, it was noon.

The receptionist recognized me and waved me through. “Hey, Mrs. Brooks!” I took the private elevator straight to the 32nd floor. The first person I saw was Caleb Monroe, Sam’s assistant. His face froze for a moment when he saw me, panic flickering in his eyes before he smoothed it over.

“Mrs. Brooks, what brings you here?”

His voice was a little too bright, like he was trying to cover up nerves with professionalism. I smiled lightly. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s in his office. I’ll let him know—”

I grabbed his arm. “No need. I’ll go myself.”

I didn’t come here often, but I knew my way around.

Outside the CEO’s office, I gently pushed the door open. The room was filled with sunlight—noon light streaming through spotless glass, bathing everything in warmth.

There, at the desk, sat a man and a woman. Cute cat-shaped lunchboxes sat in front of them. They were sitting close, eating together, laughing at something the girl said. The man looked up, listening intently. Maybe it was the sunlight, but he seemed unusually gentle—a kind of gentleness I’d never seen from him.

Afraid I was imagining it, I snapped a photo with my phone.

Click! Oops—forgot to turn off the shutter sound. I let out a silent groan. Way to embarrass myself.

Both of them looked stunned to see me, frozen for a few seconds. Seeing that expression on Sam’s face, I couldn’t help but feel a little pleased.

I couldn’t hold back a laugh. My laugh sounded sharp in the quiet office, bouncing off the glass walls. Sam Sanders frowned at me, clearly displeased by my arrival.

Ouch, Sam. That stings.

Nina Summers’s face went pale and she jumped up. She moved too quickly and knocked over a container of soup.

“Ah!”

The hot soup spilled on her leg, making her cry out. Sam jumped up and pulled her back.

I turned and left. No need to watch what happened next—we were all supposed to be civilized, after all. I wasn’t about to make a scene like the original Mariah Brooks.

Caleb stood nervously behind me. I shoved the lunchbox into his arms. “You eat it.”

He looked terrified. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he nodded, clutching the lunch like it might explode. Poor guy.

I didn’t leave. Instead, I headed to the secretarial department.

The secretaries all stood up when I walked in—they knew who I was. Good, that saved me the trouble of explaining.

“Who’s Jenna Ford?” I asked.

A glamorous woman stepped forward, looking anxious. “Ma’am, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

She had that kind of confidence. The kind that said she was used to being the center of attention... but right now, her hands twisted in front of her skirt.

I took out my business card and handed it to her. “I’m interested in what you’ve got. Get in touch.”

She looked bewildered.

By the time I left the secretarial department, Sam was already waiting outside.

I smoothed out my expression, walked past him without a word.

But he didn’t let me go—he grabbed my hand.

He asked, “Why are you here?” I didn’t answer, just said, “Let go.”

Maybe my tone was too cold. I’d never spoken to him like that before. Sam tightened his grip.

“Mariah, don’t make a scene.”

I exhaled. “Sam, let go. I don’t want to talk to you right now, so don’t play the victim.”

Sam’s face darkened, his eyes burning. I met his gaze, unflinching.

I, Mariah Brooks, have never been the patient type. The only reason I was ever gentle with him was because I loved him.

Now, I realized there was no need.

I pulled free and left without looking back. I didn’t even flinch.

— III —