Chapter 2
"What would you like written on the cake?" the bakery clerk asked routinely.
Jessica stared blankly at the cream cake before her, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just write 'Happy Birthday.'"
"Happy Birthday to whom?" the clerk pressed.
Jessica looked up, her tone heavy with sorrow. "Just write 'Jessie.'"
Once upon a time, Stanley had loved calling her Jessie. Every year, her birthday cake bore the same message: Happy Birthday, Jessie. May you be happy every day, healthy and safe.
Now she was all grown up—but she wasn't happy, she wasn't healthy, and she was dying.
Blessings were all lies.
By the time she arrived home, it was nearly midnight. Only a few minutes remained before her birthday ended.
Stanley hadn't come home. The sprawling mansion was pitch-black and terrifyingly silent.
Jessica sat alone in the darkness, lit the candles, and celebrated her last birthday by herself.
Suddenly, the front door swung open. Stanley walked in.
Jessica's eyes lit up instantly. She rushed toward him. "You're back."
Stanley's face was cold as he looked down at her, his tone cutting. "This is the last time I'm telling you: remember your place. Stop entertaining any ideas you shouldn't have."
Jessica froze, stunned. She tried to explain. "I didn't—I was just—"
A sharp crack interrupted her.
Stanley's expression darkened. He flung his phone onto the table in front of her. It skidded across the polished surface, colliding with the cake. The candles wobbled twice before toppling into the frosting and going out.
Jessica looked up in disbelief, her eyes reddening.
Stanley glared at her, his voice tight with fury. "Photos of Lydia and me leaving the hotel room minutes apart are all over the internet! Her reputation is on the line! You completely botched the job, and you have the audacity to celebrate your birthday?"
"That's impossible!" Jessica stared at the phone screen in confusion. "I specifically told Ms. Moore to wait fifteen minutes before leaving. She said—"
"She said you told her the paparazzi had already been cleared out and she could leave whenever she wanted!" Stanley stepped forward, gripping her wrist hard enough to hurt. "Jessica! Look at yourself. Jealousy has twisted you into a liar. Is this what I taught you?"
Looking into Stanley's furious face, Jessica suddenly realized: no matter how much she explained, it would never outweigh a single word from Lydia.
He would never trust her unconditionally the way he once had.
Her heart ached—a pain worse than chemotherapy, crawling through every limb.
She lowered her head, staring at the ruined cake, and surrendered. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I'll fix it as soon as possible."
"You'd better." Stanley dropped her wrist and turned to leave.
Jessica's head snapped up, clinging to one last thread of hope. "Can you say 'Happy Birthday' to me one more time?"
Stanley frowned and turned back. "What do you mean, 'one more time'? Don't try to play the victim for sympathy."
Jessica's eyes were red-rimmed, her voice nearly begging. "I just... really want to hear it. One last time."
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight.
Yesterday was over. A new day had begun.
Stanley looked at her coldly, said nothing, and walked away.
The vast living room was once again empty, save for Jessica.
This mansion had once held countless beautiful memories of her and Stanley together. He used to have dinner with her, watch TV with her, play games with her in the garden.
Every year on her birthday, this house became a festival. The garden would be filled with her favorite tulips, flown in from abroad. Her birthday cake was handmade by a three-Michelin-star chef. The dress she wore was custom haute couture, ordered a year in advance.
Now, all of it had vanished like a dream.
If it hadn't been for that drunken night—if she hadn't mustered the courage on her 18th birthday to confess her feelings to him while tipsy—
The Smith family had thrown her a grand coming-of-age party that night. The atmosphere was lively, and both she and Stanley had drunk quite a bit. After the guests left, the two of them lay in the garden surrounded by tulips, gazing up at the stars.
Stanley's features were sharp and handsome, his profile sculpted and elegant. Jessica was mesmerized. Emboldened by the haze of alcohol, she quietly pulled out a ring she'd spent ages learning to design.
"Stanley," she whispered near his ear.
"What is it?" He turned his head, his eyes filled with warmth.
It was like a shot of strong liquor, making Jessica feel hot and dizzy.
"This is my gift to you." She blushed, pressing the ring into his hand. Her heart pounded as she looked at him with hopeful, expectant eyes. "I like you."
Stanley suddenly went rigid. His gaze sharpened, anger rising like a storm.
He shot upright, his voice harsh. "Jessica, you're drunk!"
"I'm not! I've liked you for a long time! I've been preparing this ring for two years!" she insisted desperately.
"Ridiculous! Remember your place! I only see you as a sister! Don't you dare entertain any inappropriate thoughts!"
With that, Stanley stormed off.
After that night, Stanley withdrew all his affection. He treated her like a stranger. He never showed her tenderness again.
If it hadn't been for the accident later—if his grandmother hadn't forced him to marry her—they might have become strangers long ago.
Loneliness and bitterness engulfed her. Jessica didn't know when the tears had started, but she cried until it felt like she had no tears left.
She stared at the ruined cake, her gaze turning resolute.
If she couldn't force him to love her, then she would let go. She would use these last three months to leave him completely.
She stood, threw the cake away, and went upstairs. Opening her laptop, she did two things.
First, she booked a plane ticket abroad.
Then she typed out a resignation letter and sent it to the company's HR department.
The next morning, Jessica had barely arrived at the office when her assistant informed her that Mr. Smith wanted to see her in his office.
Jessica acknowledged the message, set aside her work, and took the elevator to the executive floor.
She knocked on the door. Stanley's voice came from inside. "Come in."
Jessica pushed the door open—and immediately saw Lydia sitting on the couch beside Stanley. She paused for two seconds before continuing inside, closing the door behind her.
Not wanting to watch them act affectionate, Jessica kept her eyes down. "Mr. Smith, you wanted to see me?"
"HR forwarded your resignation email to me," Stanley said, his tone serious. "Why?"
Jessica blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected HR to forward it directly to Stanley.
She offered a casual explanation. "No particular reason. I'm just tired from work. I'd like to travel abroad and clear my head."
"Absurd!" Stanley scoffed. "Do you think this job is some kind of game? Just because I criticized you last night, you're going to throw a tantrum and quit?"
Before Jessica could respond, Lydia chimed in.
She put on a sympathetic smile. "Why are you being so harsh? Jessica's still young. It's normal for kids to be a little moody. Don't be so hard on her."
Lydia turned to Jessica, taking her hand warmly. "Jessica, don't worry about last night. I know you didn't mean it. Don't hold a grudge against Stanley. Besides, the job market is tough right now. If you want to take a break, just request a leave of absence. Why resign? It'll be hard to find another job later."
Jessica looked at her fake concern and felt nothing but disgust. She yanked her hand away and stepped back, as if avoiding contamination.
She turned to Stanley, her tone professional. "I submitted my resignation a month in advance, Mr. Smith. I'll complete the handover as soon as possible. Please approve it."
"What kind of attitude is that?!" Stanley's brow furrowed.
Jessica met his gaze in stubborn silence.
"I don't approve your resignation. You're not going anywhere!" Stanley's face darkened. "Now get out and start preparing for the celebration banquet in three days!"
"What celebration banquet?" Jessica asked, confused.
"To celebrate Lydia joining Smith Entertainment," Stanley said.
Jessica bit down hard. "Fine."
She had always been someone who saw things through to the end. Even if she was leaving, she would leave with her head held high.
