You Came Back Too Late, I’ve Already Left

Lower Manhattan, the Ashford family's private garden.

Beneath an archway adorned with white roses and lilies of the valley, Olivia Vance, arm in arm with Julian Ashford, accepted the twelve-carat pigeon blood ruby ring.

got engaged.

Everything is going according to plan. The Vance and Ashford families, two of the most powerful families in the pharmaceutical industry, are officially united by marriage starting today.

Liv—Olivia's nickname—smiled as she faced the applause of hundreds of guests. Tonight, she wore a custom-made Oscar de la Renta haute couture gown, burgundy, with a deep V-neck, and the Van Cleef & Arpels butterfly necklace on her collarbone shattered into a galaxy under the lights.

She is flawless.

Six years ago, I promised her one thing—that she would never reveal our relationship in public. She said it was to "protect my privacy." I know the real reason: the eldest daughter of the Vance family cannot have a "friend" from a poor background.

I've kept this promise for six years. Tonight is the last time.

Then I saw her.

I stood beside the champagne tower, holding a glass of barely touched champagne. I was wearing a black Tom Ford suit, my tie impeccably tied. My face was expressionless, but my eyes were fixed on her—not on her face, but on the ring on her finger.

I see.

Of course, she didn't inform me. I wasn't entitled to be informed. I was just her... what was it again? Several words flashed through my mind, but in the end, I knew she had used the safest one—"friend."

“Liv,” Julian lowered his head and whispered gently in her ear, “Are you alright?”

“Of course.” She smiled.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her: she placed the champagne glass on the waiter's tray and turned to walk toward the exit.

I've decided to leave.

I turned and walked towards the side corridor to press the elevator button. I heard the sound of high heels, but I didn't turn around.

“Sebastian,” she called to me.

I stopped. I turned around.

The distance between us was about three meters. Suddenly, I felt that those three meters were longer than the distance of our six years.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” she said. There was a provocation in her tone that she herself was unaware of—this was her usual way of doing things; offense was defense.

"Congratulations," I said, my voice flat.

Then I have to turn around again.

"Wait a minute." She walked up to me and lowered her voice. "Could you please not leave tonight? What will people think if you leave?"

“Those people?” I repeated the word.

“It’s… those who don’t know our relationship.” She frowned. “You know, I don’t want any unnecessary speculation in this kind of situation.”

I looked at her.

The way I look at her has changed. Before, my gaze was soft and cautious, as if afraid of breaking a piece of porcelain. But now, there's something in my eyes she's never seen before—not anger, not sadness, but scrutiny. Like a reader finally turning to the last page of a novel, only to discover they've completely misread the ending.

"What role do you want me to play here?" I asked.

“You don’t have to act anything. You just stand there, drink your wine, and chat with those people. You can leave after I finish my first dance.”

"The first dance?"

"It was Julian and I who did the opening dance. After that, nothing much happened."

I nodded. It was a slow nod, as if confirming a fact I had known for a long time.

"Okay," I said.

I walked back to the banquet hall.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She thought the problem was solved.

Ten minutes later, it was time for the opening dance. Liv, arm in arm with Julian, glided onto the dance floor. As the waltz melody began, she tiptoed, twirled, and her skirt bloomed like flower petals.

All eyes were on them.

Then, after a spin, I stood in the corner, holding a glass of champagne again.

But I didn't look at her.

I'm looking at my phone.

I'm handling my work. I don't need to see her anymore.

When the song ended, thunderous applause erupted. Liv released Julian, and instead of returning to the main table, she walked straight to me.

“Sebastian.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but those around her had already noticed.

I looked up.

"What do you mean by standing there looking at your phone?" Her voice was low, but her tone was sharp.

“I’m dealing with work,” I said.

"Tonight is my engagement day. Can you be a little more professional?"

She used the word "professional," much like a boss reprimanding an incompetent employee.

People nearby started to look at them sideways.

I put my phone back in my pocket. I looked into her eyes, which at that moment were like the surface of a winter sea, dark and vast.

“Sebastian, could you please not stand here? You're blocking the guests.”

For a fleeting moment, her expression faltered as she spoke. But she didn't take it back.

I saw that hesitation. But I also saw that she ultimately didn't say "no".

I didn't say anything.

I simply loosened my tie, then turned around, walked through the crowd, and headed for the exit.

This time, I didn't stop.

I loosened my tie and stepped out into the side corridor. Inside my tie clip, the small recorder was still lit up with a red light.

I recorded all the conversations tonight.

It's not meant to threaten anyone. It's just a reminder to myself—from now on, I will never give up my dignity for anyone again.

Liv stood there, still holding her champagne glass. Someone approached her and spoke to her; she smiled and responded. She told herself: It's okay. I'll come back. I always will.

Two hours later, the banquet ended. I returned to my apartment, turned on my phone, and saw a message from my partner, Ella.

“Sebastian, the Ashford family started acting last week. Our three main investors received ‘advice’ on the same day to reconsider their investment in Hale Capital. This afternoon, the last one withdrew as well.”

Last week.

In other words, even before I knew she was getting engaged, Julian already saw me as an obstacle that had to be removed.

I made three phone calls. None of the three investors answered.

I looked through my emails from last week—actually, I received the first "delayed payment notification" three days ago. I thought it was a normal procedural issue at the time, but now I realize it was a warning sign.

I was busy picking up her dress from the dry cleaners and didn't even have time to reply to that email.

I sat in the darkness of my apartment and opened her chat window.

She sent me a message: "Are you okay?"

I have read it. I have not replied.

One minute, two minutes, ten minutes.

At 1 a.m., I finally replied. Only one sentence:

"You don't need to worry about financing. I'm already looking for new investors."

Then I sent another message:

"But there's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

“I will do nothing for you anymore. From tonight onwards, Sebastian Hale’s time no longer belongs to you.”

send.

Then I turned off my phone.

It's not blocking, it's silence—a silence more terrifying than blocking. Because blocking at least means you still hold a place in my heart, a place that needs to be isolated. But silence means you're no longer there.

I lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

I recalled what she said tonight—"You're blocking the guests."

She didn't say "driver," but the meaning was the same.

In her life, I was always just something that blocked her way, got in her way, and needed to be moved aside.

Not human.

I rolled over and buried my face in the sofa cushions.

The mat was cold.

It's as cold as my heart right now.