You Lost Me First

Before the contract was even signed, the client's representative casually said he was craving pancakes with maple syrup.

I didn't hesitate. I texted my fiancé, Nigel Cross, and asked him to stand in line and grab some.

He came back with the box, all proud of himself.

The client took one bite, and within seconds, his face went red. Hives bloomed across his neck.

He shot to his feet, furious, and called the whole deal off on the spot.

Then he turned around and handed the million-dollar order to Olivia Field, the intern who had rushed to grab him allergy meds.

Three months of grinding work were gone just like that.

I stood there, my throat tight, trying not to fall apart.

Nigel squeezed my shoulder, his voice soft as he said, "It was just bad luck. Don't beat yourself up."

I nodded weakly, drained of energy.

But the second I stepped away, I heard him laughing in the break room with his friend.

"That guy's seriously allergic to mango. Good thing I added mango syrup to the pancakes. Olivia's about to score a huge year-end bonus. Enough for a down payment on her new apartment."

His friend hesitated.

"Melissa hasn't slept in a month over that deal. She was working while she was sick. She needed that money for her mom's surgery—"

Nigel waved him off, already annoyed.

"She has me. Isn't that enough? Olivia earned this."

My hands curled into fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms.

Bad luck? Yeah, right.

Nigel had planned every second of it.

And now, he thought he could smooth it over by marrying me someday, toss me a few cheap words, and I would just swallow it.

I was done with that disgusting man.

I opened social media, and the first thing I saw was Olivia Field's new post.

[Still can't believe I just bought my first very own apartment!]

In the photo, she was holding up the paperwork, smiling as if she had won the lottery.

The comment that burned the most was from my fiancé, Nigel Cross.

[Congrats! You're amazing!]

I actually laughed.

I had spent five years in this field without a single vacation day.

The second before my mother was wheeled into surgery, I was still answering client emails.

At my lowest, I sat in a hospital chair with an IV in my arm, negotiating over video call.

People saw how hard I worked. But they didn't see that I was holding my whole family together alone.

After my mother got sick, my younger siblings' tuition, the rent, and the bills for our small 900-square-foot apartment all landed on me.

The medical bills, costing tens of thousands, almost crushed me.

I drank at client dinners until my stomach bled. I fainted in the office more than once.

Nigel knew all of it.

When I worked past midnight and couldn't get a ride home, he picked me up.

When I came back drunk and exhausted, he