A Hopeless Love

I couldn't help but chuckle bitterly. My nails were ordinary, but Miles had a fixation on hands—he adored women with perfectly manicured, long fingers.

I had searched high and low for a nail artist who could meet his standards but never found one. In the end, I learned to do it myself.

I had meticulously shaped and maintained my nails, and spent an absurd amount of time and effort on them. Looking back, it felt like such a waste of my precious time.

"I'm not some nail salon girl," I said coldly.

Miles' expression darkened. He knew how absurd the request was, but he had promised Nora and probably didn't want to turn her down. Caught in a bind, he chose to put me in an uncomfortable position instead.

We remained at an impasse, and whispers began to ripple through the people around us. I grew impatient and said, "Fine."

Relief spread across Miles' face as he turned to walk off. "I already had someone bring over your tools."

I simply followed him, feeling utterly helpless.

As we entered Miles' office and stepped into the inner lounge, I immediately saw Nora sprawled seductively on the sofa bed where Miles took his midday naps. She was wearing a black, revealing dress with slits running high up her thighs.

"Miles…" She purred as she raised her head, but upon seeing me, her tone sharpened. "What are you doing here?"

A flicker of panic flashed in Miles' eyes. He opened his mouth to explain, but when he saw my complete lack of reaction, his unease only deepened.

I blinked at her. "Didn't you ask Miles to call me to do your nails?"

Nora smirked with disdain. Rising gracefully, she tilted her chin toward a bag in the corner. I silently walked over, picked up the bag, and began working on her nails.

Perhaps my silence suffocated Miles, or maybe he couldn't stand seeing me bowing and scraping for someone else. He loosened his tie and stormed out of the room.

Nora chuckled softly, leaning close to whisper in my ear, "You're such a natural-born servant."

I laughed at myself but didn't respond.

Seeing me ignore her, Nora grabbed a large nail clipper from the side. Before I could react, she clipped her own finger, drawing blood.

"Miles!" She shrieked in agony.

Miles burst into the room. The moment he saw blood trickling from her finger, his fury erupted. "Leilani Jabs, what's wrong with you?"

I was stunned.

He swept all the nail tools off the table with a loud crash, shouting in rage, "How many times do I have to say it? Even if Nora wanted to compete with you, could you ever become my official girlfriend?

"Why can't you tolerate her? She's been pampered her whole life and can't stand even a bit of pain, yet you went and hurt her!"

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I fought to keep them from falling. I thought back to the time I collapsed in convulsions, and his first reaction was to accuse me of faking it.

Had I truly died with no one to help, would he have cared? Yet now, Nora suffered a mere nick on her finger, and he already lost his composure. He was even spewing thoughtless words.

I watched their retreating figures, swallowing my tears and feeling a strange sense of relief. He truly didn't love me.

I didn't bother cleaning up the mess. Instead, I grabbed my resignation letter and numbly went home under the sympathetic gazes of the entire office.

I had finally gathered all my documents. Just then, my mentor messaged me, letting me know they had booked a flight for me that evening to Affenheim.

…

I scrolled through my phone at the airport to pass the time and stumbled upon a post from a mutual friend Miles and I had.

The caption read, "A loving partner truly rises to greatness. Mr. Graham showed us the power of true love. I hope to meet my own one true love someday."

The attached photo showed Miles with his arm around Nora's waist. It seemed like he had effortlessly held his own in a drinking contest.

I suddenly remembered the times I accompanied him to meet clients. Back then, he allowed them to make things difficult for me, leaving me to drink until my stomach ached. That was all while telling me he was helping me build resilience.

I let out a bitter laugh, liked the client's post, and sent Miles a text. "Let's break up."

A minute later, the familiar ringtone of an incoming video call rang out incessantly.