The evening wind grew damp and heavy. It was going to rain in Paris again tonight.

My relationship with Bennett was exactly like the weather at that moment—damp, cold, and shut away from the light.

At first, I wanted him to make us public so badly that I was even willing to trade my future for it.

I thought Bennett refused to go public because of workplace taboos, so I did not hesitate.

“I can resign. I can leave Kingsley. Then we won’t have a boss-and-subordinate relationship anymore. Wouldn’t that mean we can stop hiding?”

Back then, I was too young and too reckless. I cared about nothing except having a rightful place at his side.

I had spent more than twenty years studying, then fought my way through brutal rounds of interviews to earn a spot at Kingsley Group.

I had a strong academic background and real ability. Given enough time, I was bound to make something of myself.

No one in their right mind would willingly walk away from Kingsley, not after clawing their way in.

So when I said those words, even Bennett, who had seen just about everything, could not help looking surprised.

He calmed me down and advised me steadily, “Stella, your career comes first. You can’t be reckless.”

I was much younger then. I was always a little too careful around him because I was afraid of losing him, so one sentence from him was enough to make me back down.

“I didn’t think it through. Your career matters more than I do.”

Bennett was the Lancaster heir. He had come to Kingsley to train and prove himself.

When he heard me, he froze at first, then smiled and shook his head.

“Not my career. Yours.”

He tried to reason with me, as if he were doing his best to rescue a naïve young woman who was about to lose her way.

“I just think it isn’t easy for women to build a career. You should never have to sacrifice your future for anyone, not even for the man you love.”

“I hope that one day, when you make your name at Kingsley, it’s because of what you’ve achieved, not because of office gossip about you and your boss.”

I rarely thought about how much of what he said back then had been sincere and how much had been an act.

But later, every time I landed one project after another and built a record I could be proud of, I was deeply grateful that Bennett had stopped the impulsive version of me back then.

After that, my tests became more subtle, like those perfectly plausible “suitors.”

I tried to see even a trace of jealousy or possessiveness on Bennett’s face.

But his privileged background and exceptional talent always gave him the luxury of being excessively picky and critical.

No matter how impressive the men interested in me were, he would only dismiss them lightly as idiots.

He would not lower himself to argue with idiots, and he did not think I would be dumb enough to trade steak and lobster for a grocery-store salad.

From beginning to end, he stood high above this relationship, fearless because he was so certain of himself.

I stood on the balcony and looked down as the housekeeper locked up and left.

To be fair, if I set feelings aside, Bennett was not stingy, whether as a boyfriend or a lover.

I had only been traveling for work more often and casually complained that staying in hotels was inconvenient.

Without much thought, he bought me this apartment in Paris’s 16th arrondissement and said it could be my place to stay whenever I came here for business.

Of course, I could keep hesitating and refuse to let go, wavering between the good and bad in him.

I could let reason slowly eat away at my feelings, step by step, and stay with him without asking for a future.

But I knew better than anyone that it was impossible.

My phone rang, went silent, then rang again. On the third call, I answered.

The other side stayed quiet for a long while before a voice came through. “I told you a long time ago. He was never going to marry you.”

“Some lessons don’t sink in the first time you hit the wall. Sometimes you have to hit it a few more times before you finally stop hoping.”

The voice on the phone kept talking, but I still said nothing.

I turned and looked inside through the glass door. Bennett was standing by the table, watching me.

He had just hung up from someone else’s call. When he saw me looking over, he tapped his fingers against the tabletop, signaling for me to come back inside.

I gazed at him for so long that my eyes began to ache.

Then I said softly into the phone, “A bet is a bet. I lost, and I’ll pay up. Once all the paperwork is done, I’ll come find you.”

Was the price of this bet really that steep? Was it truly something I had no choice but to honor?

Not really. It was simply time for me to leave.