Ever since Brian joined the company, the arguments between us had only grown more frequent. Every single time, it had been because of Brian—and every single time, I had been the one to give in.
But this time, I wouldn’t.
"Megan, that year on your birthday, I searched every antique shop in Paris before I finally found that pair of 19th-century dark-gold cufflinks. You said you loved the story behind them, that they were the most thoughtful gift you’d ever received."
I pointed at the bracelet on her wrist. "Just like this Tiffany piece I bought at an auction five years ago."
Her fingers instinctively rubbed the bracelet.
Her gaze wavered for a moment, then quickly returned to that lofty, composed air. "Raymond, be mature. In the workplace, it’s normal to reward capable subordinates. Didn’t you also often give gifts to your staff before?"
I didn’t bother wasting any more words with her, and in the end, we parted on bad terms.
After half an hour of smoking in silence, I returned to my office only to find my personal belongings scattered all over the floor.
The most jarring sight was my mother’s photograph. The glass frame was shattered, and a clear shoeprint marked its surface.