Eight Years of Quiet Love

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For eight years, I harbored a secret crush on Lucas Brooks. And then, I slept with him.

The next morning, I heard him on the balcony, taking a phone call.

I told you, it was just a one-night stand. Marry her? Don't be ridiculous. Just give her some money and send her on her way.

I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene.

I got dressed, went home, and dragged out the box filled with eight years of memories from my closet.

Secret photos, movie ticket stubs, a button he'd discarded. I dumped it all into a black garbage bag.

As the garbage truck rumbled past, crushing everything beneath its wheels, I let out a long breath.

Later, that same man who said "just throw some cash at her" took a red-hot steel pipe through his back to save me.

He lay on the ground, covered in blood, but he was still smiling.

"Thank God it didnt hit your face. You're getting married tomorrow, even if the groom isn't me. You should still be the most beautiful bride."

Ivy Laurent POV

For eight years, I harbored a secret crush on Lucas Brooks. And then, I slept with him.

It was unexpected, absurd, yet somehow inevitable.

I woke at six in the morning.

London had been raining all night. The air was heavy with moisture and the lingering scent of us.

My whole body ached. I didn't even dare look at the man sleeping beside me.

This was the deity I'd placed on a pedestal and worshipped for eight years, now reduced to evidence of my deepest transgression.

I picked my clothes up off the floor. I'd barely gotten half-dressed when I heard movement from the balcony outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Lucas was awake, taking a phone call.

Through the half-open glass door, his voice was low and husky, lazy with post-coital drowsiness, yet it cut into my heart like an ice-cold blade.

"I drank too much last night. Didn't even see who it was."

The person on the other end must have been teasing him, because Lucas lit a cigarette, his tone distant to the point of coldness.

"Who told you to drug her? Don't use that kind of tactic again."

Through the curling smoke, he paused, irritation creeping into his voice.

"I don't like her, but we've known each other for years. Last night was her first time... What do you expect me to do? Take responsibility? Marry her?"

A scoffing laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous. Not just anyone can walk through my family's door, least of all her. What I feel for her is friendship at most."

"Enough. Keep this between us. As for compensation... I'll have my assistant send her a card later. She can fill in whatever amount she wants. Enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. That'll settle years of acquaintance."

My hands froze mid-button.

In an instant, my blood ran cold. My hands and feet went numb.

So in his eyes, my eight years of careful companionship, this one wild night-all of it could only be converted into a string of cold numbers.

With the added phrase: "Don't be ridiculous."

I didn't cry.

I dressed efficiently, left no note, took nothing, and slipped silently out of the villa that had trapped my youth.

When I got home, my father was sitting on the sofa, sighing.

Spread across the coffee table were a pile of photos, potential marriage candidates he'd painstakingly collected.

"Ivy, I know you've got pride. You used to chase after Lucas all the time. But people like him, we're not in their league. I'm getting old, my health's failing every day, and I just want to see you settle down with someone ordinary..."

In the past, I would have stayed silent, resisted, made excuses to retreat to my room.

But today, I walked over and scanned the pile of photos.

Not one looked like Lucas.

That was good.

I randomly pointed to one.

"This one."

My father froze, hardly daring to believe it.

"That's Ethan Rivers. He's a doctor, very refined. But he's being transferred to the New York branch for a few years. If you marry him, you might have to leave home..."

"It doesn't matter."

I cut him off.

"The farther away, the better. Set up a meeting for us."

My father was overjoyed and hurried to make the call.

I returned to my room and pulled out a locked box from the depths of my closet.

Inside was everything related to Lucas Brooks.

Photos I'd secretly taken in high school, every movie ticket stub from the past eight years, even a button he'd carelessly tossed aside.

I didn't burn them.

Burning things creates smoke, stings your eyes, makes people think you're crying.

I found a large black garbage bag and dumped everything I'd once treasured, along with the heart that had loved Lucas Brooks for eight years, into it.

I tied the bag shut and threw it in the trash bin downstairs.

The garbage truck rumbled past, crushing everything.

I looked at my empty room and let out a long breath.

Ivy Laurent POV

The meeting with Ethan went surprisingly smoothly.

Ethan wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a refined, scholarly air. He spoke softly and politely.

He didn't have Lucas's aggressive presence. He was like a glass of warm water.

Good for quenching thirst. Good for living a stable life.

"Miss Laurent, the matchmaker should have told you about my situation."

Ethan refilled my water glass.

"Next month I'll be going to New York. I'll probably settle there permanently. If you're willing, we can get married first, and you can join me after you've settled things here."

The pace was absurdly fast, like completing a task.

But I only thought for three seconds.

"Okay."

Ethan looked up, somewhat surprised.

"Don't you want to think about it more? After all, marriage is a big decision."

"No need to think about it."

I looked down, stirring the water in my glass.

"I want a change of environment. A fresh start."

Ethan smiled, genuinely pleased.

"What a coincidence. So do I."

We hit it off immediately.

Though the meal lacked passion, it was remarkably relaxed.

No one needed to look up to anyone. No one needed to force themselves to read obscure philosophy books or learn difficult video games just to cater to the other person.

Since I'd decided to leave, the first thing I did when I returned to the office was submit my resignation.

The editor-in-chief Mr. Evans looked at my resignation letter, frowning.

"It's not that I won't let you go. You're one of the pillars here. Losing you would be a real loss. Plus, you haven't finished that London's New Elite feature yet."

He tapped the desk, offering a deal.

"Here's what we'll do. The first subject is Lucas Brooks. Everyone in London knows he never gives interviews, but you know him. As long as you can get his exclusive, even just ten minutes, I'll sign off immediately and double your bonus for the month."

My fingers holding the resignation letter went pale.

Lucas Brooks.

Lucas Brooks again.

I couldn't shake his name no matter how hard I tried.

"Mr. Evans, could we get someone else?"

"No."

Mr. Evans's tone was firm.

"Only you can do this. If this article doesn't get done, your resignation process could take three months."

I stood at the end of the hallway, looking out at the gray sky, silent for a long time.

To leave London cleanly. To completely sever the past.

One last meeting.

After seeing him this one time, never again.

I pulled out my phone and found the number I'd kept at the top of my contacts for eight years but never dared to call.

My fingertip hovered over the screen, trembling, then finally pressed down.

It rang once before being answered.

The background was noisy, like people playing cards, then footsteps, and the surroundings quieted.

Lucas's voice came through the receiver, carrying a careless, teasing quality.

"You've been avoiding me for three days. Finally willing to call?"

So he knew I'd been avoiding him.

I took a deep breath and spoke in a businesslike tone.

"Mr. Brooks, our magazine would like to do an interview with you. When would you be available?"

Two seconds of silence on the other end, then a soft scoff.

"Ivy Laurent, since when did you learn to be so formal with me?"

Lucas seemed to be in a good mood. He wasn't angry about the distant form of address.

"I'm at the club. Come now."

"It's working hours..."

"Then forget the interview."

Lucas cut me off, his tone carrying its usual arrogance and control.

"If I don't see you within half an hour, the interview's cancelled."

He hung up without waiting for a response.

I looked at the darkened screen and put my phone away.

I turned and called to the photographer.

"Let's go. To the club."

The photographer looked shocked.

"That place? He's there? My god, you're amazing. You actually got him to agree!"

I said nothing.

Amazing?

This was a "privilege" I'd bought with eight years of blood and tears.

And today, I was going to tear that privilege to shreds and throw it in the trash.

Ivy Laurent POV

This was London's most exclusive private club, the place Lucas and his circle frequented.

In the past, whenever I came here, I always felt awkward and inferior, trailing behind Lucas like a shameful little shadow.

But today, I wore my press badge, held my voice recorder, and kept my spine straight.

When I pushed open the private room door, smoke and alcohol fumes filled the air.

A group of rich kids were laughing with their female companions. When they saw me enter, the room fell silent for a moment, then erupted in louder jeers.

"Isn't that Ivy? Long time no see!"

"Wow, you've got some pull! Three days without seeing him and now you're here to check up on him?"

The man sitting in the center of the sofa wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing his pale collarbones.

He was playing with a lighter, the flame flickering on and off, illuminating his sharply defined face-the kind that made countless women throw themselves at him.

Lucas Brooks.

He leaned lazily against the back of the chair, his gaze cutting through the crowd to land on me.

His eyes lingered on me for a moment. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, then smoothed out. He patted the empty spot beside him.

"Come here."

Like summoning a well-trained pet.

In the past, I would have obediently walked over, sat down, poured him drinks, waited on him.

But this time, I stood where I was and gestured for the cameraman to set up the equipment.

"Mr. Brooks, we're on a tight schedule. Let's just do it here."

I pulled out my equipment.

"About fifteen minutes."

The atmosphere in the room instantly chilled.

Everyone exchanged glances.

Lucas's hand playing with the lighter paused. The lid snapped shut.

He narrowed his eyes, his expression amused.

"Ivy, what are you trying to pull?"

"You've got it wrong, Mr. Brooks."

I turned on the voice recorder, meeting his gaze directly.

"This is strictly business. If now's not a good time, we can do this another day. Or I can have someone else take over."

I started to pack up my things.

"Stop."

Lucas's face darkened. He slammed his glass on the table with a sharp clink.

"Everyone out."

He waved his hand at the others.

Though curious, no one dared to anger Lucas. They all filed out with their companions, but as they passed me, their eyes held a voyeuristic gleam.

The photographer hesitated.

"Should I..."

"Wait for me outside," I said.

The private room door closed.

The vast space held only the two of us.

The lighting was dim. The air was filled with expensive perfume and lingering cigarette smoke.

Lucas stood and walked toward me step by step.

He was tall, his presence overwhelming.

He lowered his head, leaning close to my face, his warm breath brushing against my ear.

"Still mad about that morning? Didn't I say I'd have Steve send you a card? Not enough?"

I stepped back half a step, avoiding his breath.

"I didn't accept the card. I already sent it back to your company's front desk."

I lifted my head.

"Lucas, that night was an accident. We're both adults. It's over. I'm here today purely for work."

"Over?"

Lucas looked like he'd heard a joke. He suddenly grabbed my chin, his fingertips grazing my delicate skin.

"Ivy, you've followed me around for eight years, and now you're playing it cool? I don't believe you feel nothing for me. That night, you clearly..."

"That was the drug's effect."

I interrupted him.

"Mr. Brooks, I'm resigning. This interview is my last assignment at this company. After this, I'm leaving London. We probably won't see each other again."

Lucas's fingers tightened abruptly, the pressure making me wince.

"Leaving London? Where to?"

"That's none of your concern."

"To avoid me?"

Anger flickered in Lucas's eyes.

"Ivy, is this really necessary? Just because I never made you official? You never cared about that before."

"I was naive before."

I pried his hand off forcefully and stepped back twice, smoothing my wrinkled collar.

"Now I've come to my senses. Someone like Mr. Brooks, up in the clouds-you're not suitable for someone ordinary like me. I apologize for bothering you all these years. It won't happen again."

I raised the voice recorder again.

"Mr. Brooks, first question: regarding the Brooks Group's strategic plans for next quarter..."

Lucas stared at me.

He laughed in fury and sat back on the sofa, lighting a cigarette, his expression dark.

"Fine. Very good. You want an interview? Ask away. I'd like to see how long you can keep up this act."

Ivy Laurent POV

The interview was exceptionally difficult.

Lucas didn't cooperate. In fact, he deliberately made things hard for me.

No matter what I asked, he answered carelessly, even deliberately steering the conversation toward his private life, trying to provoke me.

"What are Mr. Brooks's expectations for a future partner?"

"Obedient. Well-behaved. Preferably not like some people, the kind who sleep with you and then pretend you don't exist. Change faster than the weather."

Lucas exhaled a smoke ring, looking at me with mock amusement.

My fingers tightened around my pen, but I still dutifully recorded his words.

"Mr. Brooks prefers the obedient type. What about the recent rumors of a business marriage..."

"Not interested."

Lucas cut me off, suddenly leaning forward, his gaze intense.

"Lately I've been more interested in women who look proper on the surface but will do anything for a man in private. Got any recommendations?"

I closed my notebook.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Brooks. I have enough material."

I didn't want to stay a second longer.

Just as I was about to stand, the private room door suddenly burst open.

A girl in a white dress with long flowing hair rushed in, carrying an elegant thermal container.

The girl was beautiful-the kind of bright, flamboyant beauty completely different from mine.

"Lucas! I heard you were here, so I made you chicken soup!"

The girl fluttered toward Lucas like a butterfly, naturally looping her arm through his and nuzzling against him affectionately.

Charlotte Ashford.

Also Lucas's recent rumored girlfriend, the female lead in those ambiguous social media posts.

Though that post was later deleted, everyone in their circle knew Charlotte was pursuing Lucas.

Lucas didn't push her away.

His gaze traveled over Charlotte's head, staring straight at me, seemingly waiting for my reaction.

I just glanced once.

I nodded politely at Charlotte.

"Hello, miss Ashford."

Then I turned to Lucas.

"Since Mr. Brooks has a guest, I won't intrude further. I'll send you the draft for review once it's written."

I turned and left without a trace of reluctance.

But I still heard the voices behind me.

Charlotte sounded confused.

"Lucas, who is she? She seemed kind of weird."

He suddenly shook off Charlotte's hand and irritably swept the glass off the table.

"Get out."

Charlotte jumped.

"Lucas..."

"Everyone get out!"

Lucas roared.

I ignored his tantrum.

After leaving the club, the wind outside was cold, clearing my head.

The photographer had been waiting anxiously in the car. Seeing me emerge, he quickly started the engine.

"How did it go? Did you get it?"

"Got it."

I tossed the voice recorder into my bag and leaned back in the seat, exhausted.

"Back to the office."

Back at the paper, I worked through the night to finish the article.

I sent the piece to Mr. Evans with a single line.

"Assignment complete. Please sign."

Mr. Evans was probably surprised by my efficiency. He didn't make things difficult and readily approved my resignation.

The moment I finished the paperwork, I stood outside the company building, looking at this prosperous city, feeling only relief.

I sent Ethan a message.

"I resigned."

Ethan replied almost instantly.

"Congratulations. To celebrate your freedom, dinner tonight? I've made a reservation."

I thought for a moment and replied.

"Okay."

I didn't tell anyone I'd already bought a plane ticket to New York for the day after tomorrow.

This meal was a farewell.

Farewell to the past, and farewell to this city.