His Success Dies With Me

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I sat before the dressing table, my fingertips brushing the edges of the gilded gift box; the cold metal pressed against my skin, numbing the flesh slightly.

Last month, when I was browsing this skincare product at the counter, the salesperson said, This is a limited edition from the anti-aging series. I smiled and shook my head. Joseph Charles stood behind me silently but quietly took note.

He handed me the gift box: "Sherry, you can stay beautiful at 35this suits you even better than when you tried it at the counter."

Clutching the gift box, I kept saying, "This is too expensive," but he ruffled my hair and said, "You're worth every penny."

Many people came to my 35th birthday party, all are colleagues who had started up with us from the garage.

John raised his glass and walked over, patting Joseph on the shoulder: "Joseph, you and Sherry are the ones we're rooting for. This year, you two must get married!"

Those around began to jeer, and Joseph tightened his arm around my waist, smiling as he interjected, "John, don't be impatient; I must wait for Sherry's nodshe is the boss."

I laughed along, but felt hollow insidehe has been saying that for almost five years.

Someone pushed the cake toward us. Joseph looked at me and said, "Sherry, make a wish."

I closed my eyes, silently wishing, "May the Southern City Project go smoothly." When I opened them, he was already typing on his phone, a smile tugging at his lips.

The banquet had just ended shortly after ten when Joseph's phone suddenly rang. He glanced at the screen; his tone immediately softened: "Celine? What is it?"

The voice on the other end of the phone came through faintly, tinged with sobbing; he frowned and said, "Don't panic, I'm coming over immediately."

I asked him, "Do you want me to come with you?"

Without looking back, he grabbed his coat and said, "No need, just tidy up the living room. I'll handle Celine's side."

I crouched on the floor picking up balloon fragments when my phone vibrated in my pocket and a notification from the City Forum popped up.

I opened the post and suddenly paused when I saw the words "Southern City Project" it was the project I had been following for half a year, and only Joseph and I knew the details.

"You can't fill out a dress," he said. I thought back to last weektrying on that new beige dress, asking if it looked good. He never looked up from his files. "Looks fine," he said. Just a brush-off.

He said, "A 22-year-old assistant is like a little sun." Suddenly, I recalled a few days ago in the office, when Celine Frank handed a coffee to Joseph; his eyes curved into crescents as he smiled. When he received it, his fingers brushed lightly against the back of her hand.

I clicked on the profile of the thread's author; it was a photoJoseph's office. On the desk sat a pot of succulents that Celine had brought last week.

I remembered when I mortgaged my parents' house, the agent said, "This home represents a lifetime of their sweat and tears. Mortgaging it is an enormous gamble."

At that moment, I confidently declared, "Joseph is someone I trust; we will succeed."

I remember the third month of staying up late to finish the proposal. I cooked instant noodles, and Joseph snatched the egg from my bowl: "Sherry, you have the ham; the egg is mine. I've got strong shoulders to carry things."

Now he has become the CEO of the Charles Group, while I have turned into the washed-up old hag.

The sweet scent of cake still lingered in the living room. I picked up a piece and put it in my mouth, only to find it bitter and astringent.

The streetlight outside streamed in, illuminating the gift box. The gilded light dazzled my eyes, and my entire body felt encased in ice, cold to the bone.

I sat on the sofa hugging my knees, crying until my eyes were swollen.

The phone screen lit up; it was a video call from Joseph.

I took a deep breath, wiped my tears, and answered.

His background was the office, and Celine stood just behind him, holding some documents, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Sherry, still sulking?" He frowned, his tone heavy with impatience, "What's wrong with giving the Southern City Project to Celine? You're getting old; your energy can't keep up. Don't cling to your position."

I opened my mouth, about to ask about the posts on the forum, but he continued, "Enough, I forgive you. Stop being childish. Hand over the materials about the project to Celine at work tomorrow."

"Forgive me?" I repeated those three words, my heart aching as if it were being tightly clenched.

He did not notice the tremor in my voice and simply said, "I'm busy, goodbye," before abruptly ending the call.

The moment the screen went dark, the last fragment of my hope shattered.

I took out another phone and dialed Ryan's number.

"Ryan," I tried to steady my voice, "I want to break up with Joseph and also resign from the company."

There was silence for a few seconds on the other end, then Ryan's urgent voice came through: "Did he bully you again? Where are you? I'm coming to find you!"

"I'm fine," I sniffled, "I just came to terms with it; I've had enough of days like these."

Ryan cursed, "Joseph is such a bast*rd," then said, "As long as you've made up your mind, whatever decision you make, I will support you."

After hanging up, I stood and walked to the dressing table, tossing the box of skincare products into the trash bin.

The next morning, as I opened the drawer to look for the USB flash drive, my fingers first brushed against a yellowed slip of paper.

On the paper were uneven words: "Ms. Collins, I have organized the files and placed them on your desk," written when Joseph had just joined the company.

I held the note gently, and with a light tug, a photograph slipped out.

I squatted down to pick it up; in the photo, I was wearing an off-white professional outfit, clutching a project contract, my brows furrowedthat was just after finalizing a cooperation, on the way to inspect a site.

Beside me, Joseph was over half a head shorter, his faded white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his trousers cut well above the ankle.

He held half a hard bread in his hand, yet tilted his head back to smile at me, his eyes shining bright.

I recalled that day; even the wind carried the distinctive damp scent of the slum.

I was walking hurriedly, my high heels clicking on the cobblestone path, when suddenly someone grabbed the hem of my pants.

Looking down, I saw him, his face flushed red from the cold: "Miss, may I follow you?"

I frowned, intending to leave, but he stepped closer and said, "I can sweep floors and type; I don't want a salary, just a meal to eat."

I stared at his hand, purple from the cold, and suddenly thought of my younger brotherwhen he left, he was only about this age.

"What is your name?" I asked him.

He hesitated for a moment, then whispered, "Joseph Charles, everyone calls me Joseph."

"Come with me." I turned around and heard him following behind, his footsteps light and quick.

Back at home, I opened the wardrobe and took out some old sportswear my younger brother used to wear, handing it to him: "Make do with this for now; I'll buy you new clothes tomorrow."

He clutched the clothes, his fingers trembling: "Thank you, Ms. Collins."

That night, I cooked a bowl of tomato and egg noodles. He held the bowl and finished every last drop of soup: "Ms. Collins, these are the best noodles I've ever had."

Later, I taught him how to use the computer. He stared intently at the screen, his fingers fumbling over the keyboard for a long while, anxiously sweating at the tip of his nose: "Ms. Collins, where is this 'Ctrl' key?"

I held his hand, pointing bit by bit: "Here it is. Do you remember it?"

He nodded eagerly and thereafter arrived at the office half an hour early every day to practice typing on the keyboard.

Once, I worked overtime until midnight, with acid rising in my stomach, bent over the desk massaging my abdomen.

He brought over a cup of hot milk, steam still rising from it. "Ms. Collins, I bought this at the convenience store downstairs; have some to soothe your stomach."

I took the milk, my heart completely softened.

At that time, he always followed behind me, helping to hand me the stapler, buying me the lemon tea I loved.

I thought life would always be like thisI would raise him, he would accompany me in growing old, and together we would run the company well.

But now, looking back, those warm moments feel like smoke blown away by the wind, leaving no trace.

I slipped the photo back into my wallet, not out of lingering sentiment, but to remember the boy who would keep warm milk tucked closely to his chest for me.

I put the USB flash drive into my bag, then glanced at the clock on the tablehe had given it to me before, saying, "Ms. Collins, don't always lose track of time; I'll help watch for you."

As I slung my backpack and stepped out, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Ryan: "Shall I give you a ride since I'm passing by?"

I replied, "No, thank you, I'll go on my own," and pushed open the door.

The sunlight warmed my skin, dazzling me somewhat, yet inside I felt cold.

But I knew that from this day forward, Sherry Collinsthe one who always put others firstwould live for herself.

Upon arriving at the company, Yara at the reception stood up with a smile.

She handed me a cup of warm soy milk: "Just freshly made. Sherry, warm your handsyou're half an hour earlier than usual today."

I took the cup, nodded slightly, and said, "I have some matters to attend to."

I walked straight to Joseph's office; everyone in the corridor had their heads down, busy with their work, and no one noticed the expression on my face.

Just as I reached the office door, a figure clad in pink suddenly blocked my path.

It was Celine Frank, arms crossed, a platinum necklace glittering around her neckthe very one Joseph had brought back from his business trip to country R last month. He had said then, "The client specifically requested this brand; it's very difficult to find."

"Sherry, Mr. Charles is on the phone with a business partner. If you have something to say, just tell me." She lifted her chin, the defiance in her tone impossible to conceal.

I turned sideways, intending to pass by, but she stepped forward, completely blocking my way: "Sherry, don't be so ungracious."

She raised her hand to touch her necklace: "Mr. Charles told me yesterday that the Southern City Project is entrusted to me with full confidence, saying I am young and energetic, unlike some people who are already 35 yet still clinging to the director's position, revising the plan three times without any creativity."

"Step aside." I clenched the resignation letter tightly in my hand, unwilling to waste time arguing with her.

"What if I refuse?" She smiled even more smugly. "Mr. Charles said that from now on, all the company's key projects will be led by me. As for you, you'd better go home and get married with someone soondon't hold things up here."

That remark reminded me of what Joseph said in the forum about "a woman past her prime," and a surge of anger instantly welled up within me.

Without much thought, I raised my hand and with a sharp "smack," my palm struck her face.

Celine covered her face, stunned for three seconds before she reacted, tears suddenly welling up: "Mr. Charles! Mr. Charles, come out quickly! Sherry hit me!"

The office door was slammed open with a loud bang as Joseph rushed out, immediately pulling Celine behind him.

Seeing Celine's reddened cheek, he said nothing about the cause but shouted at me, "Sherry, have you lost your mind?! On what grounds you hit her?"

"On what grounds?" I watched him protect Celine, and the last trace of warmth in my heart turned cold. "Because she stole my project, because you are blind and heartless, unable to tell who truly cares about you!"

Joseph's face darkened, and he raised his hand to slap me across the face.

I staggered back two steps, colliding with the filing cabinet behind me. My cheek burned fiercely, and tears nearly welled up.

Colleagues nearby heard the commotion and gathered around. Someone whispered, "What's going on? Sherry is usually quite gentle..."

A colleague, Chester, wanted to come forward and pull me away but was tugged by another colleague beside him and then hesitated before retreating.

Celine hid behind Joseph and secretly made a face at me.

I covered my cheek, suddenly finding it utterly ridiculousseven years of love, seven years of dedication, only to be met with a slap and a farce in the end.

I took the resignation letter from my bag and slammed it onto the floor: "Joseph, I resign! From today onward, I, Sherry Collins, will have nothing more to do with you or this fu*king company!"

He was stunned for a moment and reached out to grab me. "Sherry, don't be like this, let's talk things through properly..."

I stepped back, avoiding his hand.

As I turned, I met no one's eyes, nor did I hear Joseph calling my name behind me; I walked step by step toward the elevator.

The moment the elevator doors closed, I caught sight of my flushed cheeks in the mirror and suddenly felt a profound lightness in my heart.

Those years of pouring out my heart, those years of silent suffering and endurance, might as well have been fed to the dogs.