"Miss Everhart, I apologize to you. Are you satisfied now?"
Faced with the man's sarcastic tone, I felt no ripple in my heart, only boredom:
"I don't need your apology. You just need to understand one thing, which is that we've broken up."
With that, I hung up the phone, pulled out the SIM card, and tossed both the phone and card into the trash.
It was already eleven at night when the welcome dinner ended.
My high school bestie, whom I hadn't seen in years, sent a message inviting me for a late-night drink.
So I rushed home, changed into a very form-fitting long dress, and happily went to meet her.
At a jazz lounge at 1:30 in the morning.
Just as I was about to clink glasses with my bestie for the third Martini, someone angrily snatched my drink from behind.
Reflexively turning around, I saw Nolan's extremely gloomy face.
Before I had a chance to ask how he ended up here,
The man had already gripped my arm, pulling me up from my seat without explanation: