Her Rules Ended Our Underground Love

Before we're transferred to the branch office, the headquarters holds a farewell party for everyone who's leaving. When it's time to take the group photo, I quietly make my way toward my secret girlfriend, Claire Brooks, hoping to get a picture with her that we can look back on someday. But just as I'm about to take my place beside her, Claire frowns and hurries over to stand to the left of my close friend, Charles Lawson. Seeing that, everyone else subtly shifts away from me, leaving me alone in the corner. I swallow my hurt and take the only spot left without saying a word. After that, we don't speak to each other again for the rest of the party, all in the name of maintaining professionalism. It isn't until we get home and I check the company group chat that I notice something strange about the transfer announcement. My name is nowhere on the list. I immediately message her to ask why, but her reply is the same as always. "It's to avoid any suspicion." Those few words have become her excuse for everything. Whenever she goes on a business trip, she always chooses Charles to accompany her. In every group photo and on her social media, he's the one standing by her side. She's even handed me off to someone else when I'm drunk so she can drive him home instead. I know she's the one who established the department's strict no-office-romance policy in the first place, but whether this relationship continues is ultimately my decision to make. I let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh, realizing there's no longer any reason for us to keep our distance. After all, this time, she's the one who's pushed me away with her own hands. Chapter 1 By the time I returned to the dorm's common area, the sorrow I'd been holding back had become almost unbearable. I had to force myself to keep it under control. I sank onto the couch and opened the transfer announcement in the company group chat. The list was short, containing only a handful of names. Claire Brooks, Project Manager at Headquarters. Charles Lawson, Assistant Project Manager. A few others were listed as trainees who would accompany them to learn the ropes. My name, however, was nowhere to be found. Only then did I realize that tonight's farewell party had never really been about sending us off. It had been about sending them off. I stared at the screen, my fingers slowly turning cold. In the end, I still couldn't resist sending Claire, my secret girlfriend, a message. "Why isn't my name on the list?" She replied almost immediately. "We should keep our distance to avoid raising suspicion. If another transfer opportunity comes up next year, I'll try to get you transferred over. You need to learn to stand on your own, too. Otherwise, people will think you can't manage without someone holding your hand." It was the same old story. Whenever I was hurt, she'd shut me down with the same cold, rehearsed explanations, dressing them up as reason and professionalism. I stared at her message, my throat tightening. For the past three years, her constant insistence on avoiding suspicion had left me isolated, forcing me to swallow one grievance after another. Yet ever since Charles, her buddy, joined the company, she'd gone out of her way to look after him, treating him with a level of consideration she'd never shown me. When I returned to my room, Charles was already packing, with several moving boxes scattered across the floor. He was in high spirits. The moment he saw me walk in, he raised a hand in greeting. I stood in the doorway, watching him for several seconds before finally asking, "When did you find out?" His hands paused for a moment, but his tone remained casual. "This afternoon. Ms. Brooks told me ahead of time and asked me to start getting ready." So the announcement had gone out that afternoon, which meant everyone had known about the transfers before I did. I nodded and said nothing more, but Charles simply walked over and slung an arm around my shoulders as if nothing had happened. "Hey, don't be upset. She said she'd try to get you transferred next year if there's an opportunity. You know she's always looked out for you." Look out for me? I stared at his carefree smile as a heavy, suffocating feeling settled in my chest. If he'd shown even the slightest consideration for my feelings, perhaps the whole thing wouldn't have hurt so much. But he was so casual about it all, as though there had never been any question that standing by Claire's side was his rightful place. … That evening, Charles dragged me out to dinner, insisting we should celebrate in advance. I hadn't wanted to go, but in the end, I went along with him. Soon after we sat down, Claire arrived. We were near the office, so she took her usual seat to Charles left. Claire casually asked Charles what he wanted to eat before pulling a pair of disposable gloves from the package and handing them to him. When he said he didn't need them, she simply lowered her head and started peeling shrimp for him anyway, placing them on his plate one by one. Sitting across from them, I felt my stomach tighten with every passing moment until I could barely stand to watch them. Finally, Claire glanced in my direction. "Why aren't you eating?" "My stomach's bothering me," I replied quietly. "I don't feel like eating anything too creamy." I'd thought she'd at least ask if I wanted to order something else, but instead, she simply pushed the plate of shrimp I'd barely touched toward Charles. "Here, you can have these. After all, this is your favorite place." Charles hesitated for a moment before smiling and accepting the plate. I stared at the shrimp, a bitter sense of absurdity washing over me. Apparently, telling Claire I wasn't feeling well wasn't enough to earn even a single word of concern. Instead, it had merely given her another opportunity to make someone else happy. For the rest of the meal, the two of them talked nonstop about headquarters, their new offices, their new colleagues, and how they'd work together in the future. I sat quietly, listening to them discuss their plans while struggling to find an opportunity to join the conversation. The longer they talked, the more I felt like I didn't belong there at all. Only then did I realize that this dinner had never really been a celebration. I'd been invited to sit there and witness firsthand how effortlessly they understood each other. And somehow, despite being the person who'd secretly dated Claire for three years, I felt more like an outsider than anyone else at the table. That night, I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep as my mind drifted back to all the little moments that had accumulated over the past three years. Charles was always the one who accompanied Claire on business trips, the one who appeared beside her in her social media posts, and the one she'd chosen to take home that night I'd gotten drunk, leaving me in the care of another colleague instead. All this time, I'd used her insistence on avoiding suspicion to reassure myself that there was a good reason for everything. But now, I was tired of making excuses for her. For the first time, I couldn't help but wonder whether I still needed a friendship like this or a relationship like ours. Chapter 2 The next evening after work, a heavy rainstorm rolled in. I stood outside the office building, only to realize I'd forgotten my umbrella. I was debating whether to wait for the rain to let up or make a run for it and hail a cab when a black sedan pulled up to the entrance. It was Claire's car. Without thinking, I took a step toward it, but before I could get any closer, Charles had already opened the passenger door and climbed inside. He moved so naturally, as though he'd sat in that seat countless times before. I stood beneath the awning, watching him fasten his seat belt, watching Claire turn to say something to him, and watching the effortless familiarity between them. Only then did she look up and notice me. "There are other colleagues around. We'd better keep our distance." I froze. Charles and I lived in the same dorm and were headed to the same place anyway. Yet once again, I was the one left behind while she gave him a ride, all in the name of avoiding suspicion. Moments later, the car pulled away. I watched its taillights disappear into the rain, a sudden chill spreading through me. In the end, I had no choice but to dash into the downpour and hail a cab on my own. By the time I finally managed to get one, my hair was soaked through, and water had seeped into my shoes. Even after I climbed into the back seat, water continued dripping from my clothes. The driver handed me a packet of tissues, and I murmured my thanks before turning to look out the window. Condensation gradually fogged up the glass. As I wiped a small patch clear with my numb fingers, I found myself thinking about how, for those few seconds outside the office, I'd actually believed Claire might let me into her car. When I finally returned to the dorm, the place was empty. I changed out of my wet clothes and sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly into space for a long time. My phone remained silent. No one asked if I'd managed to get a cab or how badly I'd been soaked by the rain. It was almost 11:00 pm when Charles finally returned, carrying a cup of tea. The moment he walked in, he began explaining himself. "You're still awake? We were supposed to head straight home, but then I thought we should take one last look around the city before leaving. Since it was raining, the night scenery was pretty nice, so we took a little detour." With a smile, he held out the tea he'd brought back for me. I didn't take it. Instead, I opened his social media feed. His latest post was right at the top. The photo showed rain streaking across a car window, the city lights blurred in the distance, and the steering wheel visible from the passenger's seat. I recognized that hand. The caption contained just one sentence: "Time to say goodbye to this city." I stared at the post, an unbearable heaviness pressing against my chest. While I'd been standing helplessly in the rain, struggling to hail a cab, the two of them had been driving around the city together, admiring the rainy night scenery and taking photos to commemorate their departure. For some reason, I felt as though I should be the one saying goodbye to everything. I turned off my phone without saying a word. … That night, I came down with a high fever. My whole body felt ice-cold, but my forehead was burning. I kept waking up throughout the night, unable to get any decent rest. The next morning, I forced myself to message Claire. "I have a fever. Could I take half a day off?" She replied almost immediately. "We have an important meeting today, and Charles has a sore throat. He won't be able to give the presentation, so you'll have to cover for him. Take some medicine and try to push through it." I stared at her message and let out a bitter laugh. Eventually, I dragged myself to work. I'd barely settled into my seat when Charles approached me. He took one look at my face and said I looked awful, then offered me a pill from his bag, explaining that he had some medicine I could take. My head was already spinning, and I was too exhausted to think much of it. I accepted the pill and swallowed it. But halfway through the meeting, I began to realize something was wrong. My eyelids grew heavier by the second, and it felt as though a thick fog had settled over my mind. My head was swimming, and the speaker's voice seemed to grow more and more distant until I could barely make out what anyone was saying. I knew I couldn't afford to collapse. No one in that room would remember that I'd been running a fever or how hard I'd tried to hold myself together. All they'd remember was that I'd messed up in front of everyone. But by the time the meeting was nearing its end, I could barely stay on my feet. When it was my turn to stand and add to the presentation, I gripped the edge of the table and forced myself upright. The next second, my vision went completely black, and my body lurched uncontrollably to the side, straight toward Claire. It wasn't that I wanted her to catch me. I simply had no strength left, and my body instinctively tipped toward the nearest person. But in the very next moment, I saw Claire step back. It was such a small movement, barely more than a reflex, yet it was enough to send me crashing to the floor. My forehead struck the corner of the table, and a burst of pain exploded through my head as my vision flashed white. The entire conference room fell silent. Even the rustling of papers came to an abrupt stop. I tried to brace myself against the floor, my ears ringing as I struggled to regain my bearings. Through the haze, I could still make out the pair of heels standing closest to me. Claire hadn't reached out to help me. She'd stepped away. People's instincts rarely lie. More often than not, it's those split-second reactions that reveal what they truly feel deep down. Chapter 3 I woke up in the company infirmary. After checking my temperature, the doctor assured me that it wasn't anything serious. I'd developed a fever after getting soaked in the rain, and taking the wrong medication had put additional strain on my already weakened body, causing me to pass out. "The wrong medication?" I asked hoarsely. One of my coworkers, who had been sitting beside my bed, finally explained that the pills Charles had given me weren't fever reducers at all. They were melatonin tablets. Apparently, the bottles looked similar, and he'd grabbed the wrong one by mistake. After hearing that, I was too exhausted to say another word. All I could think about was the moment I'd blacked out, when Claire had stepped away just as I was falling toward her. That evening, Charles came to visit me with fried chicken and coffee, worry etched across his face. The moment he walked in, he began apologizing, insisting that he hadn't given me the wrong medication on purpose and that he'd been terrified when he realized his mistake. He set the food on the table before holding out the coffee. "This is from your favorite place. I waited in line forever to get it for you." The infirmary was already stuffy, and the smell of fried chicken made my stomach turn. I'd thrown up earlier that afternoon, and the mere smell of food was enough to make me feel sick. I turned my head away and said quietly, "I can't eat right now." I was only telling the truth, but the hurt in Charles's eyes deepened, and his voice began to tremble. "Are you still mad at me?" I looked at him, suddenly too exhausted to explain myself. He stood beside my bed with a sorrowful expression, and just then, a coworker passing by the doorway noticed him. Before long, a few others had gathered around to comfort him. "He didn't do it on purpose. At least he came to apologize," one of them said to me. "Exactly. He even went out of his way to buy you food," another chimed in. Then someone turned to me and asked accusingly, "Have you been under too much pressure lately? You haven't been acting like yourself." Their words came one after another, each one weighing more heavily on my chest. I was the one who had collapsed. I was the one running a fever. I was the one who had been given the wrong medication. Yet somehow, by the end of it all, Charles was the one everyone felt sorry for, while I was made to feel like the one at fault. I closed my eyes and said only, "I want to rest." Once they finally left, the infirmary fell silent again. I lay there staring at the fluorescent light overhead, feeling utterly exhausted. But it wasn't my body that was tired. It was the fact that whenever someone hurt me, I still found myself worrying about whether they'd get into trouble because of it. Even when I was the one suffering, I still felt compelled to put on a gracious smile and pretend to forgive them. I was always the one giving ground, making concessions until, eventually, even telling the truth made me look like the bad guy. … After that, the exclusion at work became increasingly obvious. Whenever I asked for project files, my coworkers would tell me they'd send them over later. Whenever I needed reference materials, I'd eventually discover they'd already given them to Charles. Even something as routine as meeting minutes would land on my desk with pages missing or important details left out. At first, I brushed it off as a series of unfortunate coincidences. But after it happened enough times, I finally understood that none of it was accidental. No one was openly targeting me. They were simply good at reading their boss's preferences and knew exactly how to act accordingly. The worst incident involved a crucial contract attachment that I needed to review before submitting the complete document package. It was supposed to be sent to me well in advance, but no matter how many times I followed up, no one ever forwarded it. By the time I realized what was happening, I had only 20 minutes left before the deadline. With no other options, I scrambled to make up for the lost time, tracking down the legal team and chasing the person in charge for a signature. I rushed from one person to another, barely able to catch my breath, but despite my best efforts, I still missed the deadline. Before the meeting was over, Claire slapped the documents onto the table and called me out in front of everyone. "Adrian, what exactly has gotten into you lately?" I stood up, ready to explain what had happened, but she cut me off before I could get a word out. "I don't want to hear your excuses. Your work has become increasingly unreliable. If you're going to let your personal feelings interfere with your job, then stop taking up a position you can't handle." The conference room fell silent. Everyone kept their heads down, and not a single person spoke up for me. No one mentioned that I'd never deliberately delayed the attachment or that it had been withheld from me until the last minute, leaving me scrambling to finish everything before the deadline. I stood there, a chill spreading through me. But in that moment, I finally understood something. It wasn't that I'd reached my breaking point and could no longer endure it. It was that I'd finally stopped wanting to make excuses for her. … After the meeting, I stood beside the printers for a long time, unable to bring myself to move. Then someone called my name from behind. I turned and saw a familiar face—Camille Prescott, a recruiter from a rival firm. We chatted for a while. After noticing how worn out I looked, she hesitated before asking, "Your talents are being wasted here. Have you ever considered going somewhere you could do more?" I didn't answer, so she lowered her voice slightly. "We're looking for someone who can take charge of projects independently, someone just like you. An opportunity like this doesn't come around twice." Her words stirred something in me. In the past, whenever I'd considered leaving, I'd always hesitated. I couldn't bear to walk away from the projects I'd worked so hard on or leave the company I'd invested so much in. More than anything, though, I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Claire. But now, I was standing beside the printers, fresh from being publicly reprimanded by the very person I'd once been so reluctant to leave. I looked at Camille and, for the first time, didn't turn her down. "Okay," I said. "If you're still looking for someone, I'm willing to join you." The moment the words left my mouth, an unexpected sense of relief washed over me. Maybe I should have left a long time ago. Chapter 4 Over the next few days, the office buzzed with excitement as the official transfers to headquarters drew closer. Everywhere I went, people were saying their goodbyes, and the atmosphere was filled with anticipation. Everyone seemed to gather around Claire and Charles, congratulating them on their transfers and jokingly reminding them not to forget their old coworkers once they climbed the corporate ladder. A few even asked them to put in a good word for the rest of the team when the opportunity arose. I was the only one who seemed to have been forgotten, yet somehow, the workload piling up on my desk continued to grow. I barely had time to catch my breath during the day, and every evening, I found myself staying late to work overtime alone. Whenever I heard laughter drifting in from outside the office, I knew everyone else was busy celebrating while I was left behind to clean up their mess. By the time my parents' birthday arrived, I didn't make it to their house until late that night. Both of them were still awake when I walked through the door, and my mother frowned the moment she saw me. "Why are you home so late again? Is work really that busy?" My father asked what had been keeping me so occupied. I hesitated for a moment before finally telling them the truth. "Claire and Charles are both transferring to headquarters, so a lot of their work has been dumped on me." My mother's expression darkened immediately. "So they get promoted and move on while you're stuck cleaning up after them?" My father frowned in agreement. "That's not fair." For a moment, I didn't know what to say. It had been so long since anyone had listened to me and immediately acknowledged that I'd been wronged. Just hearing someone say it wasn't fair was enough to make my eyes sting. Clutching my cup, I asked quietly, "Would you be angry if I left the company, too?" The living room fell silent for a few seconds before my mother spoke. "Why would we be angry? Everyone deserves the chance to pursue something better. Think it through first. Your dad and I will always support you." It wasn't an especially passionate declaration of support, but it was enough for me. Enough to finally let go of my last hesitation. That night, after returning to my dorm, I opened my laptop and organized all the handover documents for the projects I'd been handling. Once everything was in order, I created two new documents: my resignation email and a breakup message addressed to Claire. I kept the message short. There were no arguments, no accusations, and no questions demanding answers. I simply told her calmly that our relationship was over. After writing it, I stared at those few lines for a long time. Three years of love, and in the end, all it took to bring everything to an end was a single message. Once I'd sent it, I shut down my laptop and turned off my phone. That night, I slept better than I had in ages. It felt as though I'd finally lifted the heavy stone that had been pressing against my chest for far too long. Only later did I learn that Claire hadn't panicked when she first read my message. She'd merely frowned, assuming I was throwing another tantrum. After all, no matter how badly she'd hurt me in the past, I'd always been the one to back down first. She'd probably grown so accustomed to that pattern that she expected me to come crawling back on my own after a few days. But this time, I didn't. I didn't show up for work the next day or the day after that. By the fourth day, I was still nowhere to be found. My calls went unanswered, my messages received no replies, and I didn't respond to her emails, either. Claire finally began to lose patience, and for the first time, she panicked. Even then, her first response was to send a message in the company group chat. "Adrian Foster, if you continue to be absent without authorization, the company will consider it a voluntary resignation." It wasn't long before I finally responded, but I offered no explanation and didn't ask for leniency. Instead, I simply left the group chat. That single action said everything I needed to say. Afterward, Claire proceeded with my termination, citing two cold, impersonal reasons—unauthorized absences and failure to comply with management directives. … Soon, the day of Claire and Charles's scheduled appointments at headquarters had arrived, and they went ahead as planned. On their first day, they were scheduled to attend an important project coordination meeting. The department director, George Gunn, repeatedly reminded them that the client's new project lead had extremely high standards and warned them not to make any mistakes. When the conference room doors opened, everyone filed inside. Claire glanced toward the head of the table, then suddenly stopped in her tracks. Dressed in a dark suit with my hair neatly styled, I looked nothing like the man she'd left behind at the branch office. My company ID hung from my chest, and a stack of documents and a tablet lay on the table in front of me. Camille sat beside me, with the rest of my new team seated nearby. I saw Claire and Charles, too, but as my gaze swept across the room, I felt nothing at all. George smiled and began the introductions. "Allow me to introduce Mr. Adrian Foster, the project lead representing the client." I raised my eyes to meet Claire's gaze, my expression perfectly calm. "Ms. Brooks, I've heard a great deal about you." For a moment, the entire conference room fell silent.