After Eight Years, They Threw Me Away

Chapter 7: The First Love Returns

I met Adrian Shen on a Friday evening.

The sky had just turned dark. The air still smelled of rain and hot asphalt. I was walking back from the subway station with a plastic bag of discounted vegetables in one hand and a folder of rejected resumes in the other.

Then I saw the black car.

It was parked outside our apartment building, smooth and polished, the kind of car that made security guards stand straighter.

A man leaned against it.

Tall.

Well dressed.

Navy suit, white shirt, no tie.

The kind of casual that cost more than most people's formal.

He held a bouquet of white roses.

Olivia stood in front of him.

She was smiling.

Not the tight smile she used with me lately.

Not the polite smile she gave neighbors in the elevator.

A real smile.

Soft.

Bright.

Young.

I stopped several steps away.

For one foolish second, I thought I had walked into someone else's memory.

Then Olivia saw me.

The smile faded.

Not completely.

Just enough to tell me which version of her belonged to me now.

"Ethan," she said.

The man turned.

His eyes moved over me quickly.

My cheap folder.

My wet shoes.

The plastic bag in my hand.

He smiled.

It was the kind of smile that had already decided where you belonged.

"You must be Ethan Zhou."

He stepped forward and offered his hand.

"Adrian Shen."

I looked at his hand.

Then at Olivia.

Her expression had become careful.

"Adrian was my college classmate," she said. "He just came back from overseas."

I had heard the name before.

Adrian.

The first love.

The almost-boyfriend.

The man who had left for another country before anything could fully happen, leaving behind enough unfinished longing for Olivia to mention him when she drank too much.

In our second year of marriage, she once said, "If Adrian hadn't left, maybe my life would have been different."

She had been drunk.

I had pretended not to hear.

Now the unfinished possibility stood in front of me with roses and a luxury car.

I shook his hand.

His grip was warm and controlled.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

"Is it?"

His smile paused.

Olivia shot me a warning look.

"Ethan."

Adrian chuckled softly, as if forgiving my lack of manners.

"Olivia told me you work in client strategy."

There it was.

The past tense had not reached him yet.

Olivia looked away.

I said, "I used to."

Adrian's brows lifted just enough.

"Used to?"

"I'm between jobs."

His expression did not change much.

Men like Adrian were trained not to show too much.

But his eyes sharpened with interest.

Not concern.

Opportunity.

"I see," he said. "That can be difficult."

"It can."

Olivia stepped in quickly.

"Adrian is in investment now. He's doing very well."

She said it too quickly.

Too brightly.

As if placing his success beside my unemployment would explain everything.

Adrian gave a modest wave of his hand.

"Nothing impressive. Just a few private projects. Some funds. Some cross-border opportunities."

I had heard men talk like that before.

The ones who wanted people to ask for details.

The ones who never explained anything clearly until money was on the table.

"Sounds busy," I said.

"It is." He looked at Olivia. "But old friends are worth making time for."

Olivia lowered her eyes.

She looked almost shy.

Something cold settled in my stomach.

The roses suddenly made sense.

"Are those for my wife?" I asked.

Adrian glanced at the bouquet as if he had forgotten it was there.

"A small welcome-back gift between friends."

"You came back," I said. "Not her."

For the first time, Adrian's smile thinned.

Olivia's face hardened.

"Ethan, don't be rude."

Rude.

I had come home with vegetables.

He had come with roses.

Somehow, I was the rude one.

Adrian raised a hand gently.

"It's fine. I understand. A husband should care."

The way he said husband made the word sound temporary.

I looked at him.

"Good. Then you understand boundaries."

The air changed.

Olivia's eyes widened.

Adrian held my gaze for a second, then smiled again.

"Of course."

He handed the roses to Olivia anyway.

She hesitated.

Then she took them.

That hesitation told me she knew it was wrong.

Taking them told me it did not matter.

"I should go," Adrian said. "Olivia, send me a message when you get upstairs."

Olivia nodded.

"Okay."

He got into the car. The engine started almost silently. Before driving away, he gave me one last look through the window.

Not hostile.

Worse.

Amused.

The car disappeared down the street.

Olivia turned toward the building entrance, roses in her arms.

I followed her.

Neither of us spoke until we were in the elevator.

The mirrors on three sides reflected us from every angle.

Her with flowers.

Me with discounted vegetables.

It looked like a joke written by a cruel person.

"How long have you been in contact with him?" I asked.

"A few weeks."

"You didn't mention it."

"Because you would react like this."

"Like what?"

"Jealous. Bitter. Suspicious."

I looked at her reflection.

"He brought flowers to another man's wife."

"He is an old friend."

"Old friends don't need roses."

She turned to face me.

"Maybe some people still know how to be thoughtful."

The elevator doors opened.

She walked out first.

I stood there for half a second, holding the plastic bag so tightly the handle cut into my palm.

Then I followed.

At our door, Olivia entered the passcode.

She did not look at me as she said, "Adrian said he might be able to introduce me to some investment opportunities."

"Of course he did."

She turned.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means men like him don't show up with roses for nothing."

Her eyes flashed.

"At least he shows up with something."

The door opened.

She went inside.

I stayed in the hallway.

For the first time since I lost my job, I understood that my marriage was not just cold.

It had opened a door.

And Adrian Shen had already stepped through it.