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Unfinished Business
The most defiant thing I did that year was breaking up with him while he was still inside me.
Ethan said nothing, just kept moving with renewed intensity.
I cried until my voice was hoarse, and he only became more fierce.
Even when I couldn't make a sound anymore, he didn't stop.
He thought punishing me would make me obedient.
He never expected me to pull a vanishing act.
I was gone for five years.
...
Later, he was never gentle with me again, tossing me around like a rag doll.
"Why are you crying? Isn't this what you asked for?"
1
The room was dimly lit, the air still thick with the humid aftermath of our intimacy.
His forehead pressed against the hollow of my neck, nuzzling gently.
It was our most intimate habit.
All dependency, all tenderness, as if we could melt into each other's very bones through this simple touch.
But in this moment, it felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my heart, making even breathing feel rough.
He lifted his head, his dark eyes wet and gleaming with fragments of light, making it almost impossible for me to speak.
I raised my hand, wiping away the moisture at the corner of my eyes.
Finally, I whispered, "Let's break up."
Ethan's body visibly stiffened, as if he hadn't heard clearly, his pupils contracting slightly. "What?"
I pressed my lips together. "I said, let's end this."
He froze completely, confusion and helplessness flickering in his eyes. "Clara, this joke isn't funny at all."
I turned my face away, unable to look into his eyes anymore.
"It's not a joke. I got into Wharton with a full scholarship."
He responded almost instinctively, "Then I'll come with you—"
"I don't need you to."
I cut him off, my voice cold. "Ethan, look at yourself. Do you think the Yan Group would ever let you go?"
"What's between us has never been just about feelings. There's your family, your responsibilities, that chasm I can never cross."
I took a breath, making each word clear and cruel:
"I can't let a relationship trap my only chance to turn my life around. This is where it ends."
As I tried to get up, he pulled me back onto the bed.
He pressed down on me, his burning breath enveloping me, his voice rough and low:
"You choose your path, I won't stop you. But I won't let you push me away with this excuse... I won't let you abandon me."
2
He was stubborn as a wounded animal. My heart ached, but I still pushed him away forcefully.
"I've made myself clear. Whether you accept it or not is up to you."
He shook his head, his voice choked as if questioning himself: "Why can't the future... coexist with me?"
His movements suddenly became aggressive as he hoisted my legs over his shoulders.
I called him crazy.
But he only invaded me silently, as if using this most primal way to confirm that I still belonged to him.
Until I could no longer resist, my cries fragmenting into soft whimpers.
Only then did he slow his movements, holding me preciously, his voice full of longing:
"Don't break up... We'll go abroad together. I can handle things at home."
"Don't leave me."
Each word hit my chest like a weight, making it ache.
But I knew better than anyone that dignity and future were never gifts from others.
I had crawled for over a decade to escape that pit—I couldn't risk being dragged back for any relationship.
The trap might be a dead end, but it was also my only way out.
I closed my eyes, swallowing all emotions, silently enduring his desperation.
Late at night, in exhausted delirium, I felt him carefully pull me into his arms.
That familiar warmth finally gave him peace, but I was completely awake.
Morning light seeped into the bedroom as I woke beside him.
He was still asleep, his brow slightly furrowed, breathing deeply, as if trapped in some inescapable dream.
I instinctively reached out to smooth away that unease, but withdrew my fingertips just before touching him.
I only traced his features with my gaze, as if trying to etch every inch into memory.
This would probably be the last time.
3
I rose silently, emptying my section of the closet.
Each piece of clothing was folded neatly and put back in place, erasing all traces of my existence.
My gaze finally settled on the photo frame by the bed, pausing for a moment.
I still pulled out the frame and tucked it into the deepest corner of my suitcase.
Consider it the last bit of selfishness in this ending.
Looking back, the living room felt empty in one spot, as did my heart.
My phone showed flight information: departure to London in one hour.
Before boarding, I sent one final text:
[It's done. Don't forget what you promised me.]
As the plane broke through the clouds, I removed my SIM card.
Outside was an endless expanse of gray-blue.
Thirty thousand feet up, the clouds outside were frozen in time, silent.
The plane's constant humming carried memories flooding back.
It reminded me of that afternoon.
In a room filled with the aroma of coffee, Mrs. Yan calmly sipped her drink.
"You are his only weakness."
She set down her cup, her voice steady but absolute.
"Right now, the Yan Group's power struggles are at their peak. Your presence will only hurt him."
"Besides, I've uncovered some things about your family background. That's quite a problem."
I met her gaze, my heart tightening, but my expression remained composed. "What do you want me to do, Mrs. Yan?"
"Leave him. I'll send you abroad."
"For you, this is also a good opportunity."
Silence spread through the air.
I lowered my eyes for a moment, then looked up with a calm tone: "Fine, but I don't want charity disguised as escape."
"I want a recommendation letter to Wharton and an interest-free loan sufficient for my first year. I'll pay you back."
Surprise flickered in her eyes, then turned to faint appreciation. "You're more clear-headed than I imagined."
I nodded slightly. "Because you're right. This is a good opportunity for me."
She got what she wanted, and I grasped my only lifeline.
Later I learned that after I left, Mrs. Yan used the excuse of stabilizing morale to pin him in key positions, crushing his time with family responsibilities.
Passport frozen, accounts monitored.
He lost all possibility of freedom.
4
Five years passed in a flash.
At the celebration party, champagne glasses clinked with crisp sounds.
An investor raised his glass to me: "Ms. Yu, I knew you had potential back at Wharton."
The word "Wharton" pierced my heart like a fine needle.
The champagne in my mouth seemed to carry the bitter taste of that coffee from years ago.
I had to admit, Mrs. Yan had been right.
Going abroad had given me the capital to fight against my past.
Ethan couldn't protect me then, and leaving was my best choice.
The day I decided to return home, Jane just looked at me quietly: "Are you sure?"
"The domestic market is bigger."
I answered calmly, though only I knew the truth.
After five years of training, I finally had the qualifications to look back and seek that forcibly interrupted past.
No longer needing to worry about shadows constantly looming overhead.
Setting foot on New York soil again, my mindset had completely changed.
The figure dragging luggage in panicked departure seemed to have faded into distant memory.
The car door closed softly, shutting out five years of foreign struggles.
Not far away, in the shadow of the terminal, a black Mercedes S-Class sat quietly.
The window was half down, Ethan's fingers holding an unlit cigarette, his gaze locked on that distant figure.
For eighteen hundred days and nights, he could only piece together fragments of her through photos and videos.
Now the real person was within reach—vivid, alive, yet with an unfamiliar distance.
Until that figure got in a car and drove away, he slowly withdrew his gaze.
He closed his eyes, pushing all surging emotions back into the depths.
When he opened them again, only dark determination remained.
Clara Yu, since you're back, don't think about leaving again.
5
The second week after returning home, Jane handed me a party invitation.
The gold lettering burned against my fingertips, slightly warm.
I knew this party centered around Ethan.
Which suited my purposes perfectly.
Light and shadow swayed in the ballroom, voices humming low.
I wore a black velvet gown, moving through the clinking glasses and small talk with investors.
Just as the wine glass touched my lips.
A voice pierced through the noise, hitting my eardrums hard.
I hadn't heard it in five years, but had never forgotten it for a moment.
It was him.
"Ms. Yu?" The investor noticed my pause.
I composed myself, with slight apology: "I think I saw a familiar face."
The conversation continued, but every inch of my skin seemed to open, silently tracking his location.
He was being surrounded by people, walking toward the depths of the hall.
Finally ending the conversation, I nodded gracefully, then turned around quite naturally.
My gaze swept casually across the crowd.
But suddenly, unexpectedly, crashed into a pair of bottomless eyes.
Ethan stood where light and shadow intersected, surrounded by an aura of nobility and oppression.
His youthful air had been worn away by time, leaving only distance.
But his eyes... completely overlapped with that night five years ago.
All surrounding noise receded like a tide, yet I could see more clearly how his knuckles gripping the glass were white with tension.
I didn't dodge, only slightly raised my wine glass, offering him a restrained and distant smile.
His steps paused almost imperceptibly, the formulaic smile on his face nearly cracking.
I turned around decisively.
As if casually plucking a string in an old lover's heart.
6
I walked toward Sam, who was chatting and laughing with others nearby.
Jane's prepared "tool" for me.
"Mr. Shang, pleasure to meet you."
My smile was perfectly measured, my tone slightly raised, ensuring a certain direction could hear clearly.
In my peripheral vision, a gaze grew colder and heavier, almost piercing through my spine.
I pretended not to notice, and after that one glance, never looked toward Ethan again.
As the party neared its end, I found the right moment to intercept Ethan's assistant when he was alone.
I handed over my business card and a silver USB drive, my tone humble yet confident:
"I'm Clara Yu from Aurora Creative. I've long admired JY Group's reputation. This contains some preliminary thoughts on your latest project. I hope Mr. Yan might offer some guidance."
The assistant was slightly taken aback, his professionalism making him accept it while his gaze assessed: "Ms. Yu, why not go through official channels?"
I smiled frankly: "Good opportunities deserve the fastest chance to be seen. Thank you for your trouble."
After that, I nodded and left without lingering.
I could feel his scrutinizing gaze like thorns in my back, but I walked steadily, step by step.
7
Inside the black Mercedes S-Class.
Ethan toyed with the silver USB drive, his expression dark.
Images of her laughing and talking with others floated before his eyes.
He snorted coldly and plugged the drive into his computer.
He wanted to see what she had learned in five years that made her dare to appear before him so brazenly.
The file loaded, and he began reviewing it with a critical eye.
But after a few minutes, the keyboard clicking gradually stopped.
The proposal on screen was logically tight, boldly creative and sharp, directly addressing JY's project pain points.
It even offered breakthrough solutions he had never considered.
Time could indeed transform a person completely. She was no longer the clinging vine that needed support.
But the more this was true, the hotter the fire in his chest burned.
Growth exchanged for departure, now actively delivered back to his eyes.
A mixture of unwillingness and grudging admiration seized him.
He suddenly leaned back, closed his eyes and reopened them with clear determination.
His voice betrayed no emotion: "Notify Aurora Creative."
"Tomorrow morning at 9 AM, bring their complete project proposal to the top floor conference room."
"I want to hear their presentation personally."
After the assistant acknowledged, he said nothing more.
He murmured to himself, his voice emotionless: "You brought this on yourself."
8
The elevator rose rapidly, numbers jumping continuously like a countdown striking my heartbeat.
At 8:55 AM, I stopped outside JY's conference room.
This long-awaited face-to-face confrontation made my fingertips feel cold.
Clara Yu, isn't this what you came back for?
Without further hesitation, I pushed open the door.
The conference room was spacious and bright. At the far end of the long table, a man sat with his back to the light, his posture straight and proud.
When my gaze touched that face I had dreamed of nightly, my blood seemed to suddenly boil.
The person in the main seat looked up at the sound.
In the moment our eyes met, time seemed to stretch.
His eyes no longer held the warmth and attachment of five years ago, only coldness and a hint of mockery.
I met his scrutinizing gaze, my lips curving into just the right arc: "Mr. Yan, long time no see."
"I didn't expect JY's helmsman to be you. Looks like I bet on the right horse for my first project back home."
His gaze darkened, his fingertip lightly tapping the project proposal, his voice low and dangerous: "Ms. Yu, you're quite well-informed."
I didn't argue, pushing the project proposal toward him.
"JY's development momentum is hard to ignore. This is our preliminary concept for your company's project. Please review it."
He didn't move, only stared at me, as if trying to penetrate my calm exterior and glimpse all truths and lies.
9
"Aurora... is Ms. Yu the founder?"
"Yes."
I answered decisively, meeting his gaze directly.
"Five years is enough time for everything to start over, isn't it?"
"Besides, Mr. Yan personally brought JY to where it is today."
A subtle tremor passed through his eyes, instantly sinking into deeper darkness.
"Ms. Yu has indeed made remarkable progress during her years abroad."
His tone was bland, but his voice carried barbs: "Especially this... keen sense of timing."
My chest felt slightly tight, but my face curved into an even brighter smile: "The market teaches people quickly."
"Surviving and thriving is what matters most. Don't you think so, Mr. Yan?"
He finally reached out to flip open the project proposal, though his gaze wasn't on the pages at all.
"So Ms. Yu's return is because she's decided the domestic market is worth betting on again?"
Without looking up, his sarcasm almost overflowed: "Even thinking that JY's project... you can definitely win?"
Pressure surged like a tide, and this was exactly the moment I'd been waiting for.
10
I laughed softly.
The sound wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly in the silent conference room.
"Mr. Yan is only half right."
I leaned back in my chair, my posture lazy but my eyes bright as stars:
"I came back because I can do better here. And choosing JY..."
I paused deliberately, catching the moment he looked up.
"Because I've seen all similar proposals on the market. Only our ideas and philosophy align best with JY's."
The moment my words fell, it was like a blade cutting through all pretense.
His knuckles tensed slightly, his eyes growing frighteningly dark.
A few seconds later, his lips curved into a faint arc, though his eyes held no warmth.
"Confidence is good."
He snapped the file shut with a sharp sound:
"For the next two weeks, Aurora's team will be stationed at JY for in-depth coordination."
His gaze locked onto me, brooking no argument:
"Ms. Yu will personally lead the team. Let me see if your abilities match your bold claims."
I agreed without hesitation, even extending my hand to him:
"Looking forward to working together, Mr. Yan."
He looked at my hand, his gaze lingering on my face with complexity before slowly standing and taking it.
His palm was dry and warm, with tremendous pressure, like some silent declaration.
"I'm also very much looking forward to... Ms. Yu's performance."
He leaned in slightly, emphasizing the last two words meaningfully.
I withdrew my hand without changing expression, nodded, and turned to leave.
Not until I walked out of the JY building and sat in my car did I finally release my right hand that had been clenched tight.
My palm was damp with sweat. I pulled out a tissue and wiped it clean methodically.
11
The project team officially moved into JY's temporary office area.
For several days, I hadn't seen Ethan, and my anticipation had faded considerably.
I also knew he wouldn't always stay at JY—after all, he was still part of the Yan Group.
On the fourth day, I was buried in data processing.
The hallway suddenly erupted in unexpected commotion, making me frown unconsciously.
Ethan appeared at the office area entrance without warning.
He wasn't alone—several respectful executives followed beside him, slightly bowed, clustering around him.
He listened to reports while walking casually inward.
The open area, which had been filled with quiet discussion and keyboard clicking, suddenly fell silent.
My fingertips paused almost imperceptibly.
But he didn't stop, his gaze not even lingering on me, just sweeping the entire area once before speaking:
"How's the progress?"
It sounded like a casual question, but I knew he was calling me out.
I stepped forward, my voice steady and strong:
"The general direction is mostly sorted out. There are a few minor data points that need recalibration."
Ethan finally turned his gaze to me, his expression distant: "I thought Aurora would have produced more than this level after these few days."
I heard the pressure in his words, my palm clenching slightly.
He continued: "Ms. Yu, if your capabilities are limited to this, I'm afraid I'll need to reassess this collaboration."
12
I didn't avoid his gaze, meeting his dark eyes with dignity.
"Mr. Yan's criticism is fair. We're indeed not familiar enough with domestic business yet."
"Give us one more day, and we'll definitely have the final version ready."
I gave my commitment directly, my tone resolute.
Ethan raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
He seemed somewhat surprised that I chose to rise to the challenge under his deliberate p