The CEO's Ultimate Upgrade

I watched the expression on Chase's face cycle from confused to annoyed, then settle on exasperated.

It was a routine so familiar I could recite it in my sleep. "What now?" He dropped his files onto the coffee table with a heavy sigh. "Wren, do you have to do this every time?

My mom was just talking. Celine is just a junior in my lab.

There are four of us going on this European exchange program, not just the two of us." I leaned back against the shoe cabinet in the entryway.

A deep, leaden exhaustion seeped out of my marrow. "Chase." My voice sounded unnervingly steady. "When exactly was this European exchange confirmed?" He paused. "Last month." "What day last month?" "…The twelfth." I let out a dry laugh.

Chapter 1 The twelfth. The night I pulled a shift until 1 AM and got stalked by a drunk for three blocks on my walk back.

I ducked into a 7Eleven, legs trembling so hard I could barely stand, and called him three times before he picked up. "Wren, I'm in a meeting.

I'll call you back." Then, a dead dial tone.

I sat on a plastic crate in that convenience store for an hour until the clerk turned off the neon sign, before sprinting home in the pouring rain.

The next morning, I scrolled past an Instagram post from his precious lab junior, Celine. [Huge thanks to my senior for helping me debug code until dawn and treating me to a Sydneystyle flat white ☕️] The photo showed two artisan coffees bathed in perfect morning sunlight.

A mutual friend commented underneath. [Your senior treats you so well~] Celine's reply? [Of course, he's the best senior in the entire world~] I stared at my screen, my knuckles turning white.

But I didn't say a word.

Because confronting him only ever resulted in the same gaslighting script: "You're overthinking it," "That's just how she is," or "Stop being so damn sensitive." Later, he casually mentioned on a call that his lab got a European project and he might need to go over for a while.

I asked how long. He brushed it off—maybe six months, maybe a year. I asked who he was going with. His advisor and a few other seniors, he said. I left it at that.

Pushing for answers was pointless. Celine was definitely one of those "seniors." "Why didn't you tell me?" I heard myself ask.

Chase frowned and stepped forward, reaching for my hand. "It wasn't set in stone yet. I was going to tell you when it was official.

Wren, since when did you get so paranoid?" I jerked my hand away.

He froze, the crease between his brows deepening. "Wren, what is your problem?" "No problem." I bent down, slipping off my heels. "Just wondering about that cashmere scarf your mom mentioned on the video call.

Did she ask you to buy it for her, or did you offer?" Chase's expression turned rigid.

The final puzzle piece clicked into place. "Celine wanted it," he admitted, his tone defensive. "But she didn't know I have a girlfriend, so she asked my mom for a favor.

My mom is just overly helpful, you know how she is…" "She didn't know you have a girlfriend?" I cut him off, my gaze snapping up to meet his. "Chase, your Facebook cover photo is literally a picture of me.

We've been together for three years. Your lab, your academic circle, your mom, all your friends—they all know I exist.

Celine works in the exact same research group as you, and you expect me to believe she doesn't know?" Chase shifted his gaze, dodging my eyes, and yanked at his collar with sharp irritation. "She just thinks your social circle is miles away from our academic world.

There's no real need to shove your existence in her face. Can you stop acting like such a psychotic control freak?" I stared at him in dead silence.

Chapter 2 The air in the living room grew suffocatingly still. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock.

Like a countdown. "Wren." He finally spoke, dropping his voice. "Celine is the advisor's daughter. You know what that means.

I can't be too obvious about certain things…" "So you play the single card?" "I wasn't playing anything." He looked up at me. "I just didn't bring it up unprompted.

She asked, and I told her I was taken, but I didn't specify who. That's not pretending, is it?" I stared at him, a sudden chill crawling up my spine.

I had looked at this face for three years.

From that cheesy pickup line in the university library to sharing this cramped apartment postgrad, I thought I could trace his features with my eyes closed.

But now, looking at the man in front of me, I realized I was staring at a total stranger. "Chase." I grabbed my tote bag from the counter. "We're done." "Wren!" He snatched my wrist. "Are you done throwing this tantrum?

Over something this petty?" "Petty?" "Yes, petty." He glared at me like I was a toddler throwing a fit. "I'm leaving the country soon. This year is critical for both of us.

Can't you be a little considerate of the pressure I'm under? Do you really have to pick a fight right now?" I looked down at his fingers clamped around my wrist.

They were long, elegant. I used to hold that hand walking down the street, thinking I had hit the jackpot. Now, my skin just crawled.

It felt filthy. "Chase, let go." His grip tightened. "Wren, we've been together for three years.

You're throwing it away just like that?" "Three years." I repeated the number, a harsh laugh ripping from my throat. "Yeah, three years.

Three years of me covering your half of the rent, debugging those data models you were too incompetent to run yourself. You treated me like a free maid and an unpaid assistant.

And now that you've secured your precious exchange spot, you can't wait to kick me to the curb?" "I was busy—" "Right, you were busy." I nodded slowly. "Busy writing papers, kissing up for projects, securing your European vacation, and taking your sweet junior out for artisan coffee.

I knew you were busy, so I stayed out of your way. You told me to be considerate, so I swallowed my complaints.

You told me to stop overthinking, so I forced myself to look the other way. But now? Your entire family knows about your little trip abroad, except me.

Your mom is playing personal shopper for your lab junior, and I'm left in the dark looking like an absolute idiot. Chase, you call me paranoid?

Tell me, if the roles were reversed, wouldn't you be?" He went dead silent. His grip on my wrist finally loosened. I yanked the front door open and stepped out.

The hallway air hit me, cold enough to raise goosebumps down my arms.

As the elevator doors slid open, I heard him shout from down the hall. "Wren, if you walk out that door today, don't you dare regret it." I didn't even look back.

During the first week postbreakup, I ruthlessly purged my life of his existence, tossing any gifts or lingering memories he gave me straight into the dumpster.

I unlocked my phone and opened our photo album. I didn't dwell. I didn't let my thumb linger over his smile or the times he pulled allnighters. I just started tapping. Delete.

Delete. Delete. It was a mechanical, systematic erasure of the last three years. With every tap, I scrubbed my digital footprint clean.

By the end of it, only a single photo remained. Chapter 3 The last photo in my camera roll was from our first Valentine's Day.

It was a lopsided, homemade chocolate mess with "Wren" piped across it in shaky frosting. I didn't stare at it. I didn't let myself reminisce.

My thumb hit "Delete." The screen went black. I locked my phone and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. By the second month postbreakup, corporate reassigned me to New York.

Officially, it was a business trip. In reality, they were aggressively expanding the East Coast market and needed a vanguard to lead the charge.

When my manager pulled me into his office, he asked cautiously, "Wren, handling the New York division alone… can you manage it?" I met his eyes deadon. "Absolutely." There was zero reason for me to stay in this city anyway.

Before my flight, I went back to the old apartment to clear out the rest of my stuff. Chase wasn't there.

His roommate answered the door, muttering that Chase had already left for Europe last week. I just nodded and walked straight to the bedroom.

I systematically dumped my remaining books, clothes, and bathroom toiletries into a cardboard box. I yanked open the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

Inside sat a pristine box containing my first anniversary gift to him—a dark grey, handknit scarf that had taken me two grueling months to finish. I popped the lid.

The scarf was neatly folded next to a sappy handwritten note of his: From Wren. To be cherished for a lifetime.

I grabbed the scarf, marched it straight out the front door, and shoved it down the hallway trash chute. I left the empty box and his little card sitting right there in the drawer.

Let it be a permanent reminder of the garbage he threw away. Stepping out of the apartment, I didn't spare a single backward glance at the place we had shared for two years.

The matching throw pillows, the potted pothos I’d hauled from the farmer's market, the photobooth strips on the fridge—they were nothing but dead weight now. It was over.

Faster and cleaner than I ever imagined. Once in the back of my Uber, I shot Chase a final text. [Got my stuff. Keys are in the shoe cabinet.] I didn't wish him well.

I hit 'block caller' and dropped my phone into my tote bag. Three days later, I was on a direct flight to New York.

As the plane banked, the city below shrank into insignificant little grids. My mind briefly flashed to our first meeting. Junior year, campus library.

He had slid into the empty chair next to me and stayed the entire afternoon, eventually passing me a napkin begging for my number because he "needed help passing his major courses." I found out later he had the highest GPA in the entire department.

It was the first time I believed in love at first sight. The plane broke through the cloud cover, sunlight flooding the cabin. I reached up and snapped the window shade shut.

It would be the last. Chapter 4 I slipped my silk sleep mask over my eyes, shutting out the glaring sunlight piercing through the cabin window. Look forward, Wren.

Some people were only meant to be layovers in your life. When it's time to catch your connecting flight, you don't cling to the terminal. You let go.

New York was a different beast entirely. New market, new team, new highmaintenance clients. Every morning, I hit the ground running before my first espresso even kicked in.

I operated like a finely tuned machine, grinding from dawn until midnight. And the funny thing about grinding? It didn't leave any room in my brain for the past.

Three months into the NY transfer, corporate landed a massive crossborder merger. The point man sent by the partner firm was a guy named Brooks. Our first meeting was on his turf.

I pushed open the heavy glass doors of their executive boardroom, my team trailing behind me. My eyes immediately locked onto Brooks sitting at the head of the mahogany table.

He wore an impeccably tailored dark bespoke suit, the subtle glint of a Patek Philippe watch catching the light at his cuff.

He radiated the effortless, suffocating authority of a man entirely used to being in control.

But the second his piercing, predatory gaze landed on me, the sharp edges in his eyes instantly softened. He stood up and extended a hand. "Manager Wren.

I've heard a lot about you." I paused, taking his hand.

His grip was firm and grounding. "Have we met?" "No." A slow, deliberate smile curved his lips. "But I tore apart your proposal last night.

It's damn near flawless." We spent three grueling hours in that room. Brooks didn't talk much, but when he did, every single word was a surgical strike.

He saw angles we had missed, ripping into the logistics with ruthless efficiency. As I packed up my tablet at the end of the session, he leaned against the table. "Dinner, Wren?

There are a few operational details we need to iron out." "Sure." Over dryaged steaks, we traded industry war stories and debated the culture shock of New York. "How long have you been in the city?" he asked, swirling the ice in his glass. "Three months." "Settling in okay?" "I stay busy.

It helps." He held my gaze for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, taking a slow sip of his drink. He didn't push.

I found out much later that he saw right through me that night—he knew I was burying myself in spreadsheets to avoid dealing with my own wreckage.

He just had the grace not to point it out. The merger moved at breakneck speed. Brooks was a machine—ruthlessly competent, zero drama, and entirely dependable.

We fell into a bizarrely comfortable rhythm, pulling late nights at the office before hitting up latenight food trucks.

New York never slept, the streets glowing with neon and exhaust fumes long past midnight.

We were sitting on a curb one night, eating greasy street tacos, when he glanced over at me. "Did you pull these kinds of hours back home, too?" "Usually." "Did anyone wait up to get latenight food with you?" I froze, the taco suddenly heavy in my hand.

I shook my head slowly. "No." A low, rich laugh rumbled in his chest. "So I take the number one spot?" A genuine smile cracked through my exhaustion. "Yeah.

You do." At that point, Chase's name hadn't crossed my mind in weeks. It wasn't even a conscious effort to block him out anymore. The memories that used to gut me had just… faded.

Washed out like a Polaroid left in the sun. I honestly thought I was cured. Until that night. We had just officially closed the deal.

The celebratory dinner with the partners involved way too much champagne. Brooks walked me back to my brownstone.

We stopped at the base of the stoop, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. He suddenly turned to me, cutting off the space between us. "Wren.

There's something I need to say." I looked up.

His eyes caught the amber glow of the streetlamp, burning with an intensity that made the breath catch in my throat. "I want you," he stated, his voice dropping an octave. "I have since the second you walked into that boardroom." I stood paralyzed