05

Mia's POV

Friday afternoon, archive room.

The air was filled with the mixed smell of old paper and desiccant. I was crouching in front of file cabinets, organizing photos from last season's auction by date.

When the front desk intercom rang, I was wiping my fingers with a wet tissue.

"Mia, there's a delivery for you," Linda's voice came from the receiver, with a hint of gossip excitement in her tone, "It's really big. I'm having someone bring it up to you."

I frowned. I didn't remember ordering any delivery to the office...

"Are you sure it's not a mistake—"

Before I could finish, Linda had already hung up.

Five minutes later, when the security guard appeared at the archive room door with a cart, I was almost startled by the size. The box was half as tall as a person, standing square on the cart.

There was no logo on the box, no brand markings, no delivery slip number, just a gold-embossed card clipped to the packaging string.

I unwrapped the package, and after seeing what was inside, I gasped.

Inside was a gown, deep blue velvet flowing with dark luster under the archive room lights, every line screaming expensive.

The card slid from the packaging gap and fell onto the dress.

I picked up the card, the gold letters slightly raised under the light: "Charity Auction, Saturday 8 PM, we sincerely look forward to your attendance. —Rothschild Foundation"

Although it was signed by the foundation, I immediately recognized Calvin's handwriting.

What a perfect strategy—offensive when needed, defensive when required.

"Wow!"

I was startled by this voice, nearly dropping the card back into the box.

The front desk girl had somehow run upstairs, hanging on the door frame with wide eyes, her chin almost dropping to her chest.

"Mia, who sent this to you? So romantic!" Linda came over, carefully touching the dress hem with her finger, "God, this dress looks so expensive. Is it from your boyfriend or an admirer?"

"Wrong delivery," I said very calmly, putting the card back into the packaging gap, "I'll contact them to return it."

"But the recipient clearly says your name," Linda looked confused, tilting her head at me, "The person who delivered it specifically mentioned you by name, Mia Sterling."

I pulled at the corner of my mouth, wanting to smile to get past this topic, but my facial muscles weren't cooperating, making my expression look somewhat terrifying.

The awkward silence lasted two seconds before Linda finally read something from my expression, awkwardly making an excuse about "having things at the front desk" and running away.

The door closed again.

I carried the box to the innermost corner of the archive room, put it on the ground, and crouched against the wall.

I hesitated for a long time, my finger sliding back and forth on my phone screen, finally pressing that number.

"Mia?" Zoe answered quickly, with Leo's babbling in the background, probably feeding dinner, "What's wrong? Are you off work yet?"

"Zoe," I lowered my voice, even though there was no one else in the archive room, "he sent me a gown, for the auction."

There was complete silence on the other end for two full seconds, then an explosion of screaming that made me hold the phone five centimeters from my ear.

"Wear it!" Zoe's voice was high and urgent, with Leo humming in response to the commotion, "Mia, did you hear me? Wear that dress to the auction! This is your chance! God, I can't believe it!"

"Zoe—"

"Listen to me," she didn't give me a chance to interrupt, speaking as fast as a machine gun, "Go to the auction, talk to him, clear up the misunderstanding from five years ago. Tell him why you broke up with him, tell him about Leo, tell him what you said wasn't sincere—"

"Impossible." Maybe my tone was too decisive, because Zoe finally stopped.

"Zoe, he's now the head of the Rothschild family." I said each word clearly, as if repeating a fact that needed constant emphasis to myself, "Not a poor student cooking red wine poached pears in a rental apartment. He sent me this dress, maybe to watch me be flustered and embarrass myself, maybe to remind me how big the gap between us is now, or maybe—"

Maybe just to humiliate me. These words stuck in my throat, unsaid.

"Or maybe he just wants to see you." Zoe's voice suddenly softened, mixed with a low sigh.

Leo was probably given a picture book or toy, as the background became much quieter.

"Mia, you left him to protect him, not because you didn't love him. You said those hurtful things because you were afraid he would work even harder for you, you didn't want to burden him. That wasn't because you didn't love him, it was precisely because you loved him too much."

Zoe paused, "Now he's right in front of you. Why are you running away?"

I closed my eyes, my eye sockets involuntarily becoming moist.

"Because I'm not sure if he still—" I gripped my phone tightly, my thoughts in complete chaos.

I wasn't sure if he still loved me, wasn't sure if he still resented me, wasn't sure if there was already someone else by his side, wasn't sure if this dress was an invitation or a declaration of war.

I was uncertain about too many things, and each one was enough reason for me to run away.

"Do you regret it?" Zoe suddenly asked this question.

I froze.

"Leaving him back then, do you regret it?"

The archive room lights dimmed for a moment, then brightened again.

In that less-than-a-second flicker, I saw many things.

I saw that small kitchen where you couldn't turn around, the red wine bubbling in the pot, his serious expression as he tasted it while wearing an apron, as if he was doing something incredibly important.

I saw the bowl of red wine poached pears he brought to me, the pear flesh cooked to a translucent amber color, him nervously watching me taste it, waiting for my evaluation.

I saw his figure at 2 AM still under the desk lamp flipping through materials and doing homework, shoulders slightly hunched, occasionally looking back to check if I was disturbed.

I saw the disbelief in his eyes when I gritted my teeth and said we should break up.

"I regret it." I heard my voice squeeze out of my throat, hoarse beyond measure, "I regret it every single day."

Zoe on the other end was silent for a moment, then her voice became decisive again.

"Then go. Wear this dress, go to the auction, and say what you really want to tell him." She paused, then added, "If you don't go, I'll take Leo to knock on the Rothschild family door. I mean what I say."

"Zoe—"

"Mia, stop overthinking." Zoe's tone suddenly softened, becoming the sister who took me in when I was most broken and helpless, who held my hand in the hospital and told me not to be afraid.

"And don't let yourself continue regretting. Five years is long enough."