Page 3 of After going bankrupt, my ex-boyfriend became the CEO

I sat in a clean, bright caf, where passing waitstaff cast subtle yet disdainful glances my way.

Over these past few years, I'd grown accustomed to such scrutiny.

But now, sitting across from John, I felt a wave of shame wash over me.

I clasped my hands nervously, their surfaces covered in calluses and scars.

John pushed a cup of coffee toward me, but I quickly waved it away. "No, thanks. I don't drink coffee."

He looked surprised. "I remember this used to be your favorite blend. Have your tastes changed? I can ask the server to bring you something else."

His words hit me like a punch to the chest, pulling my thoughts back four years.

Back then, before Bennet Group went bankrupt, John would grind coffee beans for me every morning, the rich aroma gently waking me from sleep.

Sometimes, I'd take him to upscale coffee shops.

Now, our roles had completely reversed.

I smiled bitterly. "I don't drink coffee anymore. Just lemon water would be fine."

Looking at John, my voice carried a hint of unease. "If lemon water's too much trouble, plain water works too."

John's expression grew complicated.

I knew what he was thinking.

Once upon a time, I'd lived without a care in the world, pursuing perfection in every aspect of lifeeven my drinking water had to be imported.

Now, I could casually say "whatever's fine."

Back then, "whatever" simply wasn't in my vocabulary.

John didn't say much, just signaled the server to bring me a bottle of water.

I quietly thanked him, only to catch the server rolling her eyes. I smiled awkwardly.

After the server left, we fell into silence.

After a long while, John finally spoke. "You've changed so much."

I smiled helplessly. How could I not have changed?

When I first arrived in this city, I was penniless and dizzy with hunger.

An old beggar shared his scavenged bread with me, and I forced it down while fighting back waves of nausea.

I'd tried to find work, but my disabled legs made it impossibleI couldn't even handle the simplest manual labor.

Left with no choice, I joined the old beggar in panhandling, seeking warmth under bridge overpasses.

At least I had his company.

But one night, he developed a high fever.

Frantic, I wanted to take him to the hospital, but every taxi on the street refused to pick us up after seeing our appearance.

Watching his flushed face, I cursed my useless legs for the first time.

I carried him on my back, dragging my weak legs step by agonizing step toward the hospital, but he died before we made it halfway.

Before passing away, he pressed all his saved money into my hands, urging me to find work that could at least put food on the tableeven selling hot dogs would be better than begging.

He said, "You're a young woman. How can you be a beggar? What if you run into danger?"

Seeing that I really couldn't drink the coffee, John took me to a nearby restaurant.

I didn't refuse. First, I was genuinely hungry, and second, I had once helped John get promoted and handled his personal affairs, spending quite a bit of money on him. It was only right that he treat me to a meal.

When the food was served, I couldn't help but swallow hard.

I hadn't eaten such delicious food in four years.

Usually, I could only eat a slice or two of bread with cold water.

Later, I bought a small electric kettle because I didn't dare drink tap watermy current condition couldn't afford illness. If I fell sick, I'd end up like that old beggar.

Sometimes I wondered if living like this was worse than death.

But whenever I stood on the edge of life and death, I'd always think of John's smile.

In this world, John was the only person I still cared about.

Even if I could only see him on the big screens in shopping malls, it was enough to give me the will to live.

Watching me wolf down the food, John's eyes reddened slightly.

He poured me a glass of water and said coldly, "Eat slowly. No one's competing with you."

I froze and looked up at John.

His gaze was cold and distant, making my heart ache.

I lowered my head and continued shoveling the food into my mouth.

The once-delicious meal now tasted like wax, completely flavorless.

But I still forced myself to swallow it, knowing that such a meal might not come again for a very long time.

Eating your fill was a survival lesson the old beggar had taught me.

Just then, John's phone rang.

He answered: "Riley, what's wrong?"

It was Riley calling.

John glanced at me, then got up and walked to the bar to take the call.

Only after he left did I dare to lift my head.

Looking at his retreating figure, I fought back the bitterness in my heart.

I ate while stealing glances at John.

I probably wouldn't have another chance to see him after this.

Such is life.

By the time I finished eating, there was still plenty of food left on the table, and John was still on the phone at the bar.

I found a plastic bag and packed up the leftover food.

With the cold weather, it would keep for a long time and save me meal money.

After packing, I wanted to say goodbye to John.

But looking at his back, I hesitated.

After a long pause, I said quietly, "John, goodbye."

With a touch of reluctance, I took one last look at him, then turned my wheelchair toward the exit.

Just as I reached the door, I heard John's urgent voice: "Jasmin, are you going to leave without saying goodbye again?"

He pulled me back, and my bag caught on the door, tearing open and spilling food all over the floor. The greasy smell filled the air.

I felt deeply embarrassed.

John stared at the food on the floor in silence.

I smiled bitterly and said, "Do you think I'm a joke?"

He didn't answer.

I sighed, looking regretfully at the scattered leftovers on the floor, then turned to leave.

But John called out again: "Jasmin, I've always thought you were a joke."

I turned back to see tears streaming down John's face.

He knelt down and, ignoring the grease stains on my clothes, buried his face against my knees and sobbed.

After a long while, he finally stopped crying.

He gently touched my legs, his eyes flashing with pain.

After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Jasmin, can we get back together?"

I stared at himthe same face, but now bearing the authority of someone in power, familiar yet strange.

I laughed softly: "John, when you and Riley sold company secrets to my competitors, did you ever think about me?"