Revenge of the Secret Heiress

Today is Valentine's Day. I had prepared the gift half a month in advance. It was a handmade leather belt; Samuel Pearson had mentioned before that he liked this vintage style. At five in the afternoon, I stood outside Samuel Pearson's company holding the gift box. The wind was a bit chilly, so I tightened my scarf. People came out of the company one after another. I stared at the glass doors, hoping to see Samuel Pearson's figure. Finally, he came out. But there was a woman walking beside him. She wore a red dress, and when she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons. Samuel Pearson tilted his head as he spoke to her, a tenderness on his lips I hadn't seen in ages. They walked down the steps side by side, and the woman naturally looped her arm through Samuel Pearson's. My heart suddenly sank, and the gift box in my hand felt unbearably heavy. They reached a white sedan; Samuel Pearson opened the front passenger door and let the woman slip inside first. Then he went around to the driver's seat and started the car. Almost on impulse, I hailed a taxi. "Driver, follow that white sedan up ahead." My voice trembled slightly. The taxi driver glanced at me, didn't ask any questions, and pressed the accelerator. The car drove straight to a Western restaurant downtown. This was the place we often visited on our previous dates. Samuel Pearson and that woman walked into the restaurant and sat by a window seat. I sat by the flower bed outside the restaurant and took out my phone. My fingers were shaking, but I still pressed the shutter button aimed in their direction. In the photo, Samuel Pearson was cutting steak for the woman, and she smiled as she fed him a bite. Their gestures were so intimate, like a couple. I looked at the photo, tears streaming down uncontrollably. I placed the gift box at my feet, too afraid to pick it up again. I don't know how long I sat there until I saw them walk out of the restaurant. Samuel Pearson held the woman's hand as they chatted and laughed, then got back into the car. I told the taxi driver to keep following them. The car finally stopped outside the residential community where Samuel Pearson was renting. After the woman got out of the car, she reached out to straighten Samuel Pearson's collar. Samuel Pearson wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered something into her ear. The woman smiled even more brightly and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. I couldn't watch any longer and told the taxi driver to stop. After paying, I held the gift box and walked back slowly, step by step. The night was deep, and my shadow was stretched long by the streetlights. It felt like a part of me was hollowed out; cold wind rushed in, biting and painful. I took out my phone and opened Samuel Pearson's WeChat. I typed in the message box, deleted, typed again, and deleted again; finally, I closed the page. I wanted to wait for him to come home and ask him face to face.