The Last Lingerie Set Ends Ten Years

The night before I was set to sign the marriage license, the sales associate at Veridia told me my fiancée had purchased a limited-edition ‘Midnight Reindeer’ holiday lingerie set.

I froze for a few seconds, then my heart hammered against my ribs.

I thought, foolishly, that she was finally touched by my ten-year pursuit—that this was a special wedding surprise just for me.

But on the day of the wedding, I waited until the last guest had left and she still hadn’t appeared.

The only thing I saw was a celebratory post on her intern’s social media:

“My CEO Queen said she refuses to let an old, linked-up dude take her first kill, lol, so I got to put my stamp on it first.”

“Who cares if someone used their family name to force a ten-year engagement? One tear from me, and she ditched the entire wedding.”

“And she promised me that for every time she has to sleep with the old man in the future, she’ll compensate me twice with me~”

The accompanying photo showed him, Spencer Reed, with a light, mocking finger hooked through the lacy strap of the lingerie set she had bought with my money. The hickey-covered skin visible on Genevieve’s chest in his arms felt like a physical chill spreading through me.

Everyone was betting on what I’d do: Would I retaliate against the intern, or would I swallow the humiliation for the sake of Genevieve Sinclair?

No one expected that I, Ashton Pierce, who had chased her for a decade and never considered giving up, would go straight to the official media to announce: Engagement voided.

Genevieve’s call immediately came through, her tone icy:

“Ashton, why are you starting a fight with a kid like Spencer? He doesn’t have any experience with… you know, relationship stuff. I was just worried he’d be at a disadvantage later, so I put it on as a demonstration. It wasn’t like we actually did anything! The social media post was just a penalty for losing a round of Truth or Dare!”

“Besides, that outfit didn’t show a single scandalous thing. Do you really need to make such a big spectacle? No wonder Spencer calls you an archaic Puritan!”

“Delete that post immediately before my parents see it! Do you have any idea how much capital is involved in our families’ joint ventures? We’re talking hundreds of millions; you can’t just joke about that!”

“After you apologize to Spencer and get his forgiveness, we can reschedule the wedding and go to the courthouse.”

I held the phone, my voice flat.

“It makes no difference.”

“You’re not the only alliance available to Pierce Holdings.”

1

Genevieve clearly paused, the sheer annoyance in her voice practically spilling out of the receiver.

“Ashton Pierce, are you seriously making a federal case out of this?”

“Spencer and I drank too much at the bachelorette party last night and slept in; it’s not like I deliberately stood you up. We can just have the wedding another day, can’t we?”

“The alliance was settled by our parents years ago. Trying to leverage a non-existent slight like this, just to play the victim… how childish are you?”

Listening to her, I felt a burning rush of blood to my head, and I nearly shouted into the phone:

“A ‘non-existent slight?’ You call ditching the wedding a ‘non-existent slight?’ Our parents, the entire upper echelon of Westfield’s business partners, and all our friends were waiting there, dressed up, for hours! You call that a ‘non-existent slight?’ Or how about the fact that you, a woman set to be married tomorrow, took pictures like that with Spencer Reed and posted them online? You call that a ‘non-existent slight?’”

I inhaled deeply, forcing down the lump in my throat, the words catching as I demanded:

“Genevieve, what exactly counts as a big deal to you?”

Maybe Spencer Reed’s slightest frown was the biggest deal in the world to her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have abandoned a few hundred people at the wedding venue just because of one of his crocodile tears.

I didn’t give her a chance to argue, immediately hanging up.

My mother stood beside me, her eyes red, waiting for an answer.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, my voice was as calm as frozen water:

“Mom, please contact the other potential alliances.”

“But you waited for Gen for ten years, maybe if you just wait for the next…”

“I’m done waiting,” I cut her off, wiping away the last hint of dampness from my eye.

“She is not worth it.”

I sat down, alone, on the day of my thirtieth Christmas Eve, and for the first time, I took a serious look back at my life.

The most golden decade of my life, from twenty to thirty, was spent waiting for Genevieve to turn around.

For her sake, I managed Pierce Holdings while constantly bailing out the Sinclair Group’s crises. I once drank so much blocking drinks for her that I landed in the emergency room with a bleeding ulcer; I stayed up all night rewriting proposals, treating liver supplements like meals; and when her father fell critically ill, I stepped in to manage their operations.

I even personally led the team that took the Sinclair Group’s overseas division public over three grueling years.

I worked so hard that some people suspected I was trying to stage a corporate takeover.

Only I knew the truth: I just wanted her to finally see me. That I was worthy of her, and strong enough to support her entire world.

A month ago, after the overseas division’s successful IPO, she finally accepted my proposal, scheduling the high-profile Christmas wedding everyone in the city was talking about.

I was ecstatic. I thought she had finally recognized my efforts. I oversaw every detail of the wedding myself and even rented all the city’s outdoor billboards to broadcast the ceremony live.

I wanted the entire city to witness that I had finally won.

But in the end, the guests left, and my parents were humiliated.

Calls to Genevieve’s parents went unanswered until the phones were practically melting.

I got nothing but a social media post from Spencer Reed, who displayed their intimate photos and scornfully mocked my ten years of waiting.

The moment I saw that photo, I expected to collapse, to go mad, or, as in the past, to make excuses for her, to live in denial.

But there was nothing.

Only an empty, desolate void in my heart.

The truth was, not all waiting yields a result. Some people will simply never turn back.

My phone vibrated again.

I assumed it was Genevieve, still relentless, and was about to turn it off.

But the text I saw made my eyes snap wide open.

2

Genevieve didn’t stoop to a petty, private spat like blocking me.

She sent a formal letter directly to Pierce Holdings, unilaterally announcing the termination of all joint ventures.

This was immediately followed by an Equity Redemption Notice.

The basis was an agreement I had signed years ago to give her peace of mind: I agreed that the Sinclair Group could, at any time, buy back the shares I held as collateral—shares I had acquired when the company faced a cash-flow crisis—at 30% below market price.

I had liquidated all my personal assets to keep the Sinclair Group afloat during her father’s illness; the value of those shares had now multiplied several times over.

I never intended to profit from them.

That agreement was meant as a promise to her: Look, I will never use your vulnerability against you.

Now, it had become the knife she used to stab me.

“Ashton Pierce, you asked what a big deal was? Now you know,” the text read.

“This is the price of your impulse. Enjoy it.”

I stood blankly, my eyes blurring with tears.

Suddenly, I was transported back to that late night many years ago.

Her father had collapsed, and she, new to the corporate world, was terrified and called me, crying, completely out of her depth.

I postponed three vital meetings during my business trip and took a redeye flight to pick her up.

She was curled up in the passenger seat, eyes swollen, quietly asking:

“Ashton, will you always be this good to me?”

I said, “Yes.”

She buried her face in her knees, her voice muffled:

“Then you can’t ever leave me.”

But the one who always left first had been her.

That promise…

I refused to keep it any longer.

3

I left the empty ballroom, needing to rush back to the office to deal with the inevitable fallout from her legal actions.

I looked up and froze.

The city’s massive outdoor screens, the ones that were supposed to be broadcasting our wedding, were now showing Spencer Reed’s face, a look of profound “regret” plastered on it.

Genevieve had handed the live broadcast rights of our wedding over to him.

I dug my fingertips into my palm, the cold metal edges of my car key pressing painfully into my skin. I could almost hear the sound of my blood running cold.

On screen, Spencer’s face was appropriately contrite.

He managed a smile that suggested he was bearing the weight of the world’s misunderstanding.

“Mr. Pierce, I couldn’t get a hold of you, and I was genuinely worried that the misunderstanding was deepening… I had no choice but to use this public platform to explain.”

“Last night’s bachelorette party was certainly my oversight. I shouldn’t have pressured Gen to drink so much, but it was just harmless fun between young people, nothing scandalous. I had no ill intention, I truly didn’t think you would be so upset that you would cancel the engagement… isn’t that a bit rash?”

“You’ve pursued Gen for so many years, but hasn’t she also remained unmarried for ten years? She finally decided to trust you, and you make such a massive scene.”

He sighed, his gaze sincere and worried:

“In a relationship, there’s more than just right and wrong; there should be understanding and compassion, don’t you think? I know I’m saying too much, but I’m just concerned for Gen. She carries the weight of a massive company on her shoulders, and now even her marriage can’t give her peace…”

Just then, Genevieve’s figure strode into the frame, pulling Spencer behind her.

Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes were sharp and cold, as if they could pierce the screen and pin me in place.

“Why are you apologizing to him?”

Her voice was clear, laced with unconcealed disdain.

“Ashton Pierce is just a prude; he really thought he could control me, didn’t he?”

“Let me make this perfectly clear. The fact that you caused a spectacle over a single piece of sexy lingerie only proves how twisted your mind is! I don’t need you begging me to marry you!”

“Listen up: I’m sending my assistant to buy two thousand of Veridia’s holiday limited-edition sets right now and pile them up outside the Sinclair Group headquarters! They’ll be free to take until the last one is gone! The moment the final piece is taken, Spencer and I are getting married! And every person who takes a piece of lingerie is invited to my wedding!”

The live feed abruptly cut out.

Almost simultaneously, my phone buzzed, pushing the breaking news story that the live broadcast had ignited.

“Spencer is so classy, doing a city-wide broadcast to explain, but Ashton Pierce shutting off his phone is just dramatic…”

“Ashton is definitely being a sore loser. It was just a game between young people, why is he so triggered by a single piece of lingerie?”

“Gen is such a boss! She looks incredible in Veridia! The old man really doesn’t deserve her! So, where exactly are they handing out the free lingerie at Sinclair HQ? Asking for a friend!”

“He put up with ten years of everything, but one piece of lingerie breaks him? Why wait so long? Is he planning something sneaky?”

“LOL, who else would marry a relic like Ashton Pierce if it weren’t for the Sinclair alliance? Get a grip, old timer!”

…

I sat in my car, my expression numb.

I remembered when Spencer Reed first interned at the Sinclair Group; Genevieve had been dismissive of him, finding his smile too ingratiating.

I, recalling that they were from the same business school, covered for Spencer several times and even genuinely taught him a few things, hoping he would become an asset to Genevieve.

When did things change?

Perhaps it was when he “casually” mentioned the fragility of growing up in a single-parent home.

Or the lonely, deep-fried wisdom he “just happened” to post on social media after a late night at work.

Or maybe when Genevieve was drowning in a project, and he “just happened” to show up with her favorite coffee at the perfect temperature, accompanied by a few words of carefully targeted “admiration.”

Later, when I felt uncomfortable with his little schemes and gently suggested Genevieve keep her distance, she shot back:

“Spencer is just young and eager to prove himself. Can’t you stop being so petty?”

“Besides, what kind of relationship do we even have that gives you the right to be jealous? Stop being so nitpicky, you’re a grown man.”

Yes, nitpicky.

As if their total disregard for my feelings could be excused by their “openness,” and any discomfort I felt could be simply dismissed as “petty.”

Just like today, they had conspired to destroy my ten years of hope, our families’ reputation, and a city-wide celebrated wedding.

And my response—canceling the engagement—was small-minded, a display of archaic puritanism.

The familiar ache started in my chest, but it was light, almost a phantom pain.

I took a deep breath, merging the car into the flow of traffic.

Worrying about whether a woman who never loved me felt any remorse was futile.

Getting to the office to manage the fallout from this absurd spectacle was clearly more important.

4

The lights in the Pierce Holdings penthouse office were blazing.

The team was supposed to be finalizing plans for a lucrative post-alliance partnership.

Instead, they were tackling the public relations disaster caused by Spencer Reed’s “City-Wide Apology.”

My secretary, Martha, looked at me with open sympathy.

“Ms. Sinclair might just be acting out of anger, Mr. Pierce. Perhaps if you speak to her first…”

“No need.”

My voice was so calm it surprised even me.

“I appreciate your concern, Martha, but the partnership is beyond saving.”

“Her secretary informed me that she is already processing the paperwork to transfer the Sinclair shares she bought back from me… directly to Spencer Reed.”

Martha’s face fell, and she clearly wanted to say more.

I shifted the conversation back to the crisis at hand. I looked up later, and the night outside was thick and black.

My phone rang in the silence, the flashing number so familiar it was a searing pain.

I watched it ring for a long time, picking up at the very last second.

The voice that came through was not the cold mockery I expected.

It was Genevieve, slurring, with a thick, drunken sob.

“Ashton Pierce, you’ve got… you’ve got nerve. I waited for your call all night…”

She cried intermittently, her voice laced with a drunken vulnerability I had never heard before. My heart softened automatically, but then she continued:

“You… you need to come and get me… we’re going home… to that penthouse you bought for us… Spencer said… he loves the rooftop infinity pool and the view… Will you just sign the deed over to him? As… as your apology gift… and then we can call it even…”

Every word was a bullet, precisely hitting the last nerve in my body.

That penthouse was a custom design I had sketched out myself, taking a full year to build. It was exactly what she had once said she wanted: a home with a view of the entire city’s lights and the stars above.

And now, she was casually demanding I sign it over to Spencer Reed as my “apology?”

My fingers were ice-cold as I gripped the phone; I could taste rust in my throat.

“Genevieve, that apartment was prepared for my future wife. It has absolutely nothing to do with you or Spencer Reed. You have no right to ask, and certainly no right to demand its disposal.”

Without waiting for another word from her, I hung up and immediately blocked the number.

A text from my mother arrived promptly:

“Ashton, Alexandra Albright, the daughter of the Albright Industries family in North City, just returned from overseas. She mentioned wanting to meet you, said you two knew each other from before? What do you think… about that?”

I didn’t hesitate: “Yes, Mom. Please arrange it.”

“Wonderful, I’ll have Lexi text you directly.”

Alexandra Albright. We had met at a project competition during graduate school. Her presentation was flawlessly logical, and her business acumen was astonishing. The Albright family had subtly expressed an interest in an alliance afterward.

But at the time, Genevieve was all I could see.

I was entirely focused on helping her stabilize the Sinclair Group. Though Albright Industries offered much more assistance, I had politely declined the offer then.

Now, a decade of deep affection felt like a long, painful dream.

It was time for me to start living for myself again.

5

Meanwhile, Genevieve and Spencer Reed’s relationship began to dominate media coverage.

She went with him to ride the city’s highest rollercoaster, something she had refused to do with me countless times, citing a fear of heights.

She wore revealing dresses and shorts, styles completely opposite to her usual elegant attire, and partied with Spencer in nightclub dance halls.

She even hosted a lavish ceremony for the transfer of the Sinclair Group’s overseas shares, introducing Spencer to the entire upper circle.

The things she had once told me were “too immature” or “unbefitting of her status.”

Now, she did them for another person, clearly finding pleasure in every moment.

I knew these updates were deliberately pushed into my feed.

Including the massive Christmas tree outside the Sinclair Group building, which was tracking the lingerie giveaway.

A giant LED screen displayed the remaining quantity:

1998.

1523.

876.

332.

I knew Genevieve wanted me to watch, to force me to regret, to make me grovel.

But this time, I only felt a calm, mocking amusement.

I occasionally scrolled through the comments on the news articles, a sea of schadenfreude:

“Countdown to 100 sets! Is Ashton Pierce crawling to Gen to beg for forgiveness yet, LMAO?”

“Waiting for Gen and Spencer’s wedding of the century! Live slap in the face for the old man!”

“Ashton must be crying under his duvet right now, right? Ten years as a loyal lapdog and now he has nothing, serve him right!”

I pressed the screen of my phone, which had lit up again with an alert showing a new intimate photo of them, and turned it off.

I picked up my teacup and nodded to Lexi Albright across the table.

“Please thank your mother for me. The tea is excellent.”

Her smile was serene, yet there was a sparkling light in her eyes as she looked at me.

“You’re welcome. If you like it, come by my place next time. I have something even better.”

Her direct gaze made my cheeks heat up.

My ears were still hot when she drove me back to my villa.

However, the moment of relief was abruptly extinguished when I unlocked my front door.

A bucket of ice water was dumped over my head.

“Are you awake now, Ashton Pierce?”

Genevieve’s voice was frigid.

“I left you alone for all this time to reflect, and you got a little too big for your britches, didn’t you, coming back so late!”

I wiped the foul-smelling water from my face.

“Who let you in?”

My attitude seemed to infuriate her; she slammed the bucket onto the hardwood floor with a deafening clatter.

“Didn’t you say this house was bought for your wife? That would be me! I’ll come in whenever I want!”

She lifted her chin. “The password is still the date of our first meeting. Ashton Pierce, is that all you’ve got?”

I clenched my fist, annoyed at myself for forgetting to change the code.

She pulled a tablet from her designer bag and violently threw it at me.

The screen lit up, showing a live stream.

The background was the lingerie Christmas tree outside the Sinclair Group, the camera focused on the remaining few items.

“Do I need to remind you? They’ve taken 1,990 of those sets downstairs already!”

“Only ten sets are left.”

Her voice was sharp with excitement.

“Ashton, don’t you get it? You’re the one looking at things through a filthy lens! It’s the 21st century; absolutely no one thinks this kind of clothing is scandalous anymore!”

I looked down at the face I had loved for ten years, now twisted by rage and triumph, a stranger to me.

“I’ll give you one last chance. Give up the deed to this house today, and get down on your knees and apologize to Spencer! I want you to stream the apology so the whole city can watch!”

Every word was a poisoned needle.

“Otherwise, when the last piece of lingerie is gone, I will marry him!”

The live stream on the tablet continued.

The excited voice of the host blared through the speaker:

“Down to the last five sets! Folks! We are moments away from history!”

The comments section was a frenzy:

“Where’s Ashton Pierce?! Why hasn’t he shown up?!”

“He’s probably on his way to beg! His wife is about to be gone!”

“Waiting to see Mr. Pierce on his knees!”

“CEO Gen is amazing! This is how you handle an old prude!”

Genevieve shoved the tablet closer to my face, her finger practically touching the screen:

“Do you see? Everyone is waiting for you to admit your mistake! If you go apologize to Spencer now, and give me ten percent of Pierce Holdings’ shares, we can still have our wedding…”

I looked calmly at her face, which was contorted into a smug mask of victory.

Then, softly, almost absurdly, I chuckled.

That small sound completely enraged her.

On the tablet, the host was excitedly counting down.

“Three sets remaining!”

“Two sets!”

“Only one left!!!”

With every number, Genevieve’s smile widened.

When the last set remained, no one stepped forward.

At that moment, I pushed her hand away with a neutral expression and slowly walked toward the door.

Genevieve’s triumphant smile spread across her face.

“What’s the matter, finally admitting defeat?”

“Spencer is at the bar we were at that night. You better hurry! If that last set is taken by someone else, not even kneeling will change my mind!”

She watched smugly as I sped out of the parking garage like a shot arrow.

She was just about to text Spencer that he should have the journalists on standby to capture my groveling from every angle.

But the next second, the host’s excited and then terrified shout came through her phone’s speaker.

“The Christmas tree is empty!!”

“The two-thousandth piece of lingerie has been claimed!”

“Let’s congratulate the lucky… Ashton Pierce! Wait, it’s you!”