My girlfriend and my lover were in a hot spring together on our wedding anniversary, so I was ready to go home and inherit the family business in 3 days.

On the day of Skylar Thorne’s and my third anniversary, I waited for her in an icy cable car all night, freezing solid.

I called her countless times, but she never picked up.

Finally, just as my phone’s battery blinked its last bar, she answered.

My heart swelled with hope, but instead of her voice, it was her male assistant, Devin Shaw, who spoke:

“Mr. Hayes, we’re at the hot springs. Ms. Thorne said she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

Amidst Devin’s mocking laughter, my phone died completely. It hit me then: I was the only one who remembered our three-year promise.

She had forgotten it long ago.

As night fell, the temperature in the cable car plummeted. The cold seeped into every bone, and with it, despair clawed at my heart.

Memories flashed like a frantic montage, as if these were my last moments on Earth.

But fate, it seemed, had a shred of pity. I endured the agonizing cold and didn’t freeze to death. The moment I woke up, the first thing I did was make a call.

I dialed that long-uncalled number: “Dad, I’m ready to come home and take over the family business. On one condition: acquire all of Thorne Enterprises.”