The CEO I Saved From the Streets Wants to Marry Me

Lily's POV

I push open the apartment door, my keys still dangling from my fingers, and freeze.

Candles everywhere. At least fifty of them, arranged in a massive heart on the floor, flames jumping in the AC current. The dining table has a white cloth draped over it, and sitting right in the middle is this three-tiered cake. Pink frosting, gold flakes, fresh strawberries. A little sign on top says "Happy Birthday Lily" in loopy handwriting. There are balloons near the ceiling and rose petals all over the floor.

Ethan's standing by the table in a gray shirt, sleeves rolled up, top button undone. When he sees me, his shoulders drop a little. But there's something off about his face. He looks nervous.

In three years, I've never seen him nervous.

"You're home," he says, quieter than usual.

He walks over and picks up the cake, holding it out toward me. The candlelight catches in his eyes, and there's something there I can't figure out.

"Happy birthday, Lily." He swallows. "What do you want for your birthday?"

My heart thuds hard against my ribs.

This isn't like him. Ethan doesn't do romantic gestures. Over the past three years, his care has always been practical. An umbrella in my bag before it rains. Showing up outside my bookstore late at night to walk me home. Keeping strawberries in the fridge because I mentioned once that I liked them.

But he's never said "I love you." Never made it official. Never done anything this obvious.

I stare at the cake in his hands, but my brain goes somewhere else. Back three years.

It was my college graduation. I was walking home still wearing my cap and gown, holding a bouquet someone handed me at the ceremony. The heat was brutal that day, cicadas screaming from the trees.

When I turned the corner near my apartment, I saw him. A guy curled up next to a dumpster. White dress shirt and slacks, both filthy. His hair was stuck to his forehead, lips pale and cracked. I should've kept walking like everyone else did.

But I didn't.

I crouched down and touched his forehead. He was burning up.

"Hey, you okay?"

He tried to open his eyes, pupils unfocused, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

I got him up somehow, half-dragged him the two blocks to my place. A studio apartment so small you could barely turn around. I spent three days using my part-time savings to buy medicine, wipe him down with damp towels. He was out of it most of the time, muttering things in his sleep. "Partner." "Betrayal." "It's over."

On the fourth morning, he finally woke up properly. When his eyes cleared and he looked at me, I saw someone who'd been completely gutted.

"Why'd you help me?" His voice was wrecked.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe 'cause it was my graduation day. Wanted to do something that mattered."

Later, I learned what happened. He'd started a tech company right out of college. Just when things were taking off, his business partner stole everything. All the funding, all the tech. The company crashed. Ethan ended up on the street with nothing.

I told him to start over. I gave him what little money I had. He slept on a cot in the back of my bookstore, helped me with customers during the day, coded on his laptop at night.

One year later, his new company got its first round of funding.

Two years later, it broke into the top ten.

Now, three years after I found him on that street, he's a CEO. His company's worth hundreds of millions.

And we went from rescuer and rescued to... what? Roommates? Something undefined? He moved into this big apartment downtown and insisted I come with him. We live under the same roof. He comes home every night. But he's never said what we are.

Sometimes I wonder if he keeps me around because he owes me. Or because of something else.

My thoughts snap back to this morning. The thing that's been eating at me all day.

It was seven a.m. Ethan's phone was charging on the nightstand. He went to shower, and the screen lit up.

I was getting dressed. My eyes caught the notification:

Sophia: I'm back in the country. Let's meet up.

My heart stopped.

Sophia. Of course I know that name.

His college girlfriend. The golden couple everyone talked about. She went abroad for grad school, they broke up. Now she's some hotshot entrepreneur, just raised a ton of money for her startup. She's back to expand into Asia.

I've seen her photos in articles. Perfect makeup, designer clothes, confident smile. Next to Ethan, they look like they belong together.

And me? I run a bookstore that barely stays afloat. My clothes are from clearance racks, my bag's three years old.

Is he having second thoughts? Does he regret letting me stay all this time? Now that Sophia's back, successful and beautiful and from his world, does he want to end whatever this is?

The sound of water filled the bathroom. I looked away from his phone fast, my hands shaking as I buttoned my shirt. All morning at the bookstore, I was a wreck. Messed up the accounts three times.

Ethan's still holding the cake in front of me, candlelight jumping across his face.

"Lily?" His voice sounds confused. Worried. "What're you thinking about?"

I snap back and force a smile.

"About my birthday gift," I say.

I take a breath. Every word feels like I'm swallowing glass.

"I want a two-bedroom apartment downtown."

Ethan's smile disappears. "That's it?"

I nodded.

The candlelight jumps in his eyes, and I watch his pupils shrink. Something flashes across his face. Shock. Hurt. Disbelief.

The cake in his hands wobbles. Frosting almost smears on his shirt.

"That way," I keep going, barely louder than a whisper, "it'll be easier for you going forward."

Easier for you to start over with Sophia. Easier so you don't have to deal with the awkwardness of me being here. Easier to erase me.

The room goes dead silent. I can hear the candles hissing.

Ethan stares at me.

A downtown two-bedroom? Easier? This is what she wants?

He spent a week planning this proposal. Spent all day setting up the apartment. Inside that cake is the engagement ring he spent a month picking out. And all she wants is real estate?

So these three years, she was just waiting for a big enough payout. She never loved me. All she wanted was money.

The betrayal hits him like a punch. All the tenderness and hope he'd been holding onto just drowns.

Ethan moves suddenly. He turns and slams the cake down on the table.

The sound echoes. Strawberries roll off the top. Frosting smears across the gold flakes.

"Got it," he says.

His voice is ice. Nothing like it was a minute ago.

"I'll transfer the money."

Just like that? He's not even gonna ask why? He's not gonna explain? He's not gonna ask what I mean?

I want to call out to him. I want to ask, "Sophia's back, isn't she?" I want to ask, "You don't need me anymore, do you?" I want to ask, "What did these three years mean to you?"

But nothing comes out.

He walks to the bedroom, movements sharp and final. The closet door scrapes open, hangers clattering.

He grabs his coat, car keys, wallet. Doesn't look at me once.

At the front door, his hand on the handle, he finally glances back.

That look. Cold. Disappointed. And underneath, something that looks like pain.

The door slams. The whole apartment shakes. A few candles tip over, flames going out, thin trails of smoke rising.

My legs almost give out.

All the decorations around me feel like a joke now. The candles are still burning. Rose petals all over the floor. Balloons swaying in the AC. But the person who was supposed to kneel in front of me is gone.

I walk slowly to the table and look down at the cake.

Pink frosting. Fresh strawberries. Gold flakes. The handwritten "Happy Birthday Lily."

Tears fall suddenly, hitting the white tablecloth and spreading into dark spots.

This was for me. He spent all this time preparing a surprise for me.

And I destroyed it.

I reach out to touch the cake but stop myself.

I should throw it away. Throw it away like you throw away something that's over. Clean and done.

But I can't.

I pick up the cake carefully and carry it to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator.

I slide the cake onto the deepest shelf in the back, hiding it like a secret.

When I close the door, I notice a sticky note on the front. Ethan's handwriting:

"Come home early tonight." They feel like a cruel joke now.

I slide down the front of the refrigerator and sink to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. Tears stream silently down my face.