“You’ve studied risk theory, haven’t you?” he said, breaking the silence. “You know that every investment carries risk. And the only way to mitigate that risk is to never put all your eggs in one basket. That applies to trading—and to love as well.”
“Trading is your profession; your attitude toward love is a personal choice. Don’t forget, this society operates on monogamy. Your investment theory doesn’t apply here,” I tried to reply as calmly as I could.
“For me, it’s all the same,” Chu Ke Huan retorted confidently, his eyes fixed on me as though I were just another “asset” in his portfolio. “If a relationship leaves me dissatisfied, even minimizing losses still counts as a loss. I have to seek profits elsewhere—it’s a survival principle.”
“The issues between you and Zi Yuan should be resolved through communication. If they can’t be resolved, then you should end the relationship—not go behind her back seeking solace elsewhere.”
“End it?” He let out a cold laugh, still weaving his investment metaphors into the conversation. “Even if I plan to ‘exit the market,’ I’d choose the point with the lowest losses. In the stock market, buying and selling quickly racks up transaction fees. In relationships, breaking up and reconciling takes an emotional toll every time.”
“Say whatever you like. It doesn’t matter because we won’t see each other again. Goodbye!”
I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, Chu Ke Huan grabbed my hand, giving me no chance to escape. “You say we won’t meet again, but then follow it with ‘goodbye.’ So, will there be a next time or not?”
“What are you doing? That was just a slip of the tongue...” I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was annoyingly strong. “Let go of me!”
“I’m just worried about you,” Chu Ke Huan said as he stepped closer, closing the gap between us. His hands reached toward my chest.
Instinctively, I tried to push him away, only to realize that he was buttoning up the undone buttons on my blouse.
“You look great like this,” he said, his gaze carrying a hint of regret. “But if no one’s walking you home, you should at least dress appropriately.”
Was it because he was standing so close? Or was it the gentleness in his voice that confused me? Maybe it was his unexpected attentiveness that unsettled me. But I found myself wavering—I couldn’t believe it. I even started to feel that some of what he said tonight made sense. Worse still, I didn’t resist when he acted so intimately toward me.
“I… I’m leaving now,” I stammered, forcing myself to stay alert as I turned and put some distance between us. The space gave me a moment to catch my breath. Only then did it dawn on me—I hadn’t even had a drink tonight.
“Goodbye,” Chu Ke Huan said behind me.
I didn’t reply because I genuinely had no desire to see him again.
Escaping—this must be what it feels like. I rushed into the metro station without looking back. Even though I knew Chu Ke Huan wasn’t behind me anymore, I couldn’t bring myself to glance over my shoulder.
It wasn’t until I boarded the train that I finally exhaled. It was 10:30 p.m., just the start of Taipei’s nightlife. The train was filled with heavily made-up women dressed to the nines, their plunging necklines and flawless skin far more alluring than mine. If a creeper or predator were on public transport, I’d hardly be their first target.
Looking at their youthful figures, a realization hit me: when Chu Ke Huan buttoned up my blouse earlier, it wasn’t out of concern—it was just an excuse to get closer to me.
The realization ignited my anger all over again! At that moment, all I wanted was to confront Chu Ke Huan and hold him accountable. But I didn’t even have his contact information! Frustrated, I opened Facebook and found his girlfriend, Gao Zi Yuan, who was still in my friends list despite us not being in touch.
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