Chapter 3

In fact, Cynthia and I initially couldn't stand each other.

She was the Head of Negotiations my partner had hired with a high salary—always in killer heels, bold red lipstick, and figure-hugging skirts.

She was decisive and efficient at work, assertive at the negotiation table, and dared to publicly contradict me in internal meetings.

Elara had a gentle, serene soul. Bare-faced most days, dressed simply, her life revolved around caring for Lily and me, sipping tea, reading, and tending to her plants.

I had never encountered a woman like Cynthia in my life.

One time, when I was complaining about Cynthia again, Elara was carefully pruning an orchid.

She tilted her head amidst the green leaves, smiling at me.

"You've been mentioning her quite a lot lately!"

My opinion of Cynthia changed when I bumped into her in the stairwell, sitting on the steps, her face buried in her hands, crying.

She looked at me, her eyes red, quickly wiped away her tears, stood up, and muttered an apology before heading off with her head held high, her heels clicking loudly.

Later, I learned from my partner that she had divorced due to domestic abuse, was raising a seven-year-old daughter alone, and her ex-husband still harassed her occasionally.

Thinking of this vulnerable side beneath her tough, professional exterior, my attitude toward her shifted.

Cynthia reciprocated in kind.

We worked together, growing increasingly in sync.

At the negotiation table, she understood my unspoken intentions, and I understood her bluffs.

At social gatherings, she would shield me from drinks when I was drunk or quietly hand me a warm cup of tea.

One time, I saw her ex-husband harassing her again, even trying to get violent. I rushed over and threw a punch, making her gasp in surprise.

I remember coming home that night with a bandage on my head, terrifying Elara.

She trembled as she hugged me, repeatedly asking, "Does your head hurt? Your head can't get hurt! Are you really okay?"

Cynthia and I first slept together three years after we met.

It was during a company retreat in a historic town.

Elara had always yearned to visit historic towns in the South. For one of her birthdays, she’d wished that I would take her and Lily to explore one properly.

So, when the HR department asked me where to hold the annual retreat, I blurted out, "The historic town."

My intention was to surprise Elara, but during that time, Cynthia and I had developed an undeniable tension, something unspoken.

On a strange impulse, I didn't tell Elara.

The night in the historic town was beautiful, the wine easily intoxicating, the scenery enchanting.

Cynthia, wearing a nightgown, knocked on my door, and we spent a wild, forbidden night together.

We both knew we had made a terrible mistake.

After we returned, I thought it over several times and cut off my direct work contact with Cynthia.

She accepted my decision without a single word of complaint, though her gaze was silent and sorrowful.

Elara accidentally saw pictures of the historic town on my phone and asked, surprised, "When did you go to the historic town? Why didn't you take me?"

I felt incredibly guilty and vaguely explained, "A conference, just for one day, I didn't tell you."

Later, Cynthia submitted her resignation.

I accepted it.

We both knew it was for the best.

After she left, we didn't contact each other once.

Until three months later, we met during a project negotiation—she had joined the opposing company.

At the bar, the opposing CEO and his subordinates were aggressively pushing drinks on me. When I was once again forced to drink, Cynthia, who had been silent, picked up a bottle and smashed it over the CEO's head.

She lost her job, lost all her money, and was detained for fifteen days.

The day she was released from detention, I went to pick her up.

We went straight to a hotel.

We made love day and night.

I had made up my mind.

Life is only once. To hell with family responsibilities, to hell with bottom lines and morals. Let them call me a scoundrel, a betrayer.

I would indulge, I would be wild.

I couldn't let down the woman who had sacrificed so much for me.

...

My thoughts snapped back to the present. As my seven-year marriage reached its final step today, I didn't want to hear Cynthia's name from Elara’s lips again.

"I'll let you know once the time is booked. Don't miss it."

I said coldly, then left the house.

As I entered the elevator, I met my daughter, Lily.

She was excitedly carrying a slice of cake, her face beaming with joy, which instantly vanished the moment she saw me.

"Lily, Dad—"

I didn't finish my sentence. She walked past me expressionlessly.

I frowned.

Lily used to hug my neck and sweetly call me "Daddy" whenever she saw me. After two months apart, she was treating me like a stranger.

I had told Elara earlier not to tell Lily about the divorce yet.

Clearly, she hadn’t listened.

When I reached downstairs, I looked up at the window.

Lily was happily feeding Elara a slice of cake with a fork, and Elara, with a gentle smile, was leaning down to take it.

My phone vibrated. I tore my gaze away.

Cynthia had sent me a message:

[Babe, hurry home, your wife is going to give you a big reward tonight!]

It was the first time she had called me "babe."

I could imagine how thrilled and excited she must be right now.

I let out a long breath and walked away, my strides firm.