Chapter 2

Isabella was shaking with rage, about to yell at me again.

But I’d already pushed open the conference room door and walked out of the company.

The house decor was minimalist. I collapsed onto the sofa, staring blankly up at the extraordinarily large crystal chandelier.

When we decorated, Isabella had said,

“Liam Allen, someday I’ll buy you a huge mansion, and this lamp will be exactly where it belongs!”

But now, that serious-faced girl gradually faded from my mind.

Seven years ago, we met in college. I was drawn to her earnest expression as she worked a part-time job in the cafeteria, wiping tables and washing dishes.

She said she’d come from a poor, rural background, and her parents had been killed by unscrupulous corporate types, which was why she hated rich kids the most.

So I pretended to be an ordinary person and dated her, falling deeper and deeper in love.

After graduation, she said she wanted to work hard and make it on her own.

I abandoned my parents’ plans for me to study abroad. I even threatened to cut ties with them, throwing myself headfirst into the trap of love.

To punish me, my parents cut off all financial support and blacklisted me from the entire industry.

In the beginning, I was busy running errands during the day and, in my free time at night, I delivered food and worked as a designated driver.

Isabella and I were crammed into a cramped, windowless basement apartment, and my immune system weakened. I broke out in rashes all over my body.

My mom would sneak a look at me then, find me thin and worn out, and just cry.

Isabella was just a fresh-faced corporate newbie back then, still very green in business.

It was I who taught her how to apply economic principles strategically, guiding her growth with the experience I gained from interning at my family's company, wanting her to become as skilled as I was.

She told me countless times that without me, she wouldn’t have made it.

One New Year's Eve, we huddled together under a blanket, watching a movie on my tiny old phone, listening to the fireworks outside.

A bowl of ramen with an egg was our best New Year’s meal.

She craved it, her mouth watering, but she kept putting her egg into my bowl, insisting I eat.

Finally, my parents realized we were slowly finding our footing even in such difficult circumstances. They relented, secretly lifting the industry blacklisting order and bringing Isabella and me into the company for an internship.

I thought a bright future was finally coming.

But what came instead was Isabella becoming increasingly cold towards me because of work.

A year ago, Mason Rivers suddenly reappeared, begging on his knees for her forgiveness.

That was the first time she didn’t come home all night, completely wasted.

She told me countless times that she was being good to Mason because, even though he was a disgraced rich kid, he was still a connection, useful for the company.

I believed her.

Until this time, when she unscrupulously used me as a stepping stone to pave the way for Mason.

I finally had enough.

I pulled out my phone and asked my mom,

“How’s Dad’s condition? When is he coming back?”

My mom sensed something was off and replied,

“He thinks he’s much better. He’ll be back tomorrow. Has someone at the company been bothering you?”

I replied,

“No, I just miss you guys.”

Just as I was about to close my phone and go to sleep, I scrolled through Mason Rivers’s Ins story.

“My beautiful boss is so kind and generous. She approved a company car for me to drive! Thanks, Isabella!”

In the photo, Mason stood in front of a luxury sedan worth half a million dollars, while Isabella held a bouquet of flowers, looking gentle.

The comment section exploded, praising him and Isabella, saying they looked good together.

Isabella, who had claimed our marriage had to be kept secret because office romance was frowned upon, silently approved of everyone shipping her and Mason.

She only replied,

“The company won’t treat you unfairly. This is the perk of being a VP.”

Yet, when I wanted to replace my beat-up sedan, which I’d driven for years, Isabella accused me of not being considerate of the company’s finances and not treating the company like it was my own. She never approved it.

Love and indifference were so painfully obvious.

Late into the night, Isabella finally came home.

She’d had quite a bit to drink, stumbling unsteadily.

After collapsing onto the sofa, she winced, covering her eyes, and complained,

“Why are the lights so bright? Are you trying to blind me?”

Too lazy to argue with a drunk, I turned off the crystal chandelier, leaving only a faint glow from the entryway light.

In the darkness, Isabella’s watery eyes were bright. She mumbled,

“Liam Allen, you almost made me lose face at the company today, and you didn’t even come to pick me up tonight. You’re really something. Do you actually want to be a kept man? How can I go public with our marriage like this, how can I go back to your family’s place and meet your parents?”

She hugged the throw pillow on the sofa. Something seemed to cross her mind, and she suddenly chuckled.

“A rich kid like Mason is just different from someone from your small-town background. Look how generous he is, he even urged me to come home early, worried you’d make a fuss. As long as you agree to take some of the burden off him, I might even be able to hire you back as a full-time employee!”

Ultimately, it was just about getting me to do Mason Rivers’s work for free.

In the darkness, I said,

“No need for all that trouble. Let’s get a divorce.”