Chapter 4

Charlotte hastily pushed open the car door and chased after me, grabbing my arm.

“Richard, don’t misunderstand! Didn’t I say I was going to buy you a race car? I came specifically to test drive it today, to try out the feel!”

Before I could speak, Michael also walked over, smiling innocently:

“Richard, I heard Charlotte talking about buying a car, and I’m really interested in racing, so I wanted to learn a bit.”

“Charlotte thought I had some credit in this contract too, so she planned to buy me one as well, and teach me while she was at it.”

I looked at them and couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic laugh.

“What does this contract have to do with you? What exactly is your credit?”

I didn't hold back.

Michael’s face paled, and he looked at Charlotte, wronged.

I couldn’t stand to watch their charade, so I shook off Charlotte’s hand and continued to walk out.

Charlotte panicked, just about to chase me again, when Michael’s pained voice came from behind her:

“Charlotte, I think I sprained my ankle, it hurts so bad…”

Charlotte’s steps stopped abruptly.

When I got home, the house was dark.

After showering, I lay in bed and casually scrolled through Twitter.

The first post was a recent update from Michael.

The caption: [Thanks to the boss for the reward of a race car, hands-on lessons, even the wind tastes sweet.]

Below it was a picture, a selfie of the two of them in racing suits, sitting in the car.

After muting Twitter, I opened my phone and sent the drafted divorce agreement to Charlotte.

Half an hour passed. No reply.

It seemed my messages had completely lost their value to her.

This seven-year marriage, through her silent treatment and outright disregard, had completely lost the need for communication.

I put down my phone, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I was woken by an urgent phone call.

I answered, and Sarah’s voice was anxious: “Richard, you need to get to the office right away, something’s happened!”

The call disconnected, and I threw off the covers.

My gaze swept over the spot beside me; the bed was neatly made and cold, with no sign of being slept in.

Meaning, Charlotte hadn’t come home all night.

Even in the dull period of our marriage, when we occasionally worked late on different projects, we would silently avoid disturbing each other’s sleep when we came home at night.

But we both knew the other had returned home.

Now, she wasn’t even coming home.

I didn’t dwell on it for long. I got dressed and headed straight for the company.

When I arrived at the office, I found out it was an old client I had been managing, who came to discuss a follow-up partnership.

Michael had handled the negotiation privately and messed up the deal.

Now the client was furious and demanded we fix it immediately.

Hearing this news, my head pounded.

Drawing on my deep understanding of the project, I immediately organized the work, and we went back and forth on the details during a video conference with the client.

Only after finally getting the client to relent and resolving the first crisis did I have a moment to spare.

I walked to the office area, looking at Michael sitting at his desk, and asked in a cold voice:

“Who gave you permission to privately handle my client?”