I shoved Quinton away and said dryly, "Wow. Guess I came home at a bad time."

Andrea smiled right on cue.

"No, you're not interrupting anything. I just stopped by to help Quinton out. Please don't get the wrong idea."

In the entire company, Andrea was the only person who knew that Quinton and I were married.

He shared everything with her without hesitation. And yet, this was the first time I had learned he even knew how to cook.

For seven years, the kitchen had always been my domain.

He knew perfectly well that after I damaged my stomach from endless business dinners, even the smell of hot oil made me nauseous. Still, he would act sweet and say he loved my cooking, and I would go along with it, making three meals a day.

It never once crossed my mind that he could cook at all, let alone cook this well.

Andrea, fully aware of my stomach condition, spoke with exaggerated concern, "These peppers are from my hometown. They're really spicy. Why aren't you sitting down to eat? Are you avoiding it because you don't like me?"

I didn't move or even look at her. My eyes stayed on Quinton.

"Stop beating around the bush. Just say what you want," I said.

Quinton finished washing his hands, reached into his pocket, and placed a train ticket into my palm.

"About the post earlier, that was on me. I shouldn't have reassigned your clients to Andrea without asking. She said she wants to build things on her own."

He paused, then continued, "Tonight's dinner is a send-off. I booked you a ticket for tomorrow night. Once you're back, we'll go public. I'll make sure the whole country hears about it."

Before I could respond, Andrea lifted her glass toward me.

"Lisa, thank you for letting me use your room. I'll make sure the house is well taken care of."

Quinton quickly added, a hint of unease in his voice, "Andrea's apartment lease just ended. Your room was empty anyway, so it made sense for her to stay there temporarily."

I worked late so often, and Quinton claimed he found it hard to sleep when we shared a bed, so I volunteered to move into the guest room.

Over time, the guest room simply became my room.

I had been to Andrea's place before. It was a two-bedroom apartment, about 650 square feet.

Back then, Quinton and I had squeezed into a windowless basement. The space was so cramped that we could barely stretch out, yet we endured it together.

Love, it seemed, always came with a sense of owing something. To make room for her, he didn't want me staying even a moment longer.

The ticket showed that it was a 43-hour trip on a hard seat. He hadn't spared a single thought for whether I would survive the trip.

I tore it in half and looked at him coolly.

"Are you incapable of understanding plain English? I already resigned. I'm not going to Northreach."

Andrea acted as if she hadn't heard me. She turned, disappeared into the bedroom, and reemerged dragging a suitcase nearly as tall as her waist.

"Lisa, I've already packed your things. If you need anything once you're there, just tell me. I'll prepare it for you."

Quinton's expression softened. He draped an arm around my shoulders and said gently, "Come on. You know I'd never really let you suffer. Just stay in Northreach for a couple of days. I'll find an excuse to bring you back."

That was always his pattern. Hurt first and soothe later.

I used to give in for love. Now, I just felt exhausted.

I played along, took the suitcase, and unzipped it.

Inside lay a shredded down jacket, feathers spilling across the floor.

Exactly as I had expected.

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

"So this is what you packed for me?"

Quinton looked momentarily startled, but still rushed to her defense.

"She didn't mean it. It's already kind of her to help at all. You can teach her slowly. Why are you being so hard on her?"

I almost laughed out loud. Andrea was 29, just a year younger than me. Why did he make it sound like she was still a kid?

Andrea's eyes filled instantly. She bowed and apologized in a trembling voice.

"I'm really sorry. I did too much farm work growing up, so my hands are rough. I ruined your clothes. How much was it? I'll pay you back, okay?"

Andrea had barely finished apologizing when she deliberately kicked over the trash can. It hit the floor with a loud crash.

I frowned, irritation rising, ready to lash out. Then I saw what had spilled across the floor, and my breath caught.

Inside were the matching shirts I had bought for Quinton and me, our mugs, and a thick photo album. There was also an old digital camera.

Every single item had been ruined on purpose. Some were sliced cleanly in half, while others were smashed beyond repair.

Andrea's eyes flickered with unmistakable satisfaction, but her expression quickly shifted to innocent concern.

"I didn't mean to break those," she said softly. "Quinton told me you were planning to throw them away anyway."

I turned to look at Quinton.

He nodded without hesitation, completely indifferent.

"They're just cheap junk. I told you ages ago to get rid of them. Andrea was helping you clean up. You should be thanking her."

Something clenched painfully in my chest, and a bitter smile crept onto my lips.

He had already forgotten what those things had meant to us.

After graduation, I had turned down offers from major international companies. At Quinton's desperate urging, I stayed and helped him build the company from nothing.

In a big city, people without connections drift like weeds without roots. Back then, all we had was each other.

On our first anniversary after starting the business, I wanted to encourage him. I sold plasma ten times just to afford that cheap digital camera.

I told him we should record everything. That one day, when we finally made it, we could look back and remember how far we had come.

That camera captured summers when we couldn't afford air conditioning, riding the subway all day just to enjoy the cool air, and pretending it was a date.

It recorded New Year's Eve, the two of us hunched over a phone watching a holiday program, sharing an instant mac and cheese while he quietly slipped half his hot dog into my bowl.

Every time he looked at those photos, he cried. He promised again and again that he would make it up to me someday.

But on the day the company went public, I pulled out the camera to take a picture of him cutting the ribbon, only to have him slap it out of my hands, saying it was embarrassing for a vice president to carry something so cheap.

And now, he had let Andrea destroy it.

Even the printed photo albums were treated like trash.

There was one thing he had said that was true.

What we had was already rotten. It really was time to get rid of it and let it go.

Seeing the pain in my eyes, Quinton finally seemed to recall something. He looked away.

"Don't argue with Andrea," he said. "I'll buy you better stuff later."

I shook my head, opened my briefcase, and took out the divorce papers.

"Sign this."

He frowned in irritation.

"We agreed, no business talk at home."

I replied calmly, "It's just a signature. It'll take less than a minute."

Maybe guilt finally got to him. He hesitated, then took the document.

The moment he saw that it was a divorce agreement, his body stiffened, and his fingers trembled.

Andrea leaned over to peek. When she realized what it was, the smile at the corner of her lips spread uncontrollably.

Quinton snapped back to himself and glared at me.

"You want a divorce because Andrea threw out your stuff? No one's perfect, Lisa. You're being unreasonable."

I answered evenly, "I'm not being unreasonable. You can give Andrea a proper status now. Let her do whatever she wants in the company."

Quinton laughed coldly, anger flashing in his eyes. Veins stood out on the back of his hand as he nearly ripped the papers apart.

"I knew it! Your mind is filthy. Andrea is just a junior from school. What's wrong with helping her out? If someone had helped us back then, would our lives have been so miserable?

"Let me make this clear. Don't try to threaten me with divorce. It won't work.

"I was going to go public with you after you came back. I've changed my mind. I'm so disappointed in you!"

Andrea immediately jumped in, clearly eager to stir things up.

"Quinton, it's obvious that Lisa just doesn't want to go to Northreach. That's why she's picking fights. If that's the problem, then I'll go instead. Please stop fighting."

Quinton's expression darkened even further. He pulled Andrea close and started toward the door, his eyes locked on me.

"Lisa, if you keep going after Andrea, then I'll buy her a luxury condo over there and move with her myself. I'll personally take care of her."

Despite his words, his hand stayed on the doorknob.

He was waiting.

Waiting for me to panic, to get jealous like I used to, to stop him, cry, apologize, and give in to whatever unreasonable demand he threw at me.

I walked over. He clearly thought I was about to beg him to stay. The tension between his brows finally eased.

Instead, I reached past him, pulled the door fully open, and gestured calmly.

"Go right ahead."

The moment the words left my mouth, Quinton's grip on Andrea tightened. She let out a small gasp of pain.

He shot me a vicious look.

"Fine," he muttered, and he stormed out.

As soon as the door closed, my phone buzzed.

My resignation had been approved.

This time, Quinton seemed to have really lost his temper.

The next day, I arrived early at the café where I was meeting Scott to talk about investing in Quinton's rival company.

I was scanning the menu when someone tapped twice on the window beside me.

I looked up and froze.

It was Quinton and Andrea.

A second later, they walked in together.

Quinton wore an openly smug expression.

"Lisa, are you following me now?" he scoffed. "Come on, where did you hear I'd be meeting clients around here today?"

Andrea was dressed to the nines with heavy makeup, looking like someone who had just come into money overnight.

"Quinton opened a 40-thousand-dollar bottle of wine for me last night," she said sweetly. "I heard he never took you to places this fancy. I hope you're not upset."

After I worked myself into a stomach ulcer from nonstop business dinners, he really had stopped taking me out like that.

I only frowned and checked my watch. "Pure coincidence. I'm here for a meeting. Please don't bother me."

Right on cue, Scott walked in with long strides.

Seeing the two of them crowding me, he paused, surprised.

"And you are?"

Quinton's face lit up instantly. He hurried forward and grabbed Scott's hand.

"Mr. Snyder! What a surprise. If I'd known you liked this place, I would've bought you coffee every day."

Andrea shot me a sharp, jealous glance before turning on a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"So you're trying to fix things by hunting for investors?" she said lightly. "Quinton only approved your resignation in the heat of the moment. If you behave yourself, I can help talk him into forgiving you."

She made sure to emphasize her closeness to him.

Quinton nodded, clearly pleased.

Watching the two of them perform, Scott couldn't help asking, "Lisa, what's going on here?"

Quinton stepped forward, his tall frame blocking me completely.

"Mr. Snyder, Lisa isn't senior enough to handle this. She's just a regular employee. Besides, she's heading to Northreach tonight, so she won't have time for follow-ups. I'm Quinton Kemp, the CEO. This is our vice president, Andrea Roffe. We'll handle the talks."

Even now, he didn't miss a chance to dress Andrea up.

I was about to speak when a calm, amused male voice sounded from behind me.

"Well, Quinton, have you really fallen so far that you're trying to steal my vice president and my investor?"