The day I found out I miscarried Arthur's child, my best friend Mia gasped over the phone. "Did he cheat on you?" "No. At least, I haven't caught him." "Then... are his parents causing trouble again?" "My in-laws live abroad. We see them once a year. It's very polite." "It can't be domestic violence, can it?!" "He rarely even raises his voice." Mia was completely baffled. Arthur Sterling. The most outstanding heir of his generation in the Sterling family, the young and successful CEO of a major construction conglomerate. Tall, refined, elegant, and emotionally stable. In our three years of marriage, he hadn't fooled around outside, he hadn't let me suffer any financial grievances, and he even remembered to buy birthday gifts for my parents. Everyone said, Chloe, you are so lucky. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the stark white ceiling. The anesthesia was just wearing off, and a hollow ache emanated from my lower abdomen. It was probably late at night, three days ago. Clutching the lab results, I waited for him in the living room for four hours. When he pushed the door open, he carried the smell of alcohol, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of gardenias. It wasn't the perfume I used. I said, "Arthur, I'm pregnant." His hand, pausing as he loosened his tie, stopped. He looked up at me for two seconds. Then he spoke calmly: "Chloe, now is not the time for a child." "I'm bidding on the Bayview International Center project next month. This project is very important to me." "Take care of it first. We'll talk about this later." After saying that, he walked straight to his study. He didn't even ask how far along I was, or if I was feeling unwell. In that moment, I suddenly remembered. When we got married, he had someone design our new home. The designer asked him if they should leave space in the master suite for a nursery. He had replied in the same calm tone back then: "No need. We don't have plans for the near future." You see. It turns out some endings are written right at the beginning. 1 The procedure was scheduled for Friday morning. A private hospital, VIP floor, so quiet you could hear the IV fluid dripping. The nurse came in for the third time to confirm. "Ms. Miller, has your family arrived yet? The surgical consent form needs a signature." I glanced at my phone. The screen was as clean as freshly wiped glass. Yesterday, when I told him the procedure was today, he was tying his tie, not even looking up. "What time? I'll try my best to make it." "Nine o'clock." "Mm. I'll have Secretary Chen go with you." You see. Even his rejections are so proper. "No need." I spoke calmly. "I can do it myself." The nurse hesitated. "Then... you'll sign it yourself?" "I'll sign it." The pen tip scratched across the paper, making a rustling sound. It turns out that when a person's heart is completely dead, their hand doesn't shake. When the doors to the operating room opened, I took one last look at my phone. 9:07 AM. My social media feed refreshed with a new post. Posted by Sierra. Arthur's chief designer, his capable right-hand woman who had been with him for five years. The photo showed the office in the early hours of the morning, dawn breaking outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. The caption: "Another all-nighter fighting side-by-side with the boss. It feels so good to give it your all for a dream. P.S.: Thanks to someone's gardenias for keeping me awake~" Location: Sterling Group Headquarters. In the corner of the photo, a hand with distinct knuckles was in the frame, wearing the Patek Philippe watch I gave him on the wrist. I suddenly remembered that hint of gardenia scent from the other night. I remembered his increasingly frequent "overtime" over the past six months. I remembered the way Sierra looked at him. The moment the anesthesia was pushed into my vein, I closed my eyes. An icy feeling spread up my arm. Like this marriage. From the very beginning, it was cold. 2 I woke up in a hospital room. A private suite, the sunlight outside the window blinding. A dull ache came in waves from my lower abdomen, empty, as if a very important piece had been dug out of my body. The door was pushed open. Arthur walked in, carrying a fruit basket. His iron-gray suit was impeccable, his tie straight, even his hair was neatly combed. He looked as if he hadn't rushed over from outside the operating room, but had just finished an important board meeting. "You're awake?" He placed the fruit basket on the nightstand. "How do you feel?" His voice was steady, devoid of emotion. I looked at him and suddenly really wanted to laugh. "You came." "Mm. Just finished a meeting." He glanced at his watch. "I can only stay for twenty minutes. I have a lunch meeting with the city officials this afternoon." "Is that so." I turned my head to look out the window. "Then go do your work." Silence spread through the hospital room. He stood for a while, finally speaking. "Chloe, the Bayview International Center project is really important to me. If we win this, Sterling Group can completely open up the East Coast market—" "Arthur." I cut him off. My voice was very light, as if afraid of startling something. "Our child is gone." He paused. Then he said, "I know. We'll have more in the future." Even his comfort sounded like he was discussing business. The door was pushed open again. Sierra walked in holding a bouquet of white lilies, smiling gently and appropriately. "Mr. Sterling, you are here. I've prepared the materials for this afternoon's lunch meeting." Seeing me, she showed a perfectly measured look of concern. "Ms. Miller, are you alright? Mr. Sterling was so worried last night he didn't sleep well, and rushed over right after the meeting today." How considerate. She even thought of an excuse for him. Arthur took the documents from her hand, flipping through them quickly. "Have the numbers been verified?" "Yes. Also, we've taken care of Director Lee. He likes vintage wine; I've prepared a thirty-year-old Macallan." "Good." They stood side-by-side by the window, discussing the details of the project in low voices. The sunlight spilled over them, like a golden halo. The talented man and the beautiful woman, fighting side by side. What a matching picture. While I lay in the hospital bed, my whole body cold, having just lost a child. A child he didn't care about at all. 3 On the day I was discharged, I handled the paperwork myself. Arthur called. "I'll have the driver pick you up." "No need." "Chloe, don't throw a tantrum." "Arthur." I stood at the hospital entrance, watching the bustling traffic. "I'm not throwing a tantrum." "I just suddenly realized that for the past three years, I've been living in an illusion." Silence on the other end of the line. "I thought we were husband and wife." "But actually, I'm just an expendable decoration in your life." "And now this decoration is broken, taking up space. You're starting to find it troublesome, aren't you?" "Chloe!" His voice dropped. "Do you have to speak like this?" "Then how should I speak?" I laughed. "Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to let me have an abortion? Thank you for having your secretary come to the hospital to perform 'concern' for you?" "Sierra is just my subordinate." "Is that so." I said softly. "But the way you look at her has much more warmth than the way you look at me." I hung up the phone. I flagged down a taxi. The driver asked, "Where to, miss?" Watching the rapidly retreating street scenes outside the window, I suddenly didn't know where I should go. That three-thousand-square-foot luxury condo, equipped with the top-tier smart home systems, a temperature and humidity-controlled wine cellar, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. But it had no warmth. No signs of life. No feeling of home. Finally, I said, "To Pine Lake Apartments." That was the small apartment I bought myself before I got married. Five hundred square feet, one bedroom, one living room. In our three years of marriage, I had only been back there twice. The last time I went back was for my birthday last year. He forgot. I sat there until dawn, and he didn't even notice I wasn't home. 4 I lay at home for three days. Arthur didn't call once. But Mia came every day, bringing soup she had simmered, along with a bellyful of curses. "That bastard Arthur! I saw him at the Plaza Hotel the other day, having dinner with a client, accompanied by Sierra. The way Sierra was acting, she practically wanted to glue herself to him!" "Also, do you know what Sierra has been saying in our circles lately? She says Mr. Sterling is going to marry her sooner or later, and that your current position was originally meant for her." "Chloe, you can't keep putting up with this!" I took small sips of the soup, not saying a word. Yeah. I had put up with it for three years. I always thought, wait until the company stabilizes, wait until this project is over, wait until he's not so busy... Then he would see me. Then we would be like he promised when we got married. "Live a good life together." But I forgot. People like Arthur are born to conquer. His battlefield is in the business world, at the negotiation table, in every opportunity to expand his business empire. Marriage, to him, is just a necessary step in his life plan. A KPI that needs to be completed. "Mia." I put down the soup spoon. "Do me a favor." "Tell me!" "Help me clear out the studio in my Pine Lake apartment. I want to start painting again." Mia's eyes lit up. "You've figured it out?!" "Mm." I looked at the gray sky outside the window. "For the past three years, to be a good Mrs. Sterling, I practically abandoned my paintbrushes." "Now I've figured it out." "Being anyone's wife is not as good as being myself." 5 During the first week of picking up the paintbrush again, my hands felt incredibly rusty. In college, I was the acknowledged genius of the oil painting department at the fine arts academy. My graduation piece, "Urban Breath," was collected by an art museum. My mentor said my brushstrokes possessed an "architectural sense of structure" and a "flowing vitality." That was when Arthur had just taken over his family's business and came to the academy looking for collaborating artists to create art installations for Sterling Group's new real estate developments. We met in my mentor's studio. He was wearing a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking at my portfolio. The sunlight shone through the window behind him, giving him a soft, golden halo. He looked up at me, his eyes very bright. "Ms. Miller's paintings are very powerful." Later, he said it was at that exact moment he decided to marry me. "Your talent, your composure, are exactly what I need." Even his reason for proposing was so pragmatic. After we got married, he stuffed me into the Sterling Group's branding department, giving me the empty title of "Art Consultant." Calling it "utilizing your talent." In reality, my job was to accompany him to art exhibitions when he needed me, explain artworks to clients, and play the role of a "Mrs. Sterling with good taste." I brought up wanting to continue creating art. He said, "Chloe, you are Mrs. Sterling now. Your time should be spent on more valuable things." What is valuable? Accompanying him to social engagements is valuable. Maintaining client relationships for him is valuable. Playing the loving couple when he needs it is valuable. What about my dreams? What about my paintbrushes? Not important. Just like that child. Not important. 6 On my seventh day back at Pine Lake Apartments, Arthur finally appeared. At ten o'clock at night, there was a knock on the door. Through the peephole, I saw him standing outside. His tie was loose, his hair a bit messy, and there were faint dark circles under his eyes. I opened the door. The smell of alcohol on him hit me in the face. "Why are you here?" I didn't let him in. Arthur looked at me, his expression complex. "Chloe, how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?" "I'm not throwing a tantrum." "Then why haven't you come home?" "This is my home." He frowned. "You bought this apartment yourself; it's small, and the location is average. It's not comfortable to live in." "Arthur." I leaned against the doorframe. "Do you know why I like it here?" "Why?" "Because everything here is my own." "The paintings on the wall I painted, the books on the shelf I picked out, even that dying pothos plant on the balcony I brought from my college dorm." "But in that luxury condo of yours, I feel like a renter." He was silent for a moment. "If you don't like the interior design, we can remodel. I'll have the designer—" "I don't need a designer." I cut him off. "What I need is a husband." "Not a boss assigning me tasks." Arthur's face darkened. "Chloe, I've been very tired lately. The bidding for the Bayview International Center is at a crucial stage, and there's a ton of stuff going on at the company. Can't you be a little considerate?" Considerate. There's that word again. These past three years, I've been far too considerate. So considerate that I lost myself in the process. "Arthur." I looked at him, enunciating every word. "The day I lost the baby, I was on the operating table, the anesthesia had just worn off, and I was shivering from the pain." "At that moment, I was thinking, if only you were here." "If only you could hold my hand and tell me not to be afraid." "But you didn't come." "You were working overtime with another woman, accepting the gardenias she gave you, fighting side by side with her." His pupils contracted slightly. "Sierra is just—" "I know she's just a subordinate." I smiled. "But Arthur, you care about her way more than you care about me." "At least you remember she's allergic to pollen, you remember she takes two scoops of sugar in her coffee, you give her limited-edition design sketches for her birthday." "And me?" "On my birthday, you were at a meeting in New York. Even the 'Happy Birthday' message was sent by Secretary Chen on your behalf." Arthur opened his mouth. But ultimately, he couldn't say anything. Because he knew that every word I said was true. "I've mailed you the divorce agreement." "If you don't sign it, I'll file for a contested divorce." "You wouldn't want that either, would you?" 7 That night, Arthur stood outside the door for half an hour. Finally, he said, "Chloe, we both need to cool down." "After the bidding is over, we'll have a good talk." I closed the door. Leaning against it, I slowly slid down to sit on the floor. The tears finally fell. Not from sadness. From relief. I finally said everything I had been holding in for three years. It turns out that being yourself feels this incredibly satisfying. The next day, I formally submitted my resignation to Sterling Group. Secretary Chen called, his tone sounding conflicted. "Madam, Mr. Sterling says your position was specially created, there's no resignation procedure..." "Then terminate the contract." I said. "I signed an employment contract with Sterling Group; I'll pay whatever penalty the law requires." "This... shouldn't you speak with Mr. Sterling yourself?" "No need. Tell him that from now on, my relationship with Sterling Group is solely that of a former employee and a former employer." After hanging up, I blocked all of Arthur's contact information. Except for one number. His mother's. That elegant lady recuperating in Switzerland would call every few months for a routine, business-like greeting. In the afternoon, her call came as expected. "Chloe, Arthur mentioned you two are having a little disagreement?" Her voice was gentle, but carried a condescending aloofness. "Mrs. Sterling." For the first time, I didn't call her "Mom." "We're not having a disagreement; we're getting a divorce." There were a few seconds of silence on the other end. "Because of the child?" "Not entirely." "Then why? Is Arthur not treating you well?" I laughed. "Mrs. Sterling, what do you consider 'treating someone well'?" "Is it providing an ample allowance? Is it providing excellent material conditions? Is it giving you face in public?" "If it's those things, Arthur has done very well." "But the 'well' I want is for him to see me, to hear me, to treat me like a living, breathing human being." A sigh came from the other end of the line. "Chloe, Arthur has been like this since he was a child. His father passed away early, and he had to learn to manage the company in his teens. In his eyes, there are only goals and efficiency." "Emotions are too foreign to him." "I know." I said softly. "That's why I'm tired." "I don't want to use my warmth to try and warm up a stone anymore."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394864", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel