Chapter 6
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Dad buried himself in work as usual, while Mom, sensing my dark mood, constantly whisked me away on impromptu outings.
We hit beaches, hiked mountains, wandered aimlessly across the countryside.
"Sweetheart," she'd say,
"Let the wind carry your troubles away."
And she was right—my heartache slowly dissolved in salt air and the protective cocoon of family.
I might have forgotten that joke of a marriage entirely if Adrian Mitchell hadn't shown up unannounced.
I was sprawled on the balcony chaise, lost in a novel, when it happened.
Glancing up, I spotted him at the front entrance—gift box in hand, familiar silhouette, shoulders tense with anxiety.
My heart constricted, like a thousand tiny needles pricking at once.
Not sharp agony, but that dull, spreading ache I'd tried so hard to forget.
"Since your father froze Mitchell's core project, that Blackwood woman has been camping at the office, begging for concessions."
"At least she knew better than to show up here—she just ambushes executives at the office."
"Your father wouldn't give her the time of day, of course."
"Seems Mitchell finally realized he needed to handle this himself."
"Should we… let him in?"
Mom's voice softened to a whisper.
She'd always been able to read me like an open book.
I shook my head, eyes downcast.
"No need."
"Dad knows what he's doing with his business decisions."
"If Mitchell offers better value than his competitors, Dad will choose him. If not, he won't. It's just business."
"Whatever Dad decides, I'll support him."
Mom nodded, relief washing over her face.
"Your father's only worried you're still holding on."
"Nothing to let go of," I heard myself say flatly. "Ten days since we signed the divorce papers, and not a single text from him."
"Tells me everything I need to know about my place in his heart."
"That's a healthy perspective, sweetheart."
Mom had the housekeeper politely turn Mitchell away.
But he was back the next day.
This time with even more extravagant gifts.
He'd even hunted down rare calligraphy scrolls and paintings that perfectly matched Dad's collecting tastes.
Classic Mitchell—always able to pinpoint exactly what makes people tick.
He crafts this image of thoughtfulness and consideration, fooling you into thinking he's the most attentive man alive.
For seven straight days, he appeared like clockwork.
When denied an audience with Dad, he'd wait outside like a sentinel, sometimes from dawn till dusk.
If I'm being honest…
If he'd been there for me…
Seeing someone I once loved showing such persistence, I might have weakened and opened the door.
Unfortunately,
He wasn't.
He was there for his precious company, for his bottom line.
Mom finally called Dad.
Begged him to resolve this quickly before Mitchell's presence triggered me further.
Dad handled it with surgical precision.
Without ever mentioning our connection, he sent his assistant to Mitchell's office with a competitor analysis report, clinically detailing exactly how Mitchell's company fell short against rivals.
Mitchell's no fool—he got the message loud and clear.
After that, he vanished from our doorstep.
But fate wasn't done throwing unwanted reunions my way.
Dad's company hosted a black-tie charity gala, drawing the city's business elite.
I'd tried to beg off, but couldn't disappoint Dad, so I threw on a simple black cocktail dress, planning to make a brief appearance before hiding in some quiet corner.
Glass of champagne in hand, I was people-watching when someone shoved me from behind, sending my drink splashing across an elegantly dressed older woman.
I spun around, apology already forming on my lips.
A familiar, nails-on-chalkboard voice cut in before I could speak.
"Mrs. Lee, isn't that a custom Su embroidery cheongsam?"
"Must be worth a small fortune. I doubt some people could afford to replace it."
I looked up to find Sophia Blackwood, dripping in designer labels and smug satisfaction.
Her absence hadn't improved her personality one bit.
"Mrs. Lee, I'm terribly sorry. I'll cover any cleaning costs or replacement value."
I offered sincerely.
Before Mrs. Lee could respond, Sophia bulldozed ahead.
"Mrs. Lee's gown is museum quality. Money alone can't fix this kind of damage…"
Mrs. Lee's brow creased slightly as she stepped between us, fixing Sophia with a withering stare.
"I don't know who you are, dear, but I'm not so decrepit that my eyesight is failing. I saw exactly who bumped into whom."
"Any matter of compensation between this young lady and myself is our business alone. I don't recall inviting your opinion."
Her voice never rose above conversational level, yet it commanded the attention of everyone within earshot.
Sophia's face cycled from red to white, blindsided by the elegant takedown.
I stood behind Mrs. Lee, fighting to keep a straight face.
Sophia had pegged me as a nobody—just Adrian's discarded wife with no connections.
She had no idea Mrs. Lee had been my mother's confidante for decades and had watched me grow up.
Even without my mother's social standing, Mrs. Lee would never allow anyone to humiliate me in public.
Sophia scrambled to salvage her dignity.
"Mrs. Lee, you misunderstand. I was simply standing nearby and wanted to greet this young woman…"
Mrs. Lee's smile was gentle, but her words cut like a scalpel.
"We both know whether this was a misunderstanding or not."
"And don't worry about compensation. Following a CEO who's circling the drain financially must be difficult enough for you already."
Sophia's face drained of color, her eyes instantly rimmed with red, tears welling up on cue—the perfect picture of undeserved suffering.
