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He hurried over. In the dim light I saw the fatigue etched on his face — in an afternoon he looked drained, as if his soul had been pulled out.
He said quietly, eyes downcast, "Lena, I fired Rachel."
"I don't know about your foster mother. Give me another chance to make it right."
Hearing him call me by that long-unused nickname made my head spin. But I was no longer in love.
"Julian, do you think our problems are only about Rachel?" I asked.
He seemed puzzled and flustered.
"I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have used you to charm other women. I thought everyone else did it, so I thought it was normal. I didn't mean to hurt you or neglect your foster mother."
"If you forgive me, I'll hire more drones. I'll buy you more jewelry and clothes…"
He still didn't understand what I was disappointed in.
"Enough, Julian."
"We're done. I don't want anything. When I go back I only expect one thing from you — the signed divorce papers."
He was confused, unable to grasp why I still wouldn't forgive after he'd humbled himself.
His eyes filled with grievance.
"I never wanted a divorce," he said.
"You're the woman I chose to be Mrs. West. What will it take for you to forgive me?"
Talking to him drained me. I'm sure my tone was impatient.
"You're always arrogant. You get what you want and you decide who must go. You thought my foster parents matched your status, that my identity made me worthy of being Mrs. West, but if you only wanted a showpiece, you should never have treated me kindly enough to make me love you. After you had me, you fell for someone else."
I had loved him once under the warmth of his attention, but his love was like a bubble in sunlight — beautiful but transient.
"You think everyone should give in to you — why? I'm not your mother. I don't want anything from you. I want a divorce."
He staggered, reached, and grabbed my wrist, pale-faced and pleading, "Can't you give me one more chance? Even criminals get appeals."
I gently withdrew my hand.
"I gave you many chances. You never treasured them."
I knew his stubbornness, divorce would be a protracted fight.
I thought the struggle would begin once I returned.
But at dawn he came to our campsite with people and provisions.
He claimed he would expand the rehab project at the lower-mountain clinic and had already arranged funding sponsorship for our research. He pulled from the supplies a neatly packed box.
"I had the chef from Eastside Dumpling bring your favorite," he said, offering small comfort.
I didn't reach for it. He pleaded, "Lena, I was wrong. Give me a chance to court you again. I'll make up for what I missed."
The offering was absurd: little dumplings in a takeout box.
He remembered me buying them late at night during rain.
"No need," I said coldly.
"I don't even like dumplings."
"You told me you liked them because Rachel liked them. You remember? I bought them and later discovered they were for her. You asked me and I said she was working late and hungry and couldn't trouble the assistant, so I sent you in the rain."
At first I thought Julian's late-night cravings had been for me.
Only when I watched them share that dumpling from inside the glass door did Rachel lazily tell me she'd need two orders next time, since Julian liked them too.
No matter how I argued, he'd always say, "Why make such a fuss? I rewarded her a bit. You're my wife and Rachel's an excellent employee — what's the problem?"
He'd told me to swallow my grievances.
I used to feel wronged. Now I felt strangely sentimental that I'd once loved so deeply.
Julian's face went white as I laid out each memory.
He hadn't expected his efforts to flatter me were actually built on pleasing another woman.
"See? You remember another woman's taste so well. Go marry her," I said.
He answered quickly, "She doesn't have the pedigree. She's only after my money. I couldn't be with someone like that."
I understood then why he clung to me.
"So you think I divorced you because I loved you and am now heartbroken? That I just want to leave the pain?"
I looked at him with pity that made him look away.
"You're wrong."
"I married you because my foster mother needed the medical resources only the West family could provide. I left because she died. I don't love you. I don't want your money. I don't need you, Julian West."
