The Abandoned CEO

Shadow City, Emerald Haven, bedroom.

The man kissed the mole on the woman's chest passionately.

After it was over, William Brown turned and sat up.

"Let's get divorced." William's voice was flat.

Amelia was still a little breathless after their lovemaking.

She turned around and looked at his deep eyes in confusion.

They'd been married for a year. She didn't understand what he meant.

"She has stomach cancer. Only six months left."

William lit a cigarette, the smoke blurring his face.

"Being my wife before she dies is her only wish in this life."

Amelia said nothing. The huge bedroom was completely silent.

The small lamp by the bed glowed dimly. Their shadows were cast on the wall—though they were so close, the distance between them seemed stretched so far.

Seeing that she didn't agree right away, he frowned slightly.

"Just humor her," he added, "We'll remarry after six months."

"Amelia Martinez, she only has six months left."

His voice was very calm, as if these words were merely a notification.

Amelia stared numbly at his profile.

As if any request he made, she had to agree to.

As long as he said the word, she had to obey like following an order.

That's right—this whole relationship between them was something she had schemed and pleased her way into.

Her crush from when she was young.

Following behind him all through her adult years.

That year in the pouring rain, he stood in front of her, holding a piece of rotten wood, risking his life to tell her stepfather. "If you dare hurt Amelia again, you'll be sorry!"

She was nearly beaten to death. That night, through the pouring rain and bright red blood, what she saw was his hand gripping the rotten wood so tight his knuckles turned white, and his cold, determined eyes in the storm.

He saved her life.

So she fell hopelessly in love with him.

His requests—she would always do them, do them desperately, do them better than anyone.

He would always pat her head afterward and praise her softly. "Amelia, you did well."

Even though his words and his kisses were always light, even though their relationship had always been lukewarm.

She thought that was just his nature.

So even when everyone said she was a fool, she was happy with it.

Seven years, her entire youth, she followed behind him.

A year ago, his grandfather Finn Brown's condition took a sudden turn for the worse. The Brown family discussed having him get married.

He came to her and took her to get their marriage certificate.

She thought all those years of feelings had finally paid off, but after the wedding he was hot and cold with her. She could even feel his irritation toward her.

"Amelia, are you listening to me?"

Noticing her distraction, he frowned at her.

"Does it have to be this way?" she asked.

He didn't answer directly, but avoided it and said instead. "Amelia, she's very pitiful."

"What about me?" she asked instinctively.

He didn't answer right away. His deep eyes showed some impatience.

About three seconds passed before he spoke again.

"Amelia, she's dying."

"Maybe you don't know this, but she loves me. Because our marriage exists, she doesn't want to hurt you. She and I have never crossed the line."

"Even when I want to give her something, she always refuses."

"She's very kind. Just give in to her."

"Amelia, don't make me think you're cruel."

His voice was calm to the point of cold, but her heart was being cut by knives.

So getting involved with a married man and saying a few insincere words—that's called kindness.

So a wife not willing to give up her husband—that's called cruelty.

She looked at his face, exactly the same as it was years ago.

Deep eyes, a straight nose, thin lips like a sword's edge.

When did he start to change?

Probably from the day "she" appeared.

"Are you sure you want a divorce?" she asked one last time.

He didn't answer, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Finally, his thin lips parted slightly.

He said: "Yes, you..."

"Fine."

Before he could continue, she had already agreed.

He froze for a moment.

His eyes narrowed, looking at her with scrutiny.

"Amelia, you're getting more and more clever."

His tone rarely carried some anger.

"You figured out I need you to agree, so you're threatening me?"

Amelia said nothing, quietly looking at their shadows on the white wall.

William stubbed out his cigarette. Without another word, he quickly put on his clothes and strode out.

As if he didn't care at all what she thought, didn't care how humiliating his request was, how hard to accept.

Because he knew she couldn't leave him.

All these years, it had always been this way.

William slammed the door as he left.

Only Amelia was left in the bedroom.

She quietly looked at the door he'd closed behind him.

She sat alone by the bed for a long time.

Her phone vibrated with a notification.

Someone had sent her a message.

She reached for her phone.

The person saved as "Her Fake Account" had sent her a message.

Her Fake Account: [He came to see me again.]

The attached photo showed William's profile reflected in the entryway glass.

His face wore a warm smile, his eyes held a tenderness she'd never seen.

Her finger paused slightly. Amelia scrolled up.

The previous message: [He said he has me in his heart.]

The one before that: [Is it cold on rainy nights? I'm not cold, because he's by my side.]

The one before that: [The one who isn't loved is the third wheel. Amelia, you're just his reluctant choice. He appreciates my taste, agrees with my style. The one he loves is me.]

...

There were many messages like this—bit by bit, drop by drop, all proof of his betrayal.

She never knew that William, who had always been so distant with her for seven years, in front of another person...

Was so alive.

She scrolled to the end without really looking, just mechanically going through all the records, stopping at the first one—[You should know who I am. Did you like the flowers in the living room today? I sent them. He said they were beautiful.]

Of course she knew who it was.

The famous florist known for arranging flowers in various luxury residential areas, Isabella Taylor.

Amelia had shown William these records before, but he said she had no proof these were from Isabella.

He even suspected that she deliberately sent these to herself from a fake account to frame Isabella.

Because there were rarely pictures in the records, and even when there were, they were things any ordinary person could easily photograph from a third-person perspective.

Except for today's message.

Should she show this one to William?

She tossed her phone aside. Amelia pulled out a document from the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

She took out the pregnancy test results she had just gotten earlier today.

She was carrying William's child.

At the most inappropriate time.

Tears fell on the document, spreading into a large stain.

His heart no longer belonged to her. Even if she proved it, so what?

She wiped away her tears.

Amelia picked up the lighter William had used for his cigarette and set the document on fire.

He didn't know—this divorce would be the last time she agreed to his request.

Seven years of youth, seven years of time.

His kindness—she had repaid it enough.

And she didn't want to love him anymore.