Chapter 4: Resignation — Charging Back into Research
Helen's POV
Once I had taken care of everything one matter at a time, I went to Nightingale Group the following day.
Kael and I had been married for five years. For the first three, I had stayed glued to Roxi's side without so much as a step away. In the fourth year, I joined Nightingale Group — for Kael.
To be a little closer to him.
Now that the divorce petition had been filed, I had no reason left to stay on at Nightingale Group.
After arriving at the office, I handed my resignation letter to Silas.
Silas was Kael's personal secretary.
When I had first joined the company, I had wanted to be Kael's personal secretary as well.
He wouldn't allow it.
Not even when Kael's grandfather, Salford Nightingale, stepped in did Kael relent.
So I had set my sights on the Research and Development Department. It was one of Nightingale Group's core divisions, and I had thought at the time that it would at least give me a chance to put my professional skills to use. I passed every assessment, yet Kael still refused to believe in my abilities — he assumed I had asked Salford to pull strings for me, and his contempt for me only deepened.
In the end, there was a single vacancy in the Secretarial Department. Salford had to intervene personally before I was allowed to stay on there, becoming one of the many secretaries under Kael.
After that, I worked diligently, just like any other ordinary secretary. Because of Kael's prejudice against me, I had it harder than most — and it had taken far more effort than it should have just to establish myself in that department.
Looking back on it now, the whole thing was laughable.
Silas was one of the very few people in the company who knew that Kael and I were husband and wife. He stared at my resignation letter with unmistakable surprise. "Are you and — " The words stopped just short of his lips. He didn't finish the sentence. Perhaps he found it hard to believe I would resign of my own accord, and assumed that Kael had ordered me out. But prying into his employer's affairs wasn't something he felt comfortable doing, so he left it at that.
I offered no explanation. "Please arrange for someone to take over my work as soon as possible," I said.
Silas looked even more taken aback. His hand hovered with a faint hesitation before he finally accepted the letter. After a moment, he said, "Then I'll go ahead and process the paperwork." As he said it, he held my gaze — as though offering me one last chance to change my mind.
Because Kael never concerned himself with my affairs, the two of us might as well have been strangers inside that building. Every matter involving me was handled strictly by company procedure.
I gave a small nod. "Thank you."
There had been a time when I could have found ten thousand reasons to stay. Now that I wanted to leave, I didn't want to linger a single minute longer.
I returned to my workstation and began putting my pending tasks in order — arranging things in advance so that once the handover person arrived, I could complete the transition and be gone as quickly as possible.
It was nearly the end of the workday when a notification appeared on my screen: Biointelligence Symposium — Attendance Information Notice. It was a closed-door symposium, invitation-only, open exclusively to top-tier professionals from academia and industry, with no public ticketing.
After reading through the notice, I called a friend. "Cassian, the closed-door symposium next week — I want to attend. Reserve a seat for me."
"Reserve a seat for you?" Cassian let out a cold laugh. "Miss Davis, every time you ask, you do it like you're doing me a favor — and every time, you back out just as decisively. Don't tell me there's going to be some heaven-sent, mother-must-remarry excuse this time around. Allow me to remind you: you've already missed your best window to come back."
The sarcasm was thick enough to cut, yet I couldn't help but smile.
The Biointelligence Symposium was held once a year — a benchmark event in the research world, and a seat at it was nearly impossible to come by. Even Nightingale Group, the leading enterprise in Windsor, received only two invitation spots. Countless elites within the company had scrambled desperately for those seats and still come up empty. Kael would never give one to me. So every year, I asked Cassian to hold a place, and every year — whether because of Kael or because of Roxi — I had promised to go and then failed to show.
Two years ago, for the sake of my daughter, an idea had come to me. I had spent time exploring the intersection of medical research and AI, and in what felt more like an experiment than a serious undertaking, I developed a companion robot designed for children. It never went to market — I made only ten units and gave them away to a handful of friends. Truly one of those things that had no price because it was never for sale.
Cassian had said it was the perfect calling card for my return to research. He had even declared that if I had gone back then, he would have bet his life that within three years I would have carved out a real place for myself in the field.
But that day had coincided exactly — same date, same time — with Roxi's school parent-child event. I had chosen to attend the school event instead. Cassian had been furious. He hadn't spoken to me for six months afterward, and knowing him, he was probably still nursing that grudge.
I didn't explain myself. "If I don't show up this time," I said lightly, "I won't come to you again."
There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by Cassian's cool, flat voice: "Understood." He hung up without another word.
But I knew that meant yes.
Over these five years, my entire focus had been poured into my husband and my daughter, and I had drifted away from that world for far too long. As Cassian had said, I had already missed my best opportunity. Getting back into research under these circumstances would not be easy — the only thing I could do was use this symposium to get a real read on where the field stood now, and plan from there.
In the days that followed, I worked when I needed to work, rested when I needed to rest for the pregnancy, and studied when I needed to study.
I made no effort to reach out to Kael or Roxi. Naturally, they made no effort to reach out to me either.
Life on my own turned out to be more easy and comfortable than I had imagined.
One evening, I prepared myself a carefully cooked dinner and sat down to eat while reviewing an AI algorithm framework I had been looking into. Then Kael sent me a message.
It had always been this way with him — even when there was something to discuss, he would never call. He would fire off a single message and go silent, as if issuing a directive. And every time I received one, I would drop everything and carry out whatever he had asked with something close to delight.
How foolish I had been.
I didn't even want to see what he had written. I tossed my phone aside.
But then a thought stopped me — what if something had happened to Roxi? I had given up custody, but she was still my daughter, and there were responsibilities that came with that no matter what.
I had no choice but to open the message.
True to his usual style, it was blunt and stripped of any pretense: I have things to do tonight. Don't waste my time. Be in the room at nine.
It was only then that I remembered — had I not been pregnant, today would have been my ovulation day. In his effort to have a son, Kael had made a habit of coming home on that particular day every cycle, getting it done quickly, with even less patience than he had for routine obligations.
A sudden wave of nausea rolled through me, as though the dinner I had just eaten was turning in my stomach.
Was he serious? He had brazenly paraded his mistress in front of me as a provocation, and he was still expecting me to give him a child?
I was about to type something back.
Then I stopped myself. The divorce petition had been filed three days ago. Within the next few days, the court summons and filing would be delivered to his office. There was nothing left worth saying to him.
I switched my phone to silent and put it face-down.
The screen kept lighting up — message after message from him. I didn't look at a single one.
