Once I got my breathing under control, I finally managed to spit out the words that had been clawing at my throat.
"Ophelia, let's get a divorce."
Her head snapped up, and her cold facade cracked. For a second, I could see her poised figure tremble.
"What nonsense are you spouting?" she blurted out. "You accepted my apology, and now you're talking about divorce?"
But just like that, she regained her composure, the arrogance creeping back in.
"Oh, is this your way of playing hard to get? Trying to make me chase after you?"
"I told you I'd stay home tonight to make things right."
"If that's not enough for you, stop bugging me. I've got work to do."
She tossed her bag aside, plopped down on the couch, and flipped open her laptop, burying herself in work.
The dim glow from the screen of the device cast a cold light on her face, making her look distant and detached—like snow on a mountain, untouchable.
For a moment, I found myself lost in thought, drifting back to our university days.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on Ophelia. It was a love at first sight.
She was a standout in the finance program, and I was a rising entrepreneur already running my business.